You’re Different than You Used to Be

What have you learned in the past year?

A dear friend just told me she didn’t want to answer that question, because she didn’t want to hold on to anything 2020 brought with it. She admitted her resistance came from the pain of loss this past year, from not wanting to face the grief of the collective trauma we’ve all experienced.

I get it.

During some of the hardest times of my life, looking for the silver lining was the last thing I wanted to do. Like my friend, I didn’t want to believe that growth could come from my struggle. It almost seemed insulting when people suggested that my pain would eventually be used for good, unintentionally minimizing what I was going through.

Looking for meaning felt like salt in my wounds when I just needed someone to bandage them up.

My 7-year-old, Connley, just bought himself some used rollerblades at Goodwill and has been skating like a madman for hours everyday. You would think he’s training for the rollerblade Olympics by how hard and fast he skates–this kid holds nothing back.

Every few minutes, I’ll hear his body slam against the sidewalk and peek over the front porch railing to make sure he’s getting back up. Most of the time, it’s like he didn’t even feel the fall. He just hops back up and keeps skating. 

A couple times each day, though, I’ll hear the smack of skin on pavement, then silence followed by some dramatic moaning. In those instances, checking in from the porch just won’t do. So I get up and walk across the yard to where Connley lays sprawled out on the sidewalk.

“Are you okay, buddy?” I ask him knowingly.

“Nooooo,” he groans with plenty of melodrama.

I get down on my knees next to him. “What happened?” 

He launches into the story and recounts every detail of how he fell, pointing out every part of his body that sustained injury.

“Ouch, buddy. That sounds like it really hurt!” More often than not, he nods in agreement, then pushes himself back up and starts skating again. 

He just needs me to listen to his story and acknowledge his hurt.

It’s been a painful year in so many ways. Like my friend, you may not be ready to process what you’ve learned yet. You might just need to sit for a bit and grieve your losses, maybe even naming the places you’re hurting and letting someone you trust hear about your ache.

That’s okay. Give yourself permission and space to grieve. It’s necessary and healthy to do so.

Then, when you’re ready, I know you’ll find your way back onto your feet again. You’ll be different when you do, though, because you’ll have learned something important about yourself:

You’re a survivor.

No matter what you faced in the past twelve months (or more specifically, over the past nine when the pandemic hit hardest), you lived through it. No doubt you’ve got battle scars, but you didn’t let your disappointments or losses take you out completely. How do I know?

You’re still here.

No, the journey isn’t over yet, but you’re still putting one foot in front of the other. Don’t minimize the victory of surviving 2020. You did it. No matter how hard things got, you didn’t quit.

Sometimes that’s all perseverance is–not quitting. You may have needed to lay on the sidewalk for a bit until someone came to check on you, but you eventually got back up and kept skating. And the amazing thing about not quitting for long enough?

It changed you.

You’re different than you used to be.

You’re braver. Stronger. More compassionate. More grateful. More battered and bruised, but also more determined and resilient.

Even though it may feel a bit uncomfortable, even though it may not come naturally, don’t miss the chance to look back and remember how far you’ve come. And if you can, tell someone your story and ask them about theirs.

Remembering might actually be the key to our healing.

In hopes of getting us started, here are a few things I learned this past year, in no particular order:

1. Endurance comes from doing hard things.

This hit me over the head on a run a couple months ago as I finished a route I’d struggled with earlier in the year. I didn’t do anything special–I just kept showing up one run at a time, putting one foot in front of the other. And you know what? It’s not as hard anymore. It turns out we build endurance by…enduring.

2. My gifts are needed & it’s worth fighting to share them with the world.

Using my gifts in new ways this year created a sense of internal progress even while stuck in hard circumstances. I learned to ask for help and support from others, to intentionally schedule blocks of uninterrupted time, & to move through fear and self-doubt for the sake of growing new skills. Writing, coaching, building a new website, & creating resources to serve others reminds me that the world needs what I can bring. The world needs what you can bring, too.

3. Gentleness heals perfectionism.

My expectations of myself came crashing down this year. I disappointed friends and family. I cancelled plans and couldn’t commit. I drank wine and baked cookies and gained weight. The voice of self-criticism berated me for not trying hard enough and my anxiety skyrocketed. Then my spiritual director asked, “What would gentleness toward yourself look like right now?” It looked like letting go–of plans, expectations, control. I practiced talking to myself with more compassion, reminding myself that I did the best I could and it was enough.

4. Curiosity leaves no room for judgement.

No matter the issue, it was impossible to be unaffected by the polarization we all experienced last year. To mask or not to mask, to gather or quarantine, to support black lives or police officers, to vote for one candidate or against them–I often felt conflicted, confused, & misunderstood. It seemed like each choice I made lumped me into one category or another, but not a single category truly represented the complexity of my values. It made me curious–why does it have to be either one or the other? What am I assuming about someone else’s story? What information do I still need to form a thoughtful opinion? How might my actions be interpreted by those around me? The more questions I ask, the more compassion I experience for the pain we all carry. I can’t be curious and judgmental at the same time.

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What about you? What is something you learned in 2020?  We’re different than we used to be, friend. And that’s not just a silver lining–it’s transformation. 

If you’re looking for a tool to reflect on the year, here is a guide you might find helpful. Use it however you’d like, whenever you are ready. You are right where you need to be today.