by nature, and before the pandemic, the personal space rule eluded me. not so unexpectedly, redefined boundaries would prove equally challenging.
at the grocery store, i stood on my tiptoes to grab something from a top shelf, unaware that a woman stood less than a foot away. she turned sharply, her voice edged with disgust, and yelled at me to step back, to keep my space.
shocked, my eyes watered, an unmasked, visceral reaction. i stepped back, apologized, looked down, told myself to calm down, that it wasn’t personal, that i was being too sensitive, that her fear wasn’t mine to judge.
but something within was hurting, something i didn’t want to face or name, and i wouldn’t step foot in a grocery store again for three years.
eventually, i could name it: i had re-experienced a familiar, perpetuating shame, one born from a natural desire for closeness.
covid became an opportunity to observe and practice a variety of approaches to character work through fear and grief; some mine, some belonging to others. it was a lesson in holding space, not just for others, but for myself, without need for decoration, distancing, or apology.

Leave a comment