look at what they’ve done
the earth cried to the moon
they’ve turned me into one entire bruise
– green and blue
(rupi kaur, the sun and her flowers)
In addition to my work as a coach with Novus Global, I also work on a crisis response team called Evacuate Our Allies. We are a frontlines operation center managing Whatsapp, email, and phone line to support Afghans left behind, Afghans who worked with us over the last 20 years keeping Americans safe as interpreters, drivers, aid workers, activists, journalists, and judges.
The work is hard and important. Heavy and meaningful. On some days there is grief, like seeing the photo of a home turned inside out after a raid. And on some days there is a moment of joy, like seeing a photo of a family with a newborn in Kabul receiving an emergency package with a fresh onesie, diapers, and food.
I read rupi kaur’s poem (above) last night which, in three short lines, gave breath and color and weight to the grief all around us, from Afghanistan to Ukraine, from caring for aging parents to becoming new parents, from social isolation to winter blues, from moving homes to starting jobs, from losing friendships to starting new ones.
In the midst of productivity soundbites and affirmation reels and the relentless pressure to be positive and whole and endlessly growing (in joy, income, confidence, and all the rest), I stop to wonder…
how are we holding space for grief? space to hold those around us, and to let ourselves be held by them.
I find it crucial…imperative, even…to hold space for grief (+ rest), in order to be the person I want to be and do the things I want to do.
I do not exist in states of 100% grief or 100% joy, rather, there are fluctuating moments or seasons of each.
Regularly noticing, greeting, and caring for grief allows us to experience it rather than feel trapped by it. Only by moving through emotions can we move past them. (Brene Brown has a fascinating podcast interview on this concept).
This week, I am grieving…
…the millions of people displaced and in fear and in danger following Putin’s invasion of Ukraine…
…the millions of people hungry and in fear and in danger since the American withdrawal and Taliban takeover of Afghanistan…
…my inability to return to China until they reopen the borders to foreigners…
…my grandpa’s birthday, he would have turned 88 yesterday, March 10.
…two dear friends going through hardship…
Giving space to grief doesn’t always mean breaking down in tears (though sometimes it does). Perhaps it’s a moment of quiet, a prayer said aloud, a call to a friend, a deep breath standing in a patch of sun on the sidewalk before walking on.
This week, I am letting myself be held…
…by my mom, who is forever my rock and my hero…
…by poets and artists, like rupi kaur, who can voice on the outside what I’m feeling on the inside…
…by dinner with friends who feed my soul…
…by spending 2 hours shopping mid-week, alone, without headphones at Goodwill (because I love thrifting + alone-time + quiet for my brain to wander…and also because most of my clothes are in purgatory in China until the borders reopen)…
Rooting for you,
Jen
