by Owona Madlingozi
I have to warn you, unlike my previous posts, I am not certain that as I begin to write this piece, that it’ll end with a silver lining or a positive outlook. Even we “joy-in-every-moment” seekers dwell in doom. In these moments, we sit in the pain and the hurt and we feel our feelings; and then we use the tools we’ve developed to get back to centre.
Much has been written about the negative impact that the pandemic has had on our individual and collective mental health. We have spent a considerable (not enough) amount of time accounting for how we have a heightened and persistent anxiety about our lives; that we’ve grown accustomed to trauma. That death, and tragedy, now looms in much the same way that cases of women being the victim of yet another heinous crime pop up on my Twitter feed. Somehow always painful, and simultaneously usual.
My friend, Tankiso Mamabolo, in her sets prefaces her song “Unwanted” by explaining the precarious situation we find ourselves as black women every time another black woman’s face comes across our feed with “MISSING”, and we click into the thread almost always anticipating an “Unfortunately we …”. I don’t know if it is as a result of personal or collective grief on my part, but I have found myself numb to the persistent notifications of unknown but familiar faces pronounced dead, having succumbed to the virus. I imagine that for those among us old enough to remember, this entire period feels like déjà vu.
In the beginning I was hopeful. I think most of the time I try to remain hopeful as an extension of my faith; however, my very human and flesh-indulgent self loses hope the minute an individual is announced to have been admitted into hospital. As Tankiso says, I anticipate grieving updates from family members or social media accounts of prominent individuals rather than updates of thanksgiving for recovery. I am simultaneously completely undone and unmoved by this constant and overwhelming grief we face, literally every day.
I could attribute the intermittent panic attacks and breakdowns to this persistent grief. I may have fooled myself into believing that the ‘normalised’ death and tragedy meant the impact would somehow miss me. Truthfully, I know nothing, and have no short or long term solutions or suggestions for how to deal with this numbing grief. It feels fraudulent to continue with my routine self-love days, decluttering my home (I spent eight hours doing this! Would, but would not recommend) and daily practices. But I do. I don’t believe I actually have the range to deal with what’s happening around us, and when I have control over nothing else, I’ll take my wins where I find them.
Won’t you look at that – sounds like a silver lining.
