Recovering from The Storm

Willow Blooms #005- We may all have gone through the same storm, but we were not all in the same boat.

I’m later than I’d hoped in posting an essay this week. When I joined Substack, I set myself the intention of writing regularly, so that I had something to share with you each week. That has not been possible this week, and I’m being kind to myself as it’s been an unusual time. Grief, which I discussed in my last post, has brought emotions that are to be expected, but also took me by surprise in stealing my energy. I spent much of this afternoon on the sofa, and felt the relief of surrendering to my body in an hour long nap. Soon after I woke, an inner voice started telling me to finish my article for Substack, gently trilling in my ear in an encouraging and compassionate tone. I am grateful, for it as it has taken me some time to develop my self-compassion. I have, as for many people, an ongoing need to notice whether I am cultivating and attending to the compassionate voice rather than the inner critic. My intention is for Substack to be inspiration for creativity, a source of encouragement, and place to connect with others, and myself through my writing, not a place of pressure with stories of perceived failure. Perhaps this is something to keep checking in with ourselves about!

In my first post I mentioned

Beth Kempton

’s Winter Writing Sanctuary. Beth’s writing courses always encourage personal reflection as a way into creativity. One of the activities she offered led me to consider the types of things that I might want to be remembered by. I think it is inevitable when you experience loss, that your mind connects to other losses or endings that have touched you, and often not consciously, your own mortality. This is why I think, when I read a post on my phone today, it reminded me of something I read a few years ago in Irvin Yalom’s book Staring at the Sun: Overcoming the terror of death.

Irvin Yalom is a an American psychiatrist who writes about how humans consider the existential questions of the meaning and purpose of our life. In Staring at the Sun Yalom presents his idea that a terror of death is central to much of our day to day anxiety, and considers how this can lead to great suffering. He uses case studies to show how therapy has helped people engage with their fear of death, and develop more life affirming responses. It is in finding meaning, Yalom suggests, that positive consequences and deeper happiness can be attained.

See the direct quote from Yalom’s website'-

Once we confront our own mortality, Dr. Yalom writes, we are inspired to rearrange our priorities, communicate more deeply with those we love, appreciate more keenly the beauty of life, and increase our willingness to take the risks necessary for personal fulfillment.

https://www.yalom.com/staring-at-the-sun

Note: spelling as it appears on website

When I read this quotation today, I recognised something that I wasn’t expecting, and I wonder if you might too. Does this description remind you of anything? My timeline is hazy, but is this what you experienced as happening in early summer of 2020? I am mindful that there is a huge diversity of experience within the Pandemic, and that I write from the position of living in the UK, and refer to Northern Hemisphere seasons. This is because my memories are predominantly visual, grounded in nature rather than the typical timeline of calendar dates. The only dates I am certain of, come from internet citations! I suspect this is a trauma response, and that my memories have not all been assimilated into a coherent narrative. I do not know if this is a common experience, or a consequence of the fact that I lived alone and did not verbalise my experiences a great deal at the time. Nature was my companion, and so the importance of nature is amplified. I suspect my mind often thinks back to my experiences in that time because it is still processing it all, and still experiencing after-effects of Covid-19 infections. Possibly not everyone’s brains will be doing the same, and many people are certainly sick of talking or hearing about it! This may also be their way of coping, but, as this is my post, inspired by the mysterious inner workings of my brain, this is where my musings have led me today, so this is where I am about to go. I hope you’ll come along with me.

My memory is of experiencing initial shock and fear of this thing called The National Lockdown, and witnessing a, probably psychologically protective, sense that it might not last for very long. I recall in the week of March 23rd, a strange new type of meeting conducted on a screen, with small squares for each of our faces. We entered a disembodied world, existing mostly as heads, as often happens in traumatic experiences. With the meeting coming to an end, the manager proposed a date for the next, in six weeks time. She commented that Lockdown would likely be over by then, and hopefully we’d all be back in our office. I think she might have booked a room. How optimistic that seems now. We had no idea of the scale and duration of the fear and the Covid-measures that would follow.

The storm was going to be long

As lockdown extended into summer, we all did our best to adapt to the new ways of living. Personally, although I experienced high levels of anxiety, and deep loneliness in my extended isolation, this early time was accompanied by a great sense of community and appreciation of what I had, as well as what I was missing. I grabbed every opportunity for connection that came my way, and I make no apologies if you were one of the people I encountered at this time!

I remember great delight at seeing people I knew when out for my daily walk, how long I gazed at the clear blue skies that went on forever, unblemished by airplane trails, and the sounds of birds which were suddenly so loud and joyful. I spent an hour standing in a queue outside the supermarket, chatting to the stranger in front and the couple behind, as if they were friends. We laughed and enjoyed each other’s company, grateful that the weather was so fine. Encounters with strangers were my only face to face conversation, other than with my wonderfully responsive cat, and I was always buoyed by them. I would not recognise a single one of the people I chatted to back then if we bumped trolleys outside the same supermarket tomorrow. And I doubt we would be so willing to spend an hour chatting now that we’ve reverted to hurrying past each other.

I don’t want to idealise the Pandemic, there was a lot of suffering, and the impacts of it are multiple and enduring. What was unusual about Covid-19 is that the entire world was caught in the storm. We each had different roles and experiences during this time, and will have been affected by these differently. It has been said many times before, that many people lost jobs, or had no access to green spaces, and were overwhelmed with the responsibilities of educating children and managing employment, lacking devices to do everything online. Some were trapped in abusive situations, with no-one and no-where to turn to, or working in conditions where they had little protection from the virus. Some experienced extreme isolation, or were forced out of hospital and into care homes that were unfamiliar to them. Whether we allowed ourselves to know it consciously or not, we were all confronting our mortality. Too many people died, either from Covid-19, or due to health conditions that were not diagnosed or treated due to the urgency of managing the impact of Covid-19 on the NHS.

Poetry often provides a way to make sense of our experiences through metaphor, and Damien Barr’s poem captured attention, with the analogy of boats in the storm. Although one line was quoted often, including by the Mental Health Foundation, I cannot find the full poem, nor can I see a Substack account to credit or link him. A shortened version of it can be read here.

Help through stormy seas

I have been thinking that Yalom’s theory, considering ways through deep and real suffering, might have things to offer as we recover from whatever storms we have experienced, and continue to experience. You might wonder why I am reflecting on this now. Everyone is trying to move on from the pandemic, and wants to put it in the past. I think this is my point. In all the recent discussions that I’ve had about children’s wellbeing, and the wellbeing of the significant adults in their lives, very rarely has there been mention of how we have all processed and assimilated the events and experiences of the pandemic. Instead the focus is on their depression, or their anxiety, as if belonged to them, or came from nowhere. At the same time, I look around and I witness a lot of anger and pain on faces, and when I turn on the news I hear more stories of the suffering we are choosing to inflict on one another. I wonder how the pandemic has impacted our wellbeing, as written about by Valentina Stoycheva. Jung’s concept of the collective unconscious is also relevant, and it is important to consider avenues for making sense of, and the healing, and assimilation of our experiences within a social and global context. I found an interesting paper by an Italian team of researchers who have been working with the dreams of people within groups to facilitate the processing of their pandemic experiences and understand their unconscious as a total unity (Marogna et al, 2022). Seen in context, the links and shared experience can be acknowledged, creating meaning that connects us in our shared needs, rather than pathologizing those who seek help. Their experiences and needs are important, but they are not the problem. It is is not just their depression, and not just their anxiety to address. They are the canaries in the mine, and it is a global dis-ease that we need to attend to.

There was a lot of considered thought about what impact the pandemic might have on our wellbeing. Many articles were written in 2020, 2021, anticipating an increase in people seeking support with their mental health following the acute phase of the pandemic. In the UK the Office of National Statistics reported that stats from March to August 2020 showed significant reductions in diagnoses of depression by GPs. This was put down to a lack of help-seeking rather than a real reduction, and the World Health Organisation (WHO) briefing in March 2022 reports Global increases of 25% in anxiety and depression in the first year of the pandemic.

Loneliness, fear of infection, suffering and death for oneself and for loved ones, grief after bereavement and financial worries have also all been cited as stressors leading to anxiety and depression. Among health workers, exhaustion has been a major trigger for suicidal thinking. World Health Organisation, March 2022

WHO, in their review of the early impact of the pandemic, concluded that it had a ‘severe impact on the mental health and wellbeing of people around the world.’ It is worth noting that this report refers to itself as early evidence, and although published in 2022, the studies were published prior to Oct 2021, so representative of the picture well over two years ago.

Curiously, I have been unable to find a later report showing the current picture of our mental health and emotional well-being, nationally or globally. I’m hoping this is down to my searching rather than the stats not being collated, so if you have reports to share, please let me know. My understanding, is that there has been increasing demand. The WHO study reported fears of infection, suffering and death, and grief after bereavement as stressors contributing to anxiety and depression, which aligns with Yalom’s existential lens. I wonder how well equipped we have been as a system, as therapists, and whether the typical offer of therapeutic approaches available in the NHS would typically consider an existential perspective. My guess is probably not. Young people leading a training session that I attended last year reported that peers attribute their anxiety to the climate crisis rather than post-pandemic adjustment, and I wonder if it is all connected. We are repeatedly being confronted with our terror of the death of ourselves and those we love, and that of the planet on which our lives depend.

The first line of support for adults experiencing psychological difficulties within NHS England is often IAPT services (Improving Access to Psychological Therapies). There is a significant evidence base supporting this form of short-term therapy, and it typically considers the domains of thoughts, bodily sensations, values and actions. Thus psychological intervention would typically explore the meaning we make of our experiences, but not in quite the same way Yalom discussed. I am not sure how much talk there is about spirit, or existentialism in our work in the NHS, except often to acknowledge that an individual’s spiritual beliefs are important to consider and be respectful of. This is not to say it doesn’t happen, and I wonder if there might need to be more attention to the spirit, and deeper meaning in our post-pandemic world.

Two potential perspectives come to mind on why we might be trying to go deeper, considering the existential meaning and purpose within our lives, and perhaps in our creativity, and in therapy-

• an increased consciousness of threat to life and fear of death, and the greater extent to which people have experienced this threat as universal, perhaps random, and out of their control.

• an increased awareness of purpose in our actions and the impact on life and lives of others.

There are often many positive responses to the threats to life that come our way. We have all taken drastic steps in the pandemic to reduce risk of infection and limit its spread, and many have been engaging with the climate emergency, or speaking out about the suffering of war. Yet, it would seem, from the fact that atrocious acts continue to be justified by the perpetrators, that we are not all looking for meaning in the same places.

I feel sadness like never before, struck every day by the apparent disregard for human life, in what seem to be desperate attempts to return to the ‘normal’ status quo prioritising power, progress and profit. What a contrast to that window of peaceful compassion I know that we had for each other in the UK in spring and summer 2020. I cannot help but consider the events today as being the world’s dysfunctional way of coping with the terror of death. There is another way.

Finding salvation in the idea of death

Our ideas and stories about suffering helped or hindered people through the pandemic. Looking back, it is amazing that we accepted so many restrictions to our lives, and those working in front line services got through such adversity. There was a strong narrative at the time that this suffering had positive meaning, as well as the usual threats of punitive consequences. We were told that we were doing what we could to save lives. The people working in the public facing roles continued to do so, at risk to themselves, because they were saving lives, and doing their part. The word duty was used a lot, indicating that it was our moral responsibility. It does not mean this made it easy, or anxiety free, but it perhaps made it more possible to endure. At least for those of us who did not lose loved ones because of the storm. It cannot be said too many times, but many people died, often whilst doing their best to care for others. Too many people are still dying in other storms we humans have created for ourselves.

I can only light a candle, and hold them in my thoughts.

It is often when we are in a place of relative safety that we can begin to do the work to process difficult experiences. I expect that many people will still be processing the events and impact of the pandemic, consciously or not, and in line with Yalom’s theory perhaps some have had an increased focus on the meaning and purpose of their lives. It has surely become more complicated now that there is no longer a shared, and deeper meaning to hold us steady. And that we have been repeatedly rocked by revelations that those setting the rules did not always follow them. There is nothing like ‘do as I say, not as I do’, to throw us all into rage. We feel appropriate anger and a sense of betrayal, but rather than having opportunities to express and process this safely, the response is to criminalise and reduce our protest powers. We are certainty not all in the same boat, and some in positions of power seem to have found ways of stepping out of the storm.

Perhaps this is why so many deep thinkers, writers, artists, therapists and other meaning makers are drawn to Substack? This is a space where I read people being vocal about the need to end war, and crying out for more authenticity and integrity. A place where I read great insights into the things that are healing and allow us to seek more positive meaning and connections in life. Here we are offering wisdom, and inspiring creativity, because doing these things, and making a difference to the lives of others is perhaps what helps give our own lives meaning. Our writing offers a path through the storm.

The calm in the storm

In the early days of the Pandemic and Lockdown, I felt scared that I and others would contract the illness and die. Isolated from my friends and relatives, bombarded with news reports that showed people dying of this new virus that spread through connection, I contracted Covid-19 in October 2020. I subsequently developed Long Covid, which lingered, ebbed, and resurged after my second Covid-19 infection. I have had to adjust to my altered physical and cognitive strength. The stats suggest that there are around 2 million people in the UK who have ongoing symptoms often referred to as Long Covid, and likely had to go through similar life adjustments (although it is my understanding that central collection of stats stopped in July 2023, so the numbers are unclear). Many people have lost their careers, their hobbies, friends and past identities, and have described themselves as ‘alive, but not living’. It can be easy to get sucked into the darker aspects of grief. If we can breathe, and step back far enough, we see that there is also always light.

As I pause from my writing, I look up and take in a view that fills me with awe. It pulls me right out of my thoughts, and into the present. In front of me is a large window framing a landscape picture. Two thirds of this is sky. The tops of the clouds are lined in bright pink, soaking like a watercolour deeper and lighter into the white hue. The clouds are diffuse up high, and become clumpy and dark closer to the sea and land. Land tapers from the east to a point into the water, drawing my attention to the large tanker resting there. The water is flat, and looks still from my far away sighting, but I know it must be moving, the tidal flow either coming in or going out. Everything about this view is peaceful.

Sounds join the scene. First, the a high call of a seagull, not the KAAW of the gulls I spotted in the park, but birds at ease, and serene. They seem to be conversing with other birds, twittering in the garden. I cannot see any of them, but the harder I listen, the more I can hear. I am not certain what bird it is (this will be no surprise if you’ve read my other posts!), but it has a beautiful trill. My nervous system is soon soothed and I watch and listen contentedly.

It is easier to step back, to breathe, and find purpose and meaning when surrounded by nature. My purpose in this moment, is simply to be.

Coming in to shore

We are in the same storm, we not in the same boat, Damien Barr reminds us.

It can be easy and entirely understandable to get caught in negative eddies amongst the storm of negative news and the pain of suffering of ourselves and others. It might not always seem so, and is not always easy to do, but we have choices about the stories we tell and the meaning we make from our experiences and our purpose in living. Sometimes we need to step back very far to see a different perspective.

Sometimes the first step is simply to look down and remind ourselves that although the storm is wild, we’re alive and sitting in a bloody boat. We may feel as if we are sinking, but we are not sunk yet! From this place of relative safety we can begin to develop compassion towards ourselves, an anchor point that helps us to cling on, no matter what the stormy world throws at us.

What I know more than ever is that whatever stories we have had in the past, we can develop new, often more helpful stories and deeper purpose going forward. Sometimes we need help to do this, but the people we need usually turn up once we are open to them!

I’ve been meandering again in this post, and I’m so grateful to you for coming with me. There was something else I wanted to tell you, but as I do not have Yalom’s book to hand, I cannot go back and search for more details. I will perhaps come to it next time, but for now, let’s come in to the shore.