Calmly stated facts
As I mentioned last week, I am deeply appreciative of calmly stated facts.
So it makes sense that this #thankyouthursday, I am grateful for the truth about comparative suffering, which I learned via Unlocking Us, which is a new(ish) podcast from Brene Brown that is simultaneously informative and reassuring.
I listened to her episode on “Comparative Suffering, the 50/50 Myth, and Settling the Ball” on Tuesday afternoon, at a point when I was finding it very, very hard to get off the couch.
Comparative suffering is a problem for me. I tend to diminish my experience when I know that others have it worse.
Like, I was working from home even before the pandemic hit. My schedule hasn’t been horribly disrupted. I am still healthy, and so is my partner. I’m not located in a current epicenter like so many of my friends are in NYC. It’s tempting to tell myself I have “no reason” to feel depressed or upset.
But. Also. I am eight months pregnant. Life looks different than I expected it’d be when we welcomed our baby. I am increasingly physically uncomfortable, and the uncertainty that accompanies impending parenthood is only magnified by the uncertainty of the outside world.
And! All is well. The baby is healthy. I’ve got great medical care and no cause for concern. Meanwhile, people in New York have had to give birth without their partners present, so...
...See how fast the comparative suffering kicks in?!
Thank goodness Brene set me straight. In her podcast, she clearly and kindly explains why suffering is not relative, and why denying or dismissing my feelings can actually make me less available to empathize with others.
If you have 25 minutes sometime today or soon, I definitely recommend giving the episode a listen. And either way, however you’re feeling—for whatever reason, despite whatever anyone else is dealing with—please know that it’s okay.
Love > fear,
Christina
p.s. In case you hadn’t heard, wearing face coverings—aka masks—in public is officially a thing. So I’m doing it, even though it feels awkward and uncomfortable when I do. (Will people think I’m sick? Am I being paranoid?) But the way I see it, if there’s even a chance that I could be an asymptomatic carrier, I want to do my part to keep others safe. So. Please wash your hands. Don’t touch your face. And keep it covered if you have to go someplace.