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What to Do with Sadness
I've officially moved to Pittsburgh. I love our new apartment. I love Pittsburgh's restaurants, nature, art, and festivals.
And yet, I'm feeling sad most days, grieving the move away from my community in DC. It's been almost two months and the reality that I don't know many people in my new city has been harder than I hoped.
My job as a somatic practitioner is to help people feel and work with our big feelings. And it's always humbling for me when I am reminded how hard it is to do this myself. I'm trying not to push down the sadness, the loneliness, or the frustration at not being able to move past it already. I'm letting myself feel it, sharing it with others, and going at a slower pace than I normally do.
What do you do when you're feeling sad?
A few of my favorite spots in the new apartment.
I'm noticing that people say well-meaning things when I share that I'm sad:
"It'll get better."
"You should see this year as an adventure."
"Don't worry, you'll make new friends."
But often I feel worse after hearing these. Sheepishly, I'm realizing that I've also said these accidentally dismissive things to my people when they're sad: "On the bright side..." or "at least it's not worse."
Some words that have made me feel better:
"It makes sense to feel sad."
"I felt so sad when I moved, too."
"It's okay to take things slow."
It's helping me most when my loved ones acknowledge the sadness I'm feeling and don't try to minimize it.
What do you say to those you care about when they seem down? How can we as a community get better at being with sadness, our own and others?
Pittsburgh events I'm enjoying: a native plant sale and Picklesburgh Festival.
As I look to the broader world, there is so much to grieve. But many of us aren't practiced at being with difficult feelings. We often avoid, ignore, or dismiss the harms around us—and the ways we may contribute to or benefit from them.
My teachers, especially Cari Cadwell and Anela Barboza-Seliskar, have been encouraging questions around grief as a political practice. Being with our own uncomfortable feelings is a first step toward building our capacity to truly feel the weight of the harms around us. Maybe feeling our grief can change how we understand what is happening and how we imagine responding to it.
What might the world look like if we knew how to grieve better and together?
Loving all the different kinds of street art in this city.
This reflection originally appeared in my monthly newsletter. If you'd like to receive future reflections and invitations to practice together, you can sign up for my newsletter.