If You Won’t Say It, I Will
There is an unspoken, quiet grief that many of us carry. One I’ve noticed amongst my Gen-Z peers and myself.
It exists in the thick air, weight of conversations, and heavy exhaustion that sits in our minds. I even see it in the solemn eyes of friends, my endless social media feed, and interactions between one another in the outside world.
It didn’t always used to be like this.
Although the COVID-19 pandemic was almost six years ago, it feels like just yesterday when I heard news of the rising public health concerns. Up until then, life felt hopeful, limitless, and full of starry-eyed dreams. For me, life still feels that way but much more dampened by the realities of the current state of the world. Not to mention, the struggles that young people everywhere are experiencing. The 17 year old adolescent version of me in her freshman year of college is vastly different from the 23 year old woman I see in the mirror every day, the one doing her best to navigate the world on her own since graduation.
But I will say that ever since then, there’s been a shift in myself – my friends, classmates, and colleagues, too. We’ve been looking for cathartic ways to deal with this grief – by prioritizing mental health and wellness and using methods to cope that may not be understood by previous generations.
From my collective experiences, observations, and verbal exchanges, this grief I speak of appears to be recognized as ubiquitous amongst young people, whether they outwardly acknowledge it or not. It crosses borders, languages, and cultures.
For many, the grief came when the COVID-19 pandemic abruptly arrived at a period of transition from adolescence to adulthood. During lockdown, some young adults tried to grasp onto that last bit of adolescence as much as they could by returning to previous pastimes they enjoyed from their childhood. Others began strict mental health and wellness regimens as another means of coping that still remain with them today. A lot of people also found safety and refuge in the online world.
This grief is the mourning of adolescence to adulthood, girlhood to womanhood, and so much more. Like maneuvering through an unstable job market, figuring out how you’re going to finance graduate school, finding affordable healthcare options, trying as hard as you can to save up enough money to live on your own independently, and witnessing the rise of socio-political division. For some, it’s even deciding whether to spend fifty dollars on a night out with their friends or on a full tank of gas for their weekly work commute instead.
To deal with these emotions, young people may look towards cathartic practices like morning meditation, religiously journaling, and weekly therapy sessions. But other coping methods in coexistence are not as polished. Like the messy side where one ugly cries at unexpected times, doomscrolls until they fall asleep, or escapes to the fiction books on their To Be Read list.
These practices come in the tangible manifestation of consumable pocket-sized items, too.
Like a weekly $8 matcha purchase.
Acquirement of the newest Sonny Angel.
And yes, maybe even the securement of a collectible Labubu or two.
For me, my catharsis is experienced in two different ways:
Writing
Girl Talk
A few months ago, I was inspired to write by a close friend of mine. Someone I would define as a writer, creative, and deep thinker. My permission to write was granted to me through their encouragement, something I didn’t even know I was searching for. Since then, my writing has become an activity I have chosen to perform with intention for my own fulfillment and as a creative outlet. A place of necessity where I can release my thoughts, emotions, and lessons learned to feel a cathartic sense of enlightenment.
In other instances, my catharsis takes place in the form of heart to heart conversations with my closest friends. The type of girl talks that range anywhere from what we last ate to our careers to deep dives into philosophical topics. I cherish these moments more than my friends will ever know. There’s just an inevitable internal cathartic sigh I release once I sense mutual understanding, companionship, respect, and support.
A fact I’ve come to terms with is that chapters of grief are a part of life. While we try our hardest to push it away, hide from it, and minimize it – the feeling is inescapable. I’ve learned that if any of us are going to survive it, we have to do it together with strength, unity, and of course – our very own means of catharsis.