PROM NIGHT II—LONELINESS IN A PANDEMIC

Years of meditation practice have allowed me to sometimes approximate a sane person.

The other day, I awoke inundated by cortisol and genuine worries, both pandemic-related and other. I didn’t know how I would get out of bed, much less make it through a very full day. 

Sitting up halfway, trying to muster my gumption to get a move on, a question popped into the tiny bit of spaciousness my meditation practice has created in my head: 

Is there some way I can see this differently?

I didn’t have an answer, actually. But it made a little room in my heart to not feel quite so despondent. Times like these, that's a precious gift. 

Subsequently, I’ve been finding plenty of applications for a “see-this-differently” approach! 

One area that's ripe for a bigger vision? My son's senior year. 

For the class of 2020, there’s no senior prom. No big, festive graduation. I hear that some kids (well, young adults, at this point) are defying social-distancing rules and hanging out without protections. But mine aren’t. Most others aren’t, either. 

And these kids are lonely. All of them. Not just the marginalized kids. Not just the students who don’t “fit in,” or are “different.”

In a way, it’s kind of an amazing moment for the latter groups, I suspect. 

Popular people just can’t be popular in the same ways while sheltering in place. And perhaps people who are often lonely can’t judge themselves (and others) in the usual ways. This is simply how it is—for everybody.

Is it possible that pandemic-induced social isolation actually mitigates the social isolation that so many feel in their usual day-to-day lives? 

I think of my mother-in-law, who—despite having seven living children—rarely sees anyone besides a caregiver who comes for a few hours every day and the one daughter who lives in the same city. 

Now, she must feel less disappointed—because nobody’s seeing anybody. I hope so, anyway. 

I think of my son, who as a junior so assiduously tried to get a date for the prom—with no success. At that time, I began to pre-worry about this year's prom. 

These days, I’ve been asking myself if the lack of prom is actually a great way for those who might not have found a date to avoid a lifetime of that bad memory? 

That said, is social-distancing in some ways a blessing in disguise for students who struggle socially? Especially those who connect better digitally? 

Has this terrible pandemic created online social spaces that are more accepting? 

If everybody is lonely, are some lonelier than others? Or are our children (and elders, and selves) being equally lonely, together but apart? Maybe even experiencing loneliness in ways that might make them (us) more compassionate and inclusive for the long term? 

In other words, is this challenging period in some ways a powerful equalizer? Aside from all the myriad challenges and tragedies, are we finally learning to create a world in which there’s more acceptance and our real gifts shine and we can be free to be ourselves? (I know a lot of wild animals certainly feel that way right now.) 

Also, I'm wondering what will continue to resonate most after we’ve moved through the pandemic—the terrible loneliness and fear, or the unprecedented shared experience of an extraordinary time?

I certainly see how this global crisis exacerbates inequalities around access and economics, and I genuinely fear many of us, and many of our towns and cities, may not be able to recover—for a very long time.I mourn for the hundreds of thousands dead, and for their living loved ones who couldn't be with them at the end.I'm deeply grateful for the many brave essential workers who have risked their lives to keep civilization functioning worldwide. 

Here in my own small, relatively safe universe, I nevertheless experience waves of such sadness, fear, plain-old grumpiness...So I’m trying to see things slightly differently, in the interest of family and community morale, in general, and personal sanity, in particular.

May we in our mutual loneliness find ways to uplift ourselves and each other. Some days, that’s going to be really hard. On those days, may we remember that it's possible to see our lives from another perspective.  

Stay well, dear persons.

You are not alone in your fears or your loneliness or your joys, and you are loved,

Full Spectrum Mama

PROM NIGHT

Dear Persons,

A few weeks ago, I really messed up.

I’m on my own with my kids all weekend every weekend and sometimes I get impatient or overwhelmed. 

Often, though, we have a really great time together.

Because I’ve always been a solo weekend parent, my children have been forced to accompany me to concerts, museums, and so on. And I’ve watched more kids’ movies than I could count, some of them actually pretty good. 

On this particular Saturday, my son, G, who is a junior in high school, was really getting on my nerves with a couple of exaggerated teenage slob behaviors that are not developmentally typical for an older teen. 

It’s not that the things he does actually bother me per se, it’s that I worry he will do those things out in the wider world—and get shunned for doing so. Or made fun of, or dismissed in ways he won’t even be aware of…

I was having a stressful work day, too (I edit a Sunday political mailing on Saturdays, but I also freelance and, when things are going well, often work weekends). 

But mostly it was just the relentlessness of G’s socially unacceptable behavior that was sending me back to the days when I worried if he’d ever function at all in “the real world.”

So I wasn’t at my best. 

Meanwhile, we were all looking forward to going to a big action movie that night.

Around 5 o’clock, I told G that we had one hour left before we’d have to leave for the movie. I asked him if he could stop being offensive for that period—and warned him that he would not be invited to the movie if he could not. 

As we were putting our shoes on, G was unable to contain himself from doing exactly what I’d asked him not to do.

And I lost it. Visions of his future as an outcast (never mind that he’s the sweetest guy ever) flashed before my eyes as I berated him and sent him to his room.

Now what was I going to do? After all, I don’t usually leave him home alone, and my daughter was dying to go to the film. 

I sat down on the couch with my head bowed.

I tried to breathe deeply while I debated between consistency/follow-through and wanting to get a break/have some dang fun.

I wish this was where I’d come up with a great solution.

But it was time to leave!

Without much clarity, I yelled up to him, “Okay, come on down. I’m not happy about this but Z [daugher] and I really want to go to the movie.”

“I want you to know I’m still REALLY upset with you,” I added. “You only had to keep it together for ONE HOUR! And you couldn’t. So don’t talk to me right now!”

We drove into town in silence, parked, and began to walk to the theater. 

As we approached Main Street, we began to see teenagers in formal dress.

“Hi [G],” some called out to him. 

It was Junior-Senior Prom Night.

My heart sank.

For weeks, G had been trying to get someone to go to prom with him. He’d asked every girl he knew and even posted a request for a date on Instagram. 

A week before, he’d finally given up. And I’d forgotten. But I’m sure he hadn’t. 

In fact all day, as he’d acted out, he was probably thinking about prom and wishing he was going. 

So, yeah—my heart sank.(Yes, I know my heart “breaks” and “sinks” quite a lot. It’s just like that more often when your child  has special needs. Yes, I do know what I’m talking about, as I also have a neurotypical child. My daughter also has special needs—having developed an attachment disorder before she was adopted—but she will have a much easier time being accepted, achieving success, and getting what she wants out of people and life in general. So my heart simply doesn’t break so much with her.) 

Why couldn’t I have been more understanding, more compassionate? Presumed competence on his part and given him the basic respect of assuming he has his own reasons and concerns? 

Why did I focus on a superficial thing when my son's heart is huge—and vulnerable? 

Are there other lessons here for me here about raising an extraordinary child? About supporting rather pushing him than through his challenges? 

In any case, I’ll think twice about making assumptions. And losing my temper.  

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

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