I was going to skip this email.
I didn’t know how to start writing it. Or to finish it.
Or to write the middle.
Soooooo the whole thing basically.
When your world feels like a shaken-up snow globe, it's hard to figure out the rules for a normal convo, let alone summon the mental energy for work.
Monday night I put the kids to bed, then promptly fell asleep at 8:28 pm.
I can barely keep my eyes open and my brain keeps putting words together in the wrong order.
Not only because it feels like we are living in a government takeover that half of the country doesn't believe is happening.
But also, in January, my connective tissue disorder had a big flare-up that ground me to a halt, and my PDA/autistic 4 yr old has been too disregulated to attend school for a couple weeks. Which came with it’s own set of arguments and advocating to get him back.
Last night, I fell asleep in the middle of reading to my 8-year old about the Triwizard Tournament.
I want to burrow under our down comforter for at least a month.
But at 6 am today – like every day – I wake to two very wiggly little bodies snuggling up to me.
So I get out of bed the only way I can figure out:
By forcing my left foot on the floor.
Then, grudgingly, my right.
And then, after they go to school, I begin work – this email – the only way I can.
The tiniest step at a time.
Teeny, minuscule efforts – for myself and for other people. My kids, my family, my friends, my community.
Even when feeling paralyzed.
Because what else can I do?
I don’t have any answers.
My brain is a tangle of anger, to-do lists, concern, and gummy bears. (I've been eating a lot of gummy bears).
Here are the little things I'm doing to prop myself up until I likely fall asleep face-first in my dinner tonight:
✔️ Cooking for people.
I loooooove food, and I show love through making delicious food.
So I'll cook – not just for my family, but via our synagogue's Caring Committee for people that are sick or bereaved. Our kids include notes to show their love, like when our trans rabbi had surgery this week and our 8-year-old drew him a card with a hedgehog that said "git better soon!"
The ultimate comfort food. Also what I made round-the-clock to cope when I had my 2nd child, right at the beginning of the pandemic.
Note #1: I gained 38 lbs. So be careful.
Note #2: They are excellent with a gummy bear chaser.
✔️ Using the 5 Calls app to contact my elected senators and congresspeople.
I live in a small blue dot in a big ol' red district.
Calling my congressperson gives me both immense anxiety and satisfaction. 5 Calls provides a script which helps calm my nerves.
✔️ Taking 3-minute vagus nerve stretch breaks (using the Trapezius Twist).
This feels good. Really good.
I can't do traditional stretching because my connective tissue is kind of like stretched-out rubber bands. But the Trapezius Twist is soooo gentle, easy, and helps with anxiety.
I do it a LOT.
✔️ Freezing my kids’ credit.
Freezing my and my husband's credit was really simple – I did it years ago – and it's also easy to unfreeze temporarily if you're ever applying for anything.
With the US Treasury Department taken over by a civilian, we don't know what will happen to our social security numbers. I want to be sure our identities can't be used by others.
This is not a tiny task. Doing this overloads my ADHD brain. I don't know how to freeze my kids' SSNs, so it is still on the to-do list. Write back if you've done it?
✔️ Playing Himalayan singing bowls as my meditation shortcut.
I try to do this for 5 minutes every day, though I don't beat myself up if I skip. (Which is, like, half the week).
Singing bowls are like meditation + ASMR, and the effects are cumulative. I'm not being hyperbolic when I say they changed my life. If you don't have bowls I recommend listening to this video.
✔️ Snuggling.
Cozying up to husband and my kids. Hugging my mom.
Speaks for itself.
✔️ Following my work to-do list.
Sticking to the plan Past Carolyn laid out for Future Carolyn. One tiny step at a time.
And when I am too overwhelmed? I give myself 15 min breaks to watch The Traitors. With gummy bears and rice krispie treats.
Can tiny steps have any effect against a tidal wave?
I honestly don’t know.
Maybe it means something to know that someone else is there for you. Is willing to take a small step towards you in the face of uncertainty.
To connect.
I was going to skip writing because I didn't know what to say.
But instead I am writing this tiny, insignificant email.
To connect – with you.
To me, the inbox can become an actual relationship.
More so than social media, which is a roiling, churning, anonymous noise factory.
The loudest voices get amplified.
Hot takes. Rage bait. “you’re doing this wrong” “I don’t know who needs to hear this but–”
Right now it’s a deluge of slaps and punches and screams and echos, all shouting over one another.
I need to write to you because I do want to turn it all off and cocoon – and I need to know I’m not the only one trying to cope.
I imagine, right now, you’re solo.
No one is yelling at you (well, unless you have kids like mine). You’re probably sitting down. You’re not aimlessly scrolling. You’ve decided to open it.
Maybe it's a relief to know that someone else feels the way you do.
You can reply directly to me.
We can reach out to each other and say, ever so quietly:
Yup. It's hard.
Running a business right now is fucking hard.
Here, want a gummy bear?
