I started riding my bike to work a few months ago. As the weather became more lovely, I started seeing more people, saying good morning to more people, waving hello to more kids in strollers, smiling at more cute dogs, saluting more of my fellow comrades on bicycles, saying thank you to more garbage and recycling collectors. And I realized just how great it felt to acknowledge, and be acknowledged by, people on my commute. Like many who tend towards cautiousness, I spent months fretting over most interactions: Was that interaction too long, too close, possibly dangerous? Can I really connect with a group of people in a Zoom meeting? Am I comfortable with the risk level of this or that in person gathering? The joy at something as simple as realizing I had said good morning to well over a dozen people (and many dogs) made me recognize how much many of us lost, at least temporarily, in terms of the small, everyday, but meaningful, interactions we have with one another–those experiences of both seeing and being seen by our communities.
People share many different types of experiences related to feeling truly seen with me, ranging from very small moments of acknowledgement (the wave or nod or “hi” at the park), to coming together with a group of people to lift many voices together at once to call for change, to those times when the things we find most uncomfortable, vulnerable, and challenging within ourselves are not only accepted but truly welcomed and embraced by a loved one. For many people there is a certain power in those moments, when we connect with others in a way that reminds us that we are part of a community, or when we are able to show something painful or dark to someone we trust allows us to see ourselves. The pandemic has been a time when many people have changed the ways in which they connect with other people–scaling back in person time with others, no longer going to some of the places that felt like home away from home, or seeing the people that we enjoyed a friendly chat with. This has, for many, fluctuated with restrictions and data about trends and feelings of safety and new information that comes out.
We are now in a moment where the delta variant is surging in Kentucky and much of the US. People are reining in their interactions once again, and many people have told me about having a sense that they are not as often in spaces where they can feel seen. Some are reevaluating their sense of community and what connections become prioritized. Many are working to stay afloat and survive as best as possible amidst transitions back to school or in person work, and another wave of the pandemic.
If you’re one of the many people considering how to maintain a sense of connection, I want to ask you to consider who sees you, and how you might grow that community. This may look minor, making eye contact with and saying hello to people in your neighborhood. This may look like staying connected with people who share your values, organizing not as much in person but online, maintaining engagement even if the format changes. This might look like seeing yourself a little differently–giving yourself the space and time to be curious about yourself, your experiences, your inner world. For some, therapy is a space of being able to be seen, not needing to present anything that feels polished (or indeed, showing up with the least polished, most messy or uncomfortable or challenging parts of yourself). As a cyclist, I want young people on wheels to hear the ding of my bell and know that I welcome them onto the road. At the library I want the librarian to know that I appreciate them, and at the grocery store I want the person stocking shelves to know that they are visible and matter. And, I want my clients to know that they can bring anything to the table, even the stuff that scares them or feels messy or unacceptable, and we can look at it together.
As a therapist I want to end on an important note here: If the thought of acknowledging things about yourself that are hard to appreciate feels uncomfortable but important, I want you to know a few things. It is part of our work as therapists to create and hold a safe space where those things can be looked at, and part of our role is to have curiosity and compassion for even some of the most challenging things about being a human. And, if that space doesn’t feel safe and welcoming to those challenging things, you don’t have to force it. I often remind my clients that they don’t owe me anything, and that the priority is not me digging up painful or challenging experiences but for my clients to get what they need from this time.