Hey,
34 years ago today, we buried my father. And one week ago today, my dear friend lost her own beloved father. When I read his death announcement and saw his given name, I didn’t recognize it at all. Throughout the years I’ve known my friend, I’ve only referred to her father as “Daddy.” Not because he was a stand-in for my own father, but because that’s how much she adored him. Even though she was nearing 50, he was “Daddy” and he still smiled at her like she was the little girl he just may swoop onto his shoulders if he could. That says it all, doesn’t it? The beautiful bittersweet taste of a life well lived: The love, the loss, the joy, the sorrow.
On Friday, the anniversary of my father’s death, I took her teen daughters shopping for funeral dresses. The girls and I had a such a wonderful time together despite the somber occasion. We side-eyed at all the “stripper shoes” Macy’s was hawking and pondered together if their favorite options would be too hot for June or too tight for a funeral. We sat at the food court, and I spilled the tea on my life while they sipped their Boba, “You what??” the girls squealed in both delight and horror, “And then, what happened??” They waited patiently while I savored my KFC (please…there are no good food courts in Manhattan!) and politely demanded, “Miss Atoosa, can you please get back to the story?” I told them the stories of my family, my troubles, my triumphs. We bonded through the agonies and the joys of those experiences. I explained how the hard stuff was also part of the recipe. Not just the sweet stuff. And there are no “bad” ingredients or people just hard ones to peel like the onion that was impossible for me until I started wearing contacts while I did it. Alas, they weren’t totally sold on that non-binary view of people and situations. In reference to one of my tales, they told their mom, “Miss Atoosa is so peaceful. I would have slashed his tires!” which reminded me of the time the ex-girlfriend of one of my boyfriends did, in fact, slash my tires! But we connected. We connected.
On the drive home, I couldn’t help but reflect on my own father’s funeral where fashion, too, played a role for me. Albeit a different one. You know how I was raised. No one told me my dad died much the less took me shopping for dresses. So, when I came down the stairs moments before we left for the cemetery, I embodied my own brand of forgotten yet fierce John Hughes heroine dressed like Grace Jones with the body of Emily Ratajowski. Alas, my older brother sent me right back upstairs to change. “This is not appropriate for your father’s funeral.” I had never gone to a funeral before, much the less my father’s funeral. Left to my own 16-year-old devices, what else could I be influenced by other than my beloved MTV. Take two had me looking more Robert Palmer girl than grieving futuristic sex pot. I guess the outfit was acceptable because we silently left when I came down.
I grew up in a household that didn’t talk about anything uncomfortable.
There was no familial witnessing of any of our harder life moments. I didn’t share about the many heart breaks and betrayals I, like you, experienced as a teenager. I didn’t tell anyone the first time I had sex. Or any of my bad grades or the trouble I got into at school. I only shared about the scholarship I won, or the college acceptance letters I got in the mail. You know, the good stuff: The I’m-a-winner-not-a-loser façade that is the norm on social media. It was a big burden to carry on my own - all that heaviness, on my little shoulders. Maybe you relate.
I feel so lucky to have had that experience as a child, so I can try something different with my own family. We make a lot of space for feelings over here. Yes, we laugh a lot: We’re a silly bunch. But our family is also going through a difficult divorce. That means thoughts I wouldn’t have dared express at their age, they speak at the dinner table. Feelings I would’ve edited until my 40s (yeah, Unedited! 💁🏻♀️) roll off their tongues in the moment. And sometimes, in moments of alchemical emotional magic, during our most painful experiences, we end up doubled over in laughter.
In a culture that only promotes shiny, happy people, we risk losing the authenticity of our lives. The beautiful spectrum of experiences that takes us from agony to ecstasy: The true meaning of “Life is Beautiful,” the flavor of which is bittersweet, not saccharine. But this issue is even more urgent than simply living a richer life. When the adults in a culture can only handle the positive, we put the burden of all our grief and fear on the children to process alone. On a tiny scale, imagine 16-year-old Atoosa processing the death of her father alone…and as a result I’m still processing it at age 50. That’s small beans in the grand scheme of what our world faces today.
I believe we’re suffering a soul pandemic. Our fear- and grief-phobic culture is making children (and grownups) bottle these feelings until they explode with tragic consequences. The absence of the required witnessing, the required adult societal digestion of grief and fear, coupled with an everything-is-Insta-perfect, isolated media and gaming culture, is resulting in unspeakable tragedies among our youngest people. More and more they turn on themselves (suicide) and turn on others (school shootings) because it’s just too much to bear. Yes, there’s a lot of room for better gun laws. (Go to The People’s Filibuster and give your testimony.) But can we start even closer to home?
Perhaps this is just a suggestion to allow space within our own families and communities for the digestion of the whole spectrum of feelings and experiences. The everything-is-GREAT vibe we aspire to exude is a false and toxic positivity. And we don’t need to walk around sobbing non-stop, either. There is a middle ground where we become the wise ones. The wonderful Jack Kornfield often says about the ideal meditation posture: Let yourself sit upright with the quiet dignity of a King or a Queen. That’s what I am holding in my heart for us. May we have the courage and compassion of the most benevolent King or Queen toward ourselves and each other. Let’s show up for this gorgeous life in all its fullness. The heart is big enough to hold it all. I have found, with meditation, my interior spaciousness has become exponentially more available to me. Paid subscribers can get some of my favorite guided meditations below.
Here for your spectrum of feelings, 24/7, as always, at atoosa@atoosa.com.
xo, atoosa
Soundtrack of my 🤍🖤❤️:
Listen to this episode with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Atoosa Unedited to listen to this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.
