The Rhythm Changes

Holding space for emotional recovery.

Image Description: An illustration of a butterfly flying in the sky toward a storm, with two additional butterflies holding onto the butterfly's wings, as the butterfly embraces the two butterflies below them by holding onto them as well. The text in the illustration reads, “Just because you carry heaviness well doesn’t lessen your need for community care!”

I have a lot to say, and yet lately, I feel like I haven’t had enough words to express them properly. Do you ever get to that place? I’m trying to let these words show up however they need to. The other day I shared on Instagram how it’s been 6 months since the unexpected subdural hematoma that happened to me. I talked about the emotional recovery that I am still going through, even though my body is back to a familiar pace.

When I was a kid, I never really emotionally processed what was happening to my body due to my surgeries. “Recovery” always meant something physical and not emotional. It wasn’t until adulthood that I had begun to recover from past events that my body endured on an emotional level. Our bodies may be ready for us to return to “normalcy,” but when we neglect the emotions tied to what we went through, we do ourselves and our communities a disservice.

It was telling who showed up for me during this emergency and who acted like I’ll “just be okay” because “I’ve gone through so much medically before.” I’ve been finding myself leaning toward nostalgia when the reality is that not everyone can show up for me anymore, and the ways that people had shown up for me before this time were not actually “showing up” fully at all. I really witnessed community care so much last year between raising funds for my hearing aid after it broke and having emergency brain surgeries. Friends showed up with meals, flowers, and constant check-ins. Some folks I knew didn’t have too much time, but they still showed up because they could see how intense this was for me. They knew this wasn’t “just another surgery.” Those with limited capacity checked in through calls or offered food delivery to my home when I returned from the hospital.

Last week I saw this post below by Dr. Jenn M. Jackson, and it really resonated with the emotional process I have been navigating.

Image Description: A screenshot of dr. jenn m. jackson’s twitter @JennMJacksonPhD that reads “Being perceived as not needing support or help is probably the most harmful part of overachieving.”

Image Description: A screenshot of dr. jenn m. jackson’s twitter @JennMJacksonPhD that reads “I can’t explain how awful it feels when you’re spiraling and burnt out and someone you love says, “aw, you’ll be fine!” instead of “how can I show up for you right now?”

Just because I underwent intense medical procedures in my past doesn’t lessen the intensity in the present moments of undergoing new procedures. It doesn’t lessen my need for community care. Just because I outwardly wear heavy experiences well doesn’t always mean I am always doing well. I hold gratitude for those who showed up and who still are showing up. Last year really changed my perception of care, whereas before, care felt very fickle and performative.

I spent last week catching up with any remaining friends who either visited me in the ICU or whom I hadn’t seen since before the hematoma. Last week I stopped rehashing the whole story and started to begin recovering emotionally, slowly. That doesn’t mean I won’t share the story again; it just means that I am placing a boundary that only a select few will hear what happened in full until I am able to ground emotionally with what happened. It’s Spring, and changes are on the horizon. I’m moving forward, even if that means taking more time to process privately and with my loved ones.

As much as my physical body is recovered and ready to move full speed ahead, my emotions aren’t catching up with my body just yet. That’s okay, even if Capitalism and society at large wish to avoid the delicacy of emotionally processing things that impact our bodies. My emotions will catch up eventually, and I am just trying to remain gentle with how that process goes.

1. How do you wish to be cared for and care for others in your communities?

2. How can you express a deeper need for care after years of not receiving the care you desire?