Sitting Together in the Unknown
Dear Friends,
The last few weeks have been a real reckoning with the unknown. My spouse is in the midst of the State Department’s complicated bidding-on-your-next-job process. This has him rising early in the mornings for job interviews with the embassies on the other side of the globe. Though our family will be in the U.S. for at least another year, the conversations my husband is having now will dictate what country we end up living in from 2024-2027–a big next chapter for our family.
It’s a little stressful.
But the universe decided that wasn’t quite enough–we also needed multiple incidents of family health stress, one which turned out benign, and one which landed my nonagenarian grandfather in the hospital.
Every morning in the early hours last week, say 3 or 4AM, my body woke up. I rolled over and checked my phone in case I missed an update from my mom. What happened in the night? Later, my husband would come downstairs where I was working, and we’d review what interviews were scheduled for the day. Tashkent at 8, Tirana at 9. What would happen in the waking hours?
Powerless in my unknowing, I went on with the usual routines. Cooking oatmeal that the toddler may or may not eat. Loading up the bicycle to go to music class or preschool. Returning home to talk to my husband about how interviews went. Naps and work. Texting to check in about Granddad. Dinner and baths. Putting away laundry and toys. The intensity of the life-altering unknown pressed alongside the mundane tasks that build a day.
In the height of last week’s worry, before benign biopsies, my friend Elizabeth and I dropped our daughters off at their first week of preschool, then collapsed onto patio chairs at Junction bakery. Her daughter was attending school for the first time, and Elizabeth was processing the anxiety of leaving her with strangers, how she would do, etc. I was less worried about my own daughter, but rather consumed with the medical drama and the layered bad things that kept happening to my family.
“It just seems like we never get a break,” I told her. “We just got my grandmother out of the hospital, and now Granddad has broken his hip. We just got into a routine here, and it’s time to think about moving.”
Elizabeth recalled her family’s similar experiences–she grew up in the foreign service, and when she was a teenager, her family was often assigned to the Balkans. For a stretch, her father was working in war zones while she and her mother were evacuated. When he was assigned to a less tense country, her grandparents fell ill, and then she encountered health struggles of her own. One thing after the next after the next. As soon as something felt peaceful and calm, another emergency appeared.
“I think all of that really made me value the smaller moments–just being able to sit like this and have coffee with a good friend,” she said.
I was feeling so sorry for myself, so consumed with it all, that I hadn’t fully appreciated the miracle that is two mothers of young children getting a two-hour break to take a walk and share coffee and conversation. And yet, it was miraculous. The day was perfect, the breeze was blowing. Here in the maelstrom of emotion and worry and life and death were two women who mean something to each other, carving out a moment to lean on one another.
My Granddad, Walter Dannenberg, passed away Sunday night at the age of 96. He was a pillar of the Macon, Georgia, community through his work as a business owner and as a leader in local religious and civic organizations. He trained dogs for the Army in World War II, and was on the committee of white and Black leaders in Macon who peacefully integrated the department stores and soda fountains there in the ‘60s. He was well-traveled and never met a stranger. He had a twinkly smile and liked to smoke his pipe out on the driveway while wearing a jaunty hat. He called all of his nine grandchildren “sporty.” His memory will be a blessing.
As you read this, I’m with my family, preparing for his funeral down in Macon. And though my grandfather’s death is a giant loss, I will also be pausing to appreciate the moments of connection that will happen this weekend. I will be in the same room with some of my Dannenberg cousins for the first time in twenty years. I’ll get to see my sister before she gives birth to my newest nephew. I’ll get to hug my Grandmom, share a meal, sit together.
I’ve had trouble, in the past, being able to see through the fog of worry and grief enough to remember that I am still living. This weekend, that will be my aim. I hope, whatever layers of uncertainty the universe has given you this week, you’ll pay attention to the small moments, too. They’re not silver linings, or really consolations, but rather things happening in tandem. You are still here, there is still coffee, and if you’re lucky, a breeze. Hold your people close, sit with them, and take note of the rare and the good when you see it.
Take good care,
Dot
News & Updates
Beginning in October, Adele Stuckey will have a few openings for new clients open to working with an out-of-network provider:
Individual Therapy for Perinatal Mental Health: If you feel like you “have it all,” but you can’t shake this nagging feeling that something is missing, are overwhelmed trying to manage your multiple roles (parent, spouse, partner, friend, co-worker), or are struggling to navigate fertility treatment as a queer person, get pregnant, be pregnant, or transition into parenthood, Adele can help.
LGBTQIA+ Affirming Therapy: Whether or not sexuality, gender identity, gender expression, or experiences in the queer community are the primary reasons for reaching out, this can be a safe space for you to show up as you.
Couples Therapy: Adele works with couples in all stages of relationship to reconnect, rebuild trust, and foster a bond that is often stronger than before therapy. If you and your partner are struggling with conflict, resentment, or parenting difficulties, couples therapy can help. Adele also blends her specialization in perinatal mental health to support couples through fertility, pregnancy, postpartum, and parenting experiences.
Matthew Brooks now has openings for adults looking for support around life transitions, anxiety, depression, and general wellness. Two openings now available for virtual sessions on Wednesday mornings (DC and VA residents only).
Have questions or want to get started? Email us at info@alexandriaarttherapy.com.
Are you a US-based art therapist looking to acquire ATR supervision hours? Alexandria Art Therapy is now forming a VIRTUAL clinical supervision group. Join Laura Miles, LPC, ATR-BC, ATCS for a virtual supervision group grounded in the El Duende process painting technique. El Duende, originated by Abbe Miller, is a one-canvas painting that uses many layers built up over the supervision experience to enhance clinical learning. Want to know more? Reply to this newsletter, or email us at info@alexandriaarttherapy.com.
Blog Posts
Adele Stuckey is back with another blog in our perinatal mental health series, this time with 7 art prompts for new parents. These prompts are intended to help new parents connect with their inner selves and explore this new, life-altering experience.
Links We Like
“I don’t believe that life is supposed to make you feel good…”
From Adele: Loving this podcast episode about movement for mental health and creativity, and this one on whether AI can create art.
School’s back in session, so now we can work, right?
Thinking about life through the lens of smaller seasons.
“We have this heady image of authors penning their books while sitting peacefully at oversized hardwood desks overlooking vistas of lush trees or skyscrapers. But if you’ve read a book penned by a woman with young children recently, there’s a significant chance it was written while hiding, losing sleep, or using inventive distractions.”
Do you have hope fatigue? (And what to do about it.)
Consider undoing.
A great reminder. Thank you.