Freaking the F Out in Seattle ~ A Response to Coronavirus

“Cornflake Girl”

From Tori Amos’ instagram, a helpful way to make sure you spend 30 seconds washing you hands…

Seattle, Washingtonians, Americans, Citizens of the World

Don’t stop breathing.  Amid all the craziness of social distancing, enduring a global pandemic, please remember to breathe.  Sit the F down and do it, right now.  Health is personal.  You don’t have to have a virus to feel unwell.  It's not just about the body, it's about the mind, the heart, the spirit.  

Remember yours, honor it.  What can you do to soothe your soul?  For me, a big part of it has always been writing, connecting, magic and coaching.  As I’ve gotten older, and healthier, also dance, performanc eart, and travel.  But I have had training.  And my guess is you have too.  

I grew up with such severe asthma, I was hooked up to a nebulizer machine at least twice daily to suck in the wet mist of albuterol. During recess most days I went the nurse’s office, unable to run around without stumbling into an asthma attack.  I was embarrassed, ashamed, and lonely.  Social distancing was my way before there was a name for it. In the office, I drew, I wrote poems and stories, I talked to the adults who were kind enough to pay attention to me.

By contrast it was a small price to pay.  I have many memories of being away from home, at my babysitter’s, at my friend’s, and feeling an attack come on like a neck scarf slowly tightening around my neck.  And then, the sure sign it’s there: the attack itself.  It’s called that for a reason.  It’s war in your body.  In my late teens, I wass in a coma as a result of asthma and allergies.  But I have countless memories of sitting cross-legged, age 5-10, rocking back and forth, taking short terse breaths in, and making whatever sound I could to force the air out. Don’t stop breathing. 

Hmm….  Phphpphhh…

Whhhhh….. Ththththhh….

Hmm….  PPffffffff…..

I wanted nothing more than to cry.  To let myself feel what I was feeling, to make it disappear by expressing it, by letting it go.  But crying, it turns out, takes a lot of air, and I had no room in my lungs for air.  To express my feelings only exacerbated the attack.  Until my mom or dad came to pick me up and take me to my machine, I had to chin up, shoulder up, panic down and deal.  At a young age, I learned that the most dangerous thing in my world was actually me.  I shuffled through forgiveness and flippancy.  Despite having zero control, I learned how to self soothe. While drawing rainbows and unicorns I decided life was not all rainbows an unicorns.  But I also decided it was still worth it to draw.

While my asthma improved drastically in my teens, I still suck on an inhaler every now and again.  And that inability to breathe has now migrated into panic attacks, a similar demon I know how to handle.

The isolation and health problem gave me a unique perspective.  It was in a way, a gift.  I was practicing mindfulness before I knew what it was.  I had a deep sense of compassion for those who might be suffering.  I knew the hard shit couldn’t be avoided, and at times I just laughed it off.  People have told me all my life I’m courageous, I’m capable.  I don’t know if I am, truly, but I keep walking when I am freaking the F out. 

And yesterday I freaked the F out.  Everything that’s happening around the coronavirus is triggering.  

Social distancing is a trauma I’ve already lived through – and connecting with good people is one of the best healers.  To have been home from work with a head cold that is now migrating into my chest is low-key gruesome. I don’t think I have this flu, but I can’t help imagining what it’s like to be unable to breathe.  Because I’ve often been unable to breathe.  

At first I thought this was all a joke, an exaggeration.  I was upset that I had to go in to work, but couldn’t go out to play. I was, at the onset, healthy. But yesterday, when Gov Inslee ordered the schools to be closed, it all changed.  

We are shutting down our systems, I thought.  That’s what the hospice nurse said about my dad as he was dying.  “His systems are shutting down.”  I couldn’t help but slide into fear. What is essential?  What is not essential?  Who gets cared for?  There is so much uncertainty here, and so little I feel I can do. 

But I can do this.  Write.  Acknowledge that I am already blessed.  I have a job where I can work remotely.  I have an apartment where I can easily isolate.  I have a supercute dog to keep me company.  I have amazing friends and family, and we have all been checking on each other, supporting one another.  I have so many tools for body, mind, and spirit.  But the first, the most important is this: breathe.

My eclectic friends, this is the time to reach into our stories, to remember the darkness we’ve already endured, and the light that has pulled us out. If you have to freak the F out, go ahead. If you need a friend, and you want to tell your story, I’m here. We will get through this.  It’s going to be okay.