I thought it was me. I thought it was leftover meno panic, or unprocessed midlife anxiety. I thought maybe it was the dental news that sent me over an edge. “Your bucket was full, and this made it overflow,” said Abby the acupuncturist. It didn’t make sense. Sure, life has been sort of challenging this year. But not like last year. Or the year before. Or the four before that. I’ve been feeling pretty good, fairly strong and frankly normal, after a season (or four) in hell. My bucket didn’t feel so full.
I thought my little autumn meltdown was a me problem. Now I realize that it was the election, all along. The election fucked me up.
The onrushing defense of democracy sent my bucket sloshing all over my shoes and I didn’t even see it coming. Waiting in line to vote — in a midterm! — crystallized things for me. For months, I’ve pushed away the polls and all the headlines about dire outcomes. I saw them, of course, but refused to go down those rabbit holes. Refused to give my energy to the noise, as I have in the past. This made me feel a little calmer, safe from the worst of the storms.
Alas.
My tiny rural voting place was unusually crowded, especially for a midterm. Good sign or bad? As I waited in line, the panic blossomed. Why? Because I have been carrying this shit around for so long and it hurts. It is hurting us. We are all hurting, whether we know it or not!
I continue to learn so much about myself.
I think we’ve all been wrestling a burden, for years. Unacknowledged pain, fear, rage, and disgust. 2016 with all of its fury, that horrible election eve, those four terrible, terrifying years. A pandemic! Insurrection! Rogue SCOTUS! So much has happened, we’ve been juggling more and faster, for a long time. We’re spent. Damaged. I thought I’d mostly recovered, found tentative footing in a trembling world, but it’s not true. The world still quakes.
I’ve heard so many people expressing the same thing. High anxiety, tooth grinding, stress eating. Our poor nervous systems can't take much more. Will every election going forward do this to us? Can we not just stand in line on a crisp, bright day at an elementary school and feel proud of ourselves for doing our civic duty? Reward ourselves with a Krispy Kreme or something? Must it be ear seeds and Rescue Remedy forever?
These last few toxic election cycles have felt more consequential than ever. Because they are! Basic human rights are on the ballot. Women’s reproductive freedom, voting rights, civil rights, the survival of the planet and therefore the human race. It feels like we’re clawing our way to sanity, and the results often make no sense.
I was absolutely despondent, in a leave-the-country kind of way, after both of Shrub's elections. These feel like different times, though, more visceral and shrill. I'm so glad that all four of my kids take voting rights seriously. The young people may save us.
A few days later, there are some victories. But I’m honestly having a hard time feeling optimistic about a country that re-elects Marjorie Three Names or that Rand Paul person. DeSantis is terrifying and Rubio? Abbott and Kemp?! Jesus Christ on a cracker. The Boebert thing is driving me crazy. My district elected a nasty, election-denying Bad Word who is publicly LOLing at the Pelosi attack, and all I can do is vote and watch. The pundits say, “good news!” and I see it, but I’m weary. Punch drunk and rattled. Again.
This cycle has us out here questioning our sanity. Wringing our wrung out hands.
I know, we turn the ship by inches and there’s a lot to fix. Gerrymandering, voter suppression, all sorts of questionable behavior by the party that can only win by cheating. We better fix it soon, though, because I can’t melt down every two years anymore. It’s just not sustainable.
So, if you’re falling apart and don’t know why: It’s probably not you. It’s not hormones or lack of sleep, not dentistry or bad fish. It’s not your age or your vitamin levels. It’s the world. Do what you can (vote! organize! donate!) and forget about it. Read a good book, make a cake, take a walk, write a letter. Whatever it takes to reclaim your body — and your sanity — from the forces of evil. If only I could take my own advice.
Things to share:
I started watching Julia, because I love food and desperately needed a warm and welcoming treat, and am delighted to discover midlife Julia wrangling her ambition and desire. So great to see a bright, fifty-something woman building a second act. It’s a feast for the senses, with gorgeous retro sets and lots of food. (It’s also fun -and jarring! - to see Niles and Lilith together.) On a sad, but related note: RIP Julie Powell. I loved Julie and Julia, and the blog that built it. She showed us what food writing can be.
Happy Friday!
Lisa