Is it possible to know that you’re going through a traumatic event while it’s still happening to you?

That question may seem morbid or overdramatic, but I think it’s where a lot of us are right now. This pandemic is affecting us in ways we won’t understand for years to come. And for me, anyway, it’s been very difficult to navigate.

I know I haven’t written anything on here in a while, and I apologize for that. Because I work in church media, my workload has increased dramatically since this whole thing started. I’ve learned a lot about livestreaming over the past several weeks. Between that and the stress of living through a pandemic, I haven’t had the mental energy for much else, and writing got put on the back burner.

That’s part of the story, at least. I think the other part is that I’ve been afraid to write lately because I knew it would force me to face the things I’ve been feeling throughout this pandemic. I wasn’t ready for that. Now, I feel like I might be. Might.

Many are trying to put a positive spin on this ordeal, calling it an opportunity to pause, a chance to learn a new skill, or a perfect time for creative expression. While I appreciate the optimism and recognize that those things may be true for some people, for others of us, there is no silver lining to this situation. It’s just hard. It’s scary. And yes, it’s traumatic.

One of the things I’ve thought about a lot lately is how we’ll look back on this period in our lives. Many things we experience might be considered “historic,” but few have such a universal impact that we could truly call them a worldwide collective experience. This is something that all of us will remember for the rest of our lives.

But how will we remember it? How will we tell our children about it? How will we write about it in our history books?

I imagine it’ll be different for everyone. For some, it may not be all that notable—a minor annoyance and nothing more. For others, it’ll be the worst thing they ever experienced—losing a dear loved one, being let go from a dream job, going through a health battle of their own. Thankfully, my experience hasn’t been quite that difficult, but it hasn’t been a breeze, either.

I miss my family. Katherine and I make a point to get around and see everyone on a regular basis, and that has been much harder lately. We’ve tried to safely connect with our loved ones as much as we can, but it isn’t the same, and we’ve missed some big days. Sitting at home on Easter while our brothers and nephews hunted eggs without us hurt pretty deep, and it hasn’t gotten easier since.

I’m scared, not so much for myself, but for those around me. I’ve had to be out of the house for work much more than I’m comfortable with, and I worry every day that I’m going to bring home a deadly virus and infect the ones I love. Is that likely? Probably not. I am trying to be careful, after all. But it’s still a possibility, and I can’t pretend it doesn’t keep me up at night.

I worry for my friends and family who are most susceptible to this virus. For most of us, getting it wouldn’t be any big deal. But for some, it would mean a life-or-death battle with no sure outcome. That’s why we need to take precautions. No matter how careful we are, though, there’s still always a chance, and that makes me anxious.

I’m frustrated by those who aren’t taking this as seriously as they should. The lack of willingness on some people’s part to forego convenience in order to save lives is baffling and heartbreaking to me. We can’t be that selfish; we should be doing better. And the rush to “get back to normal” when we’re nowhere near prepared for reopening angers me to my core.

If this pandemic isn’t negatively affecting you personally, that’s great. I’m glad for you. But that is not the case for everyone. Please consider the many people for whom this is an actual life-or-death situation, whose lives could be destroyed by it if we don’t take it seriously enough. You’ll probably be fine, but what about them?

Truth be told, I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m healthy. No one I know has died from the virus or lost their job because of it. Katherine had to be out of work for several weeks, but we weren’t affected financially. My only real struggle has been the emotional turmoil, and that’s nothing compared to what others are going through. I’m so thankful for the many ways I’ve been sheltered from the effects of this horrible disease.

But that doesn’t mean this isn’t hard. People are dying. People are losing their jobs and homes. Lives are being destroyed left and right, right before our eyes. And I can’t be unaffected by that. It’s weighing on me in ways that I can’t even fully process right now, not even by writing it all out. That’s just where I’m at.

If you’re suffering right now, please know that I am so sorry. I’m thinking of you, praying for you, and I’m here if you’d like to talk.

If you, like me, aren’t suffering directly but can’t shake a feeling of general uneasiness in the pit of your stomach, you are not alone. This is a truly traumatic event, and you have every right to feel what you feel.

I keep hearing people say, “We will get through this,” as a way of comforting each other. I guess that’s true for the most part. Most of us will get through this. Some of us won’t, though. And those of us who do get through it won’t be same; many will be significantly worse off. So I’m not sure that the phrase is really the most helpful.

Maybe it should be something more like, “Let’s see each other through this.” Because we can get through it with minimal (yet still significant) loss, but only if we work together. Only if we sacrifice some of our comforts in exchange for the lives of others. Only if we put our own preferences aside and focus on the greater good. If we’ll do that, then yes, we will (mostly) get through this. But only if we do it together.

So let’s see each other through this thing. Stay home as much as you possibly can. Be there for each other (but not physically). Affirm the experiences of those around you and take them into account. The suffering out there is real, and we can’t just ignore it or make it worse through our indifference. We have to rise to this occasion lest we fall to it.

I know this post is a bummer, and I’m sorry about that. As you can tell, I’m not exactly in a positive place right now. Rather than leaving you on this note, I’m going to let Past Devon wrap us up with some words I wrote a month ago, when the gravity of this whole thing hadn’t been weighing on me for quite so long:

To be truthful, I am still very much hopeful for future, but I also think it’s important to recognize the difficulties people are facing right now. They are real, and they have real consequences. And those real-world effects are breaking my heart today.
I’m thankful for each of you reading this. If you feel like you need to reach out to someone, please know that I’m available. I’ll talk to you soon.

Be safe out there, friends.