It Really Wasn’t About Grounding at All
Have you ever sat in the middle of your home, turned off all the music, shut off all of the chattering from the TV, shut the windows, opened the blinds, and just sat in the natural light and background noise that the world gave to you?
It’s soothing. And calming. But more so, it’s very grounding.
Sometimes when the world feels like it is closing in on you, and seems as if suffocation is a better option than disappearing, an exercise I like to do that has yet to fail me, is to do something grounding.
If you live by a highway, it could be focusing in on the cars passing you by, moments otherwise gone, with people that never actually interacted with you. It could also be listening to the sound of the wind if you live in the country side, and paying close attention to the prayers they’re whistling to you on your front door. Or zoning in on the thousands of conversations standing outside your window should you live in a city. Trying your best to grasp on to the many different types of voices, both low and high pitched, depressed and ecstatic, sad and enthusiastic.
And all the while you’re just sitting there. Paying attention. Sitting there, giving your ears to those who will never know you heard them.
Sometimes the loudest voices are the quietest ones.
This blog was written for an English 300 level course, with a dear friend who lost her battle, but not her fight, to suicide in 2018. We live on for those who are no longer here, and carry them with use no matter where we go. Mental health advocates are an essential piece to the heart of a human life. Life is like a relay race. And I’m just carrying the baton she didn’t know she passed on to me.
Words I wished I had to give to her back then: It’s okay to not be okay. What’s not okay, is turning and walking away.
Take that metaphor however you’d like.
