I often find myself powering through things – everything from long runs when my legs feel like lead, to weeks when I’m working on 4 hours of sleep. I’m generally pretty good at being aware of my limits, but when I’m less than aware my body and mind will in no uncertain terms let me know that I need to stop – with persistent injuries and mental burnout, respectively.
Many of us have been powering through this pandemic. Frankly, it’s already broken me a few times; at some point in late May, after Pinkerton’s accident, I was on the precipice of not being able to cope at all, and again in late August I had a massive breakdown when I realized that concerts were mostly going to be canceled through the end of the year and life was absolutely, definitely never going to be the same again. I’ve made it through those low points with patience and compassion towards myself, and with the unwavering support of friends, family and particularly my husband.
He has had a LOT to power through. He was been my sounding board and cheerleader, a source of strength and consolation. He remained stoic in those first few months, slowly growing his nascent business in the midst of a pandemic as we saw my earnings plummet to zero. He powered us through Pink’s injury, financial pressure, the death of a client, my major depressive episodes, the implosion of my management company, our constant worry about elderly parents and the continuous blows to the industry that is my livelihood.
I knew that something was going to give at some point. I just didn’t think it would be the Super Bowl. I came home from a pre-game walk to find him sniffing, puffy-eyed. “The Super Bowl broke me,” he said ruefully.
A football game is fixed – the date, the exact time. It’s meant to be experienced simultaneously by everybody. It’s celebrated together, not just with family and friends, but with millions across the country. It’s a “this is happening now” kind of event, and for my husband it was a more metaphysical “this is happening now” epiphany that tumbled him into tears.
It’s hard to have the carefully constructed scaffolding that is holding us up, come crashing down. It’s hard to come to realizations of the changes in the world (some more permanent than one wants to admit), to the time we’ve lost, to the loved ones we’ve not seen. So many of us spend so much time and energy simply trying to be OK that we keep pushing that grief below the surface.
So. We talked, we laughed that it had taken him this long to have a little breakdown. We discussed the things we needed to do for each other moving forward. We agreed that things just fucking suck right now, but we’ve got each other’s back.
We’re just hoping to be able to make this for a huge gathering of friends next year: