A word that I keep returning to is “meaning.” What is the meaning in this pandemic? How can I make sheltering at home a meaningful experience for me? What should I be learning? How can I use this experience to help transform me into a better version of myself?

Yesterday I listened to the Unlocking Us podcast, specifically the episode called “David Kessler and Brené on Grief and Finding Meaning,” and the conversation made we wonder if I am trying to extract some meaning out of this adventure in order to “pole vault” over my feelings.

Huh.

Maybe??

But then I remembered my experiences with postpartum depression. In the beginning, I did not have much self-awareness of what was happening to me. I was slipping into the darkness of depression, extreme anxiety and debilitating OCD and could not even see that I had a bona fide mental illness. I was floundering; and then I was suffering; and then I was slipping into the abyss of despair and struggling with suicidal thoughts. It was terrifying and at the time, did not feel even the least bit meaningful.

But it was.

Postpartum depression was one of the most meaningful experiences of my life. I just could not see that when I was suffering from insomnia, guilt, despair, and a host of other fun symptoms. I was too lost in the suffering to see that postpartum depression was for me more than a mental illness. It was the crisis that prompted me to examine my life and realize that I had been suffocating my authentic self. At the time that I had PPD, I actually lamented to my therapist, Why me? Now, I tell my (new) therapist, Thank God it was me.

My experience with postpartum depression opened my eyes to how life’s darkest experiences can lead to the most radiant light. That is why I am casting around for meaning now. I can sense from past experience that it is somewhere close.

But I could not see the meaning of postpartum depression when I was in the PPD trenches, and I am sensing that I will not understand the full meaning of the Covid-19 adventure until it is long over.

That does not mean I am going to zone out with Netflix all day and ignore my questions about what this experience means for me. That’s not my process. I started writing my PPD memoir when I still had postpartum depression. Part of me thought I was being a bit ridiculous, trying to write about an experience that I was still living, but I also knew it was something I had to do. So I wrote and sought meaning and wrote, and the writing I did was more important to my recovery than all of the other things I did combined (and that includes my four night stay in a psych ward, daily Zoloft and weekly cognitive behavioral therapy).

I’m not saying every mom who gets PPD needs to write in order to recover, and the same is true for people living through this sheltering-at-home adventure. I, though, am a writer. I was born to write and tell stories. I tried to deny my calling for years and it just about drove me mad. Not everyone was born to write, but we all have our something, and that something is often the thing that can lead us from darkness back into the light.

I started writing about PPD when I still had PPD and writing helped me understand just what it meant for me to have a mental illness. I did not start with that intention. I just knew I had to write about PPD when I still had PPD because every cell in my body was crying out for me to do that. Now I have started blogging about sheltering-at-home while we are still sheltering-at-home. We do not even know for certain when this will end! But writing is my anchor. It is helping me understand what is happening to me now – or at least begin the process of understanding what is happening to me. I won’t be able to appreciate the magnitude of this until it is over, and probably not even then.

But it is still not too early to begin healing.

So to circle back to the question I had at the beginning of this post: am I trying to bypass my difficult feelings by seeking meaning from The Great 2020 Adventure? I think yes, I was, but now that I am aware of the danger, I won’t fall into that trap again.

It’s certainly tempting to use meaning to bypass uncomfortable feelings. Holy shit, I certainly have no shortage of uncomfortable feelings these days! It’s so easy to think, if this is a meaningful experience, then I don’t need messy feelings. Why should I waste my time being sad or angry or frustrated when this experience is so rich and lush with meaning? Can’t I just shut up and be grateful and soak up the existential meaning?

I’m being humorous but also deadly serious. It is so easy to think that since sheltering-at-home is an opportunity to grow as a person, I better put on my big girl pants and stop wallowing in grief and sorrow already. In fact, I think that is what I was doing.

But finding meaning is good! It helped me heal from PPD! Ack! What should I do? Seek meaning or hang out with my feelings???

But it’s not an either/or proposition. I am starting to understand (veeeeerrrry slooooowwwly) that I can seek meaning from this experience AND still feel all the feelings.

The Unlocking Us podcast episode really struck a chord with me yesterday. because I was subconsciously trying to submerge some difficult feelings beneath a glossy sheen of meaning.

Fortunately, awareness of a problem is also often the solution to said problem.

I was sad this morning. It’s Easter Sunday and instead of taking my kids to a big family gathering, we were at home. All day. Just like yesterday. And the day before that … I felt frustrated and claustrophobic. I went on a walk. And for about twenty minutes, I listened to songs that helped me wallow in my melancholy.

Then, I felt a loosening. I sensed it was time to switch gears. I started listening to more upbeat music and by the time I got home, I felt a little better. I still felt sad but I also felt content and happy and a whole other slew of feelings.

I think I’m ready to let myself feel all my complicated contradictory feelings while still looking around for meaning and transformation. For me, it’s the best way to start healing even in the midst of a traumatic experience.