More than three months have passed since the World Health Organization declared the coronavirus a pandemic. Initially, shock and denial gave way to coping with humor: There were a plethora of jokes on social media about introverts thriving and extroverts languishing under these dystopian conditions. There was wistful reminiscence of “the last time” we hugged a friend or sat down to eat at a restaurant, and planning for what we’d do when things went back to normal. I, like many Americans, thought that the coronavirus would quickly run its course, that after a month or so things would return to normal. Of course, that assumes that there is a “normal” that awaits us someday.Yet as the days turn to weeks and the weeks turn to months, the novelty of staying home has worn off. The partisan wave of anti-lockdown protests that sprang up all over the country showed the desire for normalcy at its extreme, but even those who are responsibly limiting contact with others are feeling the frustration. Students are growing weary of online instruction and long to see their teachers and classmates in person. Many of those who were gainfully employed before the pandemic are now unemployed and anxious as bills mount. Essential workers are risking exposure to the virus when they clock in. In the quest to return to normal, many states have reopened despite cautions given by scientific experts who warn of a second wave of outbreaks, which is now on the horizon, due to the premature reopening of states.
I have formed a new ritual: Every day, I take to my laptop with my phone in hand, say a prayer, and call unemployment and log on to the website simultaneously, hoping to finally get through and join the 38 million unemployed Americans who have applied for benefits since March. Thus far, I’ve been unsuccessful. The fear that I may have to live like this for a year or more has sent me into a tailspin of profound uncertainty and self-doubt, which causes me to question my value. Like many, I have been socialized in the crucible of capitalism, which binds our worth to our production.
Additionally, radical acceptance is not a call to stoicism. An array of emotions (anger, fear, anxiety, grief, etc.) may arise within you in response to reality. Suppressing these emotions can be tempting, but allowing yourself to feel whatever you feel without judgment is also a kind of radical acceptance. And I have found that radical acceptance can be freeing—accepting what you cannot change enables you to focus on what you can. I see a sense of that freedom in these protests; indeed, if radical acceptance is radical truth, as Linehan says, then white supremacy and police brutality are the truths we must see to change reality. Letting ourselves feel the anger and grief that come with those truths will free us.
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