The Power of Balance
Dear Friends,
As much as I hate to name it, powerlessness has felt like a theme this year. COVID persists, knocking out childcare and work and plans in its wake. The Ukrainians flee their homes, never to return to what was before. The Supreme Court ruling leaks, and every woman in America begins to question their safety and humanity (or should).
I’ve heard members of older generations refer to the ebbs and flows of politics as natural corrections. One party takes power, makes changes. The other party wins the next round, rolls them back. And so forth, and so on. Maybe I’m still too close to see the long game, but with a pandemic in the mix, it feels like whatever pendulum things were swinging on has been disconnected from its pivot point, and the ball is on a rapid descent through the air.
One thing my old therapist used to talk about a lot about was control in the face of powerlessness. What are the things that are outside your circle of control? What is within that circle? How can you focus on those things and let the others go?
Lately I’ve been thinking less about control being an antidote to powerlessness, and more about the role of balance. Is this because things seem so far outside my control? Maybe. Balance feels like a more attainable goal: when it seems there is no balance in the universe, there are ways we can create our own.
Notably, it’s about how we pay attention. What we elevate.
In my college orientation group, we played a weekly icebreaker game called “Highs & Lows” (others have also told me about another version called “Rose, Bud, Thorn”). We’d go around the circle, and each person would name their “high” for the week as well as their “low.” Everyone in the group made fun of the practice for being cheesy, but I secretly loved it, and still do.
Last week, I was thinking about this game, and I put it on my Instagram story, asking people to share their high and low of the week.
Twenty people wrote in, and the answers were such a snapshot of the personal and the collective.
Toddler waking up at night for unknown reasons. Leaked Supreme Court doc, feeling powerless and angry. A meeting that takes me 5 hours to prep for got canceled last minute. Not being able to sleep. Hearing my mom talk about how hard her first Mother’s Day without my grandmother will be. Getting a job rejection. Went back to work after family leave with my foster sons. My whole family has COVID. Learning my daughter is going to grow up with fewer rights than I did.
And then:
Got the photo back from my child’s first school picture! Seeing a group of burly construction workers do a group stretch session. Connected with amazing artists for a Ukraine project I’m working on. Going to see my brother and his family today! Returned to work after surgery. My child loved her dance recital. Went on a great first date. Got a new job, and my boss is a badass mom of 3. I’m on a trip seeing my best friends and their kids. My child read a book expressively for the first time. I saw a woman taking her cockatiel for a walk–it was on a perch in a clear backpack. The forsythia is blooming.
The highs don’t always outweigh the lows. But they still feel important to name.
Last week kicked off the spring gut-punch holidays: Mother’s Day last weekend, Father’s Day soon to come in June. Again, I am drawn to the balance. Being a mom is one of the great honors of my life, but I have also experienced loss and infertility, and remember all too well what it felt like to be on that side of motherhood. Next month I am excited to celebrate my spouse and his role as a father, but I also cannot escape the grief that comes with the day, having lost my own father a few years ago.
In times like these–times of sickness, complicated holidays, war–we might try looking outside of our “low” for balance. And we might cease looking for its diametrical opposite (wellness, simplicity, peace), but for other, separate highs.
Somewhere, even in the midst of all of this, the forsythia is blooming. What does it change, amidst all this powerlessness? Amidst suffering and strife? Not a thing. But you cannot deny its brightness, just outside the window. I will take note of it, all the same.
Take good care,
Dot
Blog Posts
Is the person you are right now someone you would have felt safe with when you were young? I’ve been seeing a quote making the rounds on IG and TikTok:
“The person you are right now is the person you would have felt safe with when you were young.”
This sounds nice, but let’s push further—is it true? What patterns do you still need to break? And how are you doing at taking care of your inner child, these days? The way you talk to yourself: is it kind? Does it promote feelings of safety? Where do we go from here? Read more in our latest blog post.
Links We Like
In the frenzy of last week’s SCOTUS news, I found some small comfort in knowing that activists have been preparing for this moment for years. Activist Alison Turkos writes, “Please remember this isn't the time to move with urgency, it's the time to take a beat, take a deep breath, and listen to the folks on the ground. Listen to people who have been doing this work for years, for decades. You don’t need to start your own, or new, efforts.” Instead, look to the infrastructure and preparations already in progress.
This new book on parenting and philosophy (not parenting philosophy!) looks interesting.
Brené Brown on sabbaticals and the sacred pause.
Reminder: TikTok is not therapy.
When trying for a baby isn’t working.
103 bits of wisdom. I like “The chief prevention against getting old is to remain astonished,” and also “Your growth as a conscious being is measured by the number of uncomfortable conversations you are willing to have.”
Cool art of the week: cutout portraits and trash embroidery.
Also finding myself stumbling upon the best scruffy dog art lately.
You don’t have “mom brain.” You’re overworked. (The Atlantic)
Think of time in nature as a multivitamin. (Loved that this piece includes suggestions for all bodies, not just a blanket suggestion to “go on a hike.”)
This week’s must read. (New Yorker)
Pulled from the Earth by Adam Hedley:
