We Don’t Have to Make Meaning of This

A few weeks ago, my partner of 8 years and I split up.

It was mutual. We loved each other deeply but agreed that we were not the best fit and that the next few years of our lives were heading down different paths. Rather than allow resentment or regret to set in, we decided to part on good terms.

The choice had been made after months of deliberation and was about as crushing as I’d expected it to be. I took days off work to lie in bed and cry — but I had prepared. I had a 2 week trip to Greece with a friend all booked. I had received a grant to organize a full day event for emerging writers from marginalized communities. Spring was around the corner, and I could spend more time away from spaces filled with memories. I was going to pole classes again and had brunch plans every other day.

I cope by organizing, and I’m really good at it. I get things done. It makes me feel in control when my mental and emotional states slip out of control. As I watched my meticulous scheduling unravel over the course of the past 10 days, glimpses of hopelessness that I hadn’t felt in 6 years snuck in. How do you plan without the faintest sense of what the future could look like, long term or short?

In the midst of it all, there stood guilt. I’m an introvert and creative after all. I had so many books lying around to read. I had piles of scrapbook materials. My writing had piled up, and I had no shortage of submissions and personal projects — but I couldn’t do any of it. I still can’t.

Like everyone in the world right now — and indeed like our society as a whole — I’m being forced to reevaluate core aspects of my identity and reckon with once unshakeable truths. Recognizing that control is an illusion while processing the earth-shattering loss of a loved one in a radically limited new world has sapped all of my capacity.

The kindest thing to do has been to honour that. I’m not ready to be in a learning state, or a productive state, or even a positive state. I don’t want to hear about this experience being an opportunity for growth or inspiration, and I’m sick of the privileged using the suffering of others as another lesson in their spiritual journey.

This isn’t to say that we shouldn’t radically change throughout and after the worst has passed. I very much bank on that happening, because inequality has never felt as stark. I imagine I’ll get to a place where I can contribute to that positively and move forward as a better person, but that isn’t happening today.

Today, I’m doing what I can. I’m finding joy in every sliver still available — taking walks, sitting by the window soaking up the sun, playing board games with my family, baking, calling a friend.

We have all lost so much so suddenly, and I have to believe that it’s okay to put meaning-making aside, for as long as each of us needs.