Musings on Containment
I'm lying in bed on a sick day at home. A few moments ago I scrolled through my Instagram feed and stumbled on a post by Emily McDowell, the brilliant "empathy card" creator whose craft is based on the real experiences and relationships of humans-- not the glossed-over ones that we often find on greeting cards. The post I read was a card that said something like, "When the going gets tough, you cry in the car."
I thought about it for a moment. I thought, "What is it about the car that provides safety for our most raw, unfiltered moments of emotion?"
It's containment.
I thought about similar spaces that hold people in their most fragile moments. Bathroom stalls. Tiny chapels in hospitals or airports. Attics or basements. I'm reminded of farmers and gardeners who place sheets over their garden beds, to protect young seedlings and plants from destructive weather.
In my mom's first church appointment as a pastor, I converted her walk-in closet into my own personal hangout space, where I'd sprawl out on a sleeping bag and read books or play games. Occasionally I'd invite a church friend to join, but it was usually just for me.
Many years later when I lived in Boston, I'd often journal on the train when I knew it wouldn't be too crowded. I'm grateful for the many stalls that have contained my tears after moments of deep pain, rejection, or confusion. I give thanks for the important epiphanies and moments of processing life that happen in trains, cars, and kitchens.
There are also limits to the ability of such spaces to be truly safe for all of us: Bathroom stalls become politicized places to attack and erase trans people. Cars can be spaces of violence and harm. Chapels can, even if unintentionally, automatically exclude folks who are not religious or who practice faith traditions that are not Christian. Small spaces in general can be frightening for people-- the feeling of being closed in can be scary.
It seems to me, therefore, that we ought to ask more questions about how we're shaping the spaces of our lives: can they contain us and our fellow humans when we're burdened, drained, or lost-- when we just need four walls to offer us some semblance of shelter and security?
What are the spaces in your life that contain you when life is overwhelming?
I thought about it for a moment. I thought, "What is it about the car that provides safety for our most raw, unfiltered moments of emotion?"
It's containment.
I thought about similar spaces that hold people in their most fragile moments. Bathroom stalls. Tiny chapels in hospitals or airports. Attics or basements. I'm reminded of farmers and gardeners who place sheets over their garden beds, to protect young seedlings and plants from destructive weather.
In my mom's first church appointment as a pastor, I converted her walk-in closet into my own personal hangout space, where I'd sprawl out on a sleeping bag and read books or play games. Occasionally I'd invite a church friend to join, but it was usually just for me.
Many years later when I lived in Boston, I'd often journal on the train when I knew it wouldn't be too crowded. I'm grateful for the many stalls that have contained my tears after moments of deep pain, rejection, or confusion. I give thanks for the important epiphanies and moments of processing life that happen in trains, cars, and kitchens.
There are also limits to the ability of such spaces to be truly safe for all of us: Bathroom stalls become politicized places to attack and erase trans people. Cars can be spaces of violence and harm. Chapels can, even if unintentionally, automatically exclude folks who are not religious or who practice faith traditions that are not Christian. Small spaces in general can be frightening for people-- the feeling of being closed in can be scary.
It seems to me, therefore, that we ought to ask more questions about how we're shaping the spaces of our lives: can they contain us and our fellow humans when we're burdened, drained, or lost-- when we just need four walls to offer us some semblance of shelter and security?
What are the spaces in your life that contain you when life is overwhelming?
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