The More We Change, The More We Stay The Same
MISTY DYKEMA
There has never been a season in my 39 years that has felt as fundamentally different as the past year. So many of the basic elements of life we took for granted were stripped away — simple things like seeing family, having a support person when undergoing a medical procedure or simply being able to go into the office for work. All different.
My way of interacting with the world shifted almost overnight a year ago in March. And, if I wanted, I could haveallowed these external factors to change me to my core. Instead, I think I found the many dimensions of me that God intended.
Let’s start at the beginning…
Back in March, I was walking aimlessly through Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas. I was on a business trip, and I knew Covid was upon us — but didn’t think much of it. I noticed the TV screens with “Corona” headlines everywhere I passed, and I began to get more and more messages from friends and coworkers wondering why I was traveling amidst the pending lock-down.
But, I wasn’t worried. I knew that if the country did in fact shut down, I might secretly be happy about this. “Home” has always been a safe place for me. While I am a borderline extrovert, I have strong introvert tendencies that I don’t often get to explore. I’ve always been a person focused on growth and personal development, and I keep myself quite busy setting goals, running a business, exercising and more. A shut-down, for me, meant taking more “time for me.”(Yes, even amidst the chaos of figuring out what to do with my kids.) All of the sudden, being home would be acceptable, and I liked this idea — a lot.
And so it began. Quarantined for weeks after my trip, I stayed home, but I couldn’t slow down. My entire life, I’ve struggled with finding balance in being versus doing, and I can admit that if I’m not doing, I struggle to feel God’s love for me. So, I found myself quickly becoming the best and worst versions of myself.
As a strong Enneagram 8, I can juggle a lot. So, as you can imagine, the “doer” in me was on overdrive. I loved the space the pandemic created for me to ideate. I started a podcast, I networked like crazy (everyone was so available!), I hired consultants, I became a coach for others and I invested in more life coaching for myself.
…And I drove everyone nuts. My empathy was really lacking. I just couldn’t understand why everyone wasn’t loving lock down!
I couldn’t put myself in the shoes of others...essential workers or friends who had family at home that were immunocompromised. I struggled to be compassionate towards my strong extrovert friends who wanted to escape, be back on the playing field, go on vacation or be with people. No matter what others’ challenges, I wasn’t experiencing them myself, so I struggled to relate. I recognized this in myself, but I couldn’t seem to break out of the overdrive pace that worked for me amidst the chaos and sadness of the world.
Further, because I usually believe I can conquer any challenge, I really wasn’t that scared of the disease. I thought it might make me sick, but like anything else, I figured, “If I get it, I’ll get through it.”
To be honest, I wasn’t very careful. I went to stores and wore my mask, but I didn’t stop seeing friends here and there or having the occasional coffee date. And I certainly wasn’t the person wiping down my groceries or taking Purell out of my purse every five minutes.
And then, one evening in August, I went to bed and woke up in the middle of the night with my head spinning. I was freezing…to the point that I didn’t think I could get out of bed. I didn’t know if I could walk.
Somehow, I made it to my husband’s closet intent on finding a big sweatshirt to keep warm. Before I knew it, I found myself on the floor gasping for breath. I thought for sure that was the end of me, and I wasn’t sure if I would wake up the next morning.
Three days later, I tested positive for Covid, and I was down and out for about three weeks. The disease traveled throughout my body starting as a flu, turning into a head cold and then settling into my lungs as a deep bronchitis. All of a sudden, I could not work — even if I wanted to. I would open my computer and quickly close it after an hour or two, brain fog setting in. I could not even walk from my bedroom to the back yard, and I found myself surrendering.
When I finally got better, my 80-year-old grandmother came down with the illness. It just so happened I had seen her right before I tested positive myself. Did I give it to her? I don’t know. But the guilt of knowing that I could have and the stigma that came from the community and even my family that it was my fault my grandma could die was almost too much to bear. I took it upon myself to care for her for the next three weeks. I sat in a small bedroom and took her vitals and administered her meds. She was in and out of the hospital three times, and there were days I would drop her off at the door of the ER, not knowing if I would see her again. It was painful and heart wrenching, and I felt alone — even though I was alongside her.
Thankfully, she did finally get well. But it took a long time, further reinforcing that this disease is ruthless in its attack and can take anyone down.
When I finally passed through the “corona-caregiver” state, I found myself craving connection. I had spent so much time alone or with only a few others. In the absence of my typical creative and energetic meetings and my afternoon happy hours, I would notice myself diving deeper into my phone. Reaching out to friends to fill my cup, via a text or a social post, I began to lose desire to “connect” deeper with my family simply because we were spending so much time together already! I was looking to others to create space for me to feel a little like myself again.
And, despite downloading many new social apps, I found that no amount of digital-ness could replace the “everything spiritual” feeling that I require by being in the same room with people I love. I thrive on deep conversation and feeling another’s heart, and I just couldn’t find that in my day-to-day, so I found myself vegging out in cyberspace much at the time.
And I missed church. There weren’t (and aren’t) many spaces where I can sit in the quiet of God and hear a message that fills my heart quite like the feeling I experience at Imago. Reading and television only go so far. It’s people that bring me inspiration.
Eventually, I realized I was “disconnecting” from the world, and in some ways creating an alternate version of me. When I saw how much I was daydreaming, I began to set more healthy boundaries, leaning back into the space that is so dear — time with my immediate family.
So, as I look back at my wilderness journey, I see so many versions of me. The homebody, doer, the helper, the fighter, the connection-craver. I’ve been me all along, but I’ve adapted as the situation required. I tend to do well in spaces of the unknown, but what I’ve noticed about myself is that my need for control has lessened. I’m trying really hard to let God lead the way, but I’m continuing to help myself where I can. I’m reinvesting in therapy, stumbling across new themes for learning and honestly letting myself feel a true sense of relief that we’ve made it thus far. Feeling is not something I do well. But I’m getting better at it.
Despite my natural tendencies to “keep moving through it,” I’m also letting myself feel a sense of loss — not only because of all the life-altering social/political mess that was 2020, but rather because of some of the really personal things that are of great value to me, which I need to grieve. Like missing the birth of my first niece and many of her milestone moments of the past 10 months. Or being unable to support my mom and her partner of 20 years as she battles breast cancer and chemotherapy. Or being unable to pass our Simantel employees in the halls and hear stories of their weddings, engagements and babies on the way. Or — perhaps worst of all — the feeling that I’ve missed out on an entire year of my children’s lives because of the many memories they didn’t get to create.
And, while the feeling of loss is normal — and valid — I’m working really hard to take a different frame of mind. Yes, we missed a lot, but we gained so much more. We had time together we would have never had. We grew closer as a family. And, we learned that no matter what comes our way, we can become stronger as individuals and as a collective.
I appreciate my Imago community more than ever. What I love most about this body is the appreciation that we are all different and uniquely loved as equals, exactly the way we are. And, it’s certainly fair to say we have all experienced this pandemic differently.
For that, I’m grateful this wilderness has reminded me to extend grace — to myself, to others and to our community. The Imago values mean more to me now than ever. And, while the doer in me is ever-present, I hope the one change in me is the ability to be loved and give love in bigger ways than I could before, recognizing we’re all fighting a different battle — but we’re collectively fighting a bigger battle together.
So, back the question at hand: Have I changed? Heck yeah. Am I still me? Through and through. When we don’t know what to do, all we can do is use the tools we have. I’m committed to get to know me again in this new season, stay flexible and stay strong. And I pray all my friends and family have the strength to continue to do the same.
Until next time, Imago friends… I miss you. Stay well.
Misty and Dusty Dykema have attended Imago for 8+ years, starting when the church operated out of the Arcadia building. Together, they have 2 beautiful girls, Myah (7) and Drew (3). Misty is an owner and Principal at Simantel, a marketing firm in downtown Peoria. Dusty is an owner at Bishop Bros., Inc. a family-owned business focused on commercial construction in Central Illinois. They are both passionate about Imago and find it amazing place to find peace, hope and community.