The power in community

I’ve written before about how there are periods in my life where there is an overarching theme. This fortnight has been one of those times, and the theme has been ‘community’.

Life has been teaching me, what feels like, an incredibly valuable lesson and I‘m grateful for it.

If I can take you back to the Covid lockdown period for a brief moment (bare with me, it’ll be quick) I noticed something striking and rather surprising. I did not overtly miss the outside world, in fact there was a strange benefit from having to step back from it. Life became slower and quieter. I sunk into the bubble that was my little family unit, and the rest of the world became a digital connection that I could switch on and off as needs be.

We were blessed to not be affected by truly devastating circumstances, as so many were, and though times were often difficult, we made ‘the best’ of things. We valued what we could have (the walks, the time in the garden, the digital communities) and were conscious of the fact that we had much to be grateful for, even when things were challenging and sad.

Whilst I watched others clambering to ‘return to normal’, I held back. I was reluctant to start the reintroduction in to the physical world, and that feeling lasted longer than I expected. I made ‘jokes’ about not wanting to give up the hermit life, but they were built on a solid truth. It all felt like too much trouble - the hassle did not seem worth the gain. Over time, however, a theme began emerging. Like the remains of the sunken villages buried under reservoirs, the drought started to show my foundations. In this case, the value and power of community.

In hindsight, and to mix metaphors, there has been a gradual thaw in me. I joined a couple of online communities and they simultaneously blessed and challenged me. Baby steps. They were a gentle introduction for the more obvious ’step-change’ that happened when I was no longer solely working from home.

Part of my day is now office based, and whilst the majority of my role can be performed online, and a proportion of my colleagues are based across the world, the fact that I am regularly working in person with a small physical team has had a visible impact on me that I can’t ignore. It’s the little moments, the random conversations (and so connections) that you have when you can’t hide behind a computer screen. It’s being able to hear the audible sighs of a colleague across the room and acknowledging it, even if you can’t help fix it. It’s customers, or suppliers, offering recommendations or referrals in passing, contacts offering to help when they don’t overtly benefit from it. There is a quiet but powerful value in people sharing their day, their week, their challenges, their hopes. When you experience something in the same moment, even if your experience of it is different, it is a shared experience and that somehow makes the experience richer. Connection generates a palpable energy. In these last few weeks, perhap months, I have seen community as a powerful amplifier, and it hasn’t just been in my work life.

Church communities rallying round a family in need, allergy communities sharing their most vulnerable moments in the hoping of protecting others, internet communities raising money for people in need. They are all powerful examples that stand out, but it’s not just been about the ‘movie-style’ rallying in a crisis moments. It’s also in the way it can turn the little things into big things.

If I take the recent example from my daughter. This year she signed up for the school choir. They, in turn, signed up to the Young Voices initiative. Over 200 school choirs performing at an arena in front of loving family members. For the last couple of months, I have heard my daughter sing excerpts of the the playlist on repeat. My mum-heart has swelled regularly as she has joyfully emptied her lungs and bounced around the house (about as often as my tired-mum-brain has begged for it to stop, for just 5... minutes... of... peace...), but when the school choir recently performed for parents in the school hall, as a practice run, I literally shed a tear. I was ‘that parent’ - the one with the squirming face that is desperately trying not to start sobbing in public.

There was something extra in the joy the kids showed when singing along together. The smiles, the camaraderie, the visible support for each other. They were glowing. There was an energy in the room so pure that it made my nerve endings fire and my throat tighten. Even when one or another of them got the words wrong, or sang a line at the wrong point, it wasn’t awkward, or uncomfortable, because they laughed together and supported each other. It remained purely beautiful.

Still, it was nothing compared to the impact of seeing them amidst the thousands of other children all singing in (almost) unison. It was an experience she, nor I, will ever forget. I wasn’t just thawing anymore, I think I actually started melting.

Things did not go to plan that evening, and I was unfortunately still trapped in a ridiculous queue in the arena car park when the coach containing my daughter was pulling up outside her school far too many miles away. As I desperately contacted my parents to ask if they could collect her, I reflected on how grateful I was for my family - a small but tight community I am blessed to be able to rely on. Yet, even that wasn’t the biggest lesson I got from that night.

At bed time the evening following, my daughter was laughing as she referred back to my ‘adventure’, as she called it (the car park delay hadn’t been the only challenge in getting back from the concert, but this tale is long enough already so we’ll skip the details). I knew it was her way of looking for reassurance and I hugged her and mentioned again how grateful I was for grandparents who would jump to the rescue and collect her. It was then that she surprised me with the following:

Her: You’ve said that like a million times, but, you know, it wouldn’t have been the end of the world [phrase I obviously overuse and she’s now nicked from me], because I’m sure [classmate’s] mum would have taken care of me if you couldn’t be there. I could have even walked down to [friends house].

Me: 🤣 [Friend’s mum] might have already been in bed asleep...

Her: True, but I think [she] would have woken up for me. Anyway, I’m sure one of the mums would have made sure I was safe ‘til you got back...

It hit me in the belly and still makes me a bit teary now. I found myself messaging the mums group, the next morning, to express my thanks for being the kind of school community where my daughter had no doubt that she would be scooped up and protected, if things went awry. I have always been grateful for what they have done for me, but I had never considered what they ARE for her. The enormity of that blessing was not, and still is not, lost on me.

We don't have to be ‘friends’, and I think that’s important. We are a community. We are there for each other. People who can be asked, and will offer, to pick up other children when their parent is stuck in traffic. People who share details of deals, and offer solutions to problems. People who regularly pass on clothes, toys, or books, without asking for recompense, to those who aren’t as financially secure (and all the time doing so without judgement).

Whilst all these examples so far are filled with that warm fuzzy feeling you’ll see in trite movies, it’s not the only valuable lesson about community that I have (re)learnt recently. Coming out of Covid lockdown may have highlighted the value that I had stopped seeing in community, but the lockdown itself taught me the value of discernment when it comes to community.

Being out in the ‘real world’ will put you in regular contact with people who don’t add to community, but instead wither it. The ones that think of themselves as gardeners, but are generally just poisoning soil with weed killer.

Prior to lockdown isolation, I would have accepted that as a cost of life. I would have accepted it as a cost of doing business, of achieving outcomes, and just of life in general. An inevitable price to pay.

The freeing part of this journey has been in realising that isn’t true. I don’t have to. More importantly, I should be actively ensuring that I don’t.

I don’t have to do business with, or even just spend time with, people who steal or drain energy or joy. They can, do and will, justify their behaviour as a necessary part of driving for success. They will argue that they add value by providing challenge, forcing you to grow or move on. Those things sound positive, don’t they? Don’t let them mislead you. They can be, but only when they’re done from the right place, and in the right way. Constructive feedback, nurturing development - all good. When the challenging is belittling and draining? It’s not the same. That approach might get a certain of kind result, granted, but at what price? One I am no longer willing to pay.

It’s not about avoiding people who are facing challenges. We will all have our dark moments and will experience when we need support. Challenges are where community comes in to its own, they are built to achieve things that one person alone could not, you have to pick your communities wisely.

Yet, though community is a solid example of ’the whole is greater than the sum of its parts’, and there is something energising in being part of a community that gives, but you have to pick your communities wisely.

You need to consider two things -

1) Wider impact : Whilst community is a living example of ‘the whole is greater than the sum of its parts’, ask yourself what the community is amplifying. Is it positive or negative?

2) Impact on you: How much is it empowering you, inspiring you, filling your cup? How much they are draining you? You cannot give when you have been, or are being, drained. Take a step back and have an honest look at your communities. Simply, do they positively fuel or drain without refilling?

If you’ve been actively avoiding community (you can’t see it but my face looks like that blush emoji right now), then maybe it’s not you, maybe it’s that community. Maybe don’t just back away completely, maybe try moving on...

As much as I have a responsibility to contribute to community, my light bulb moment this last few weeks has been that I also have to respect the responsibility I have to myself.

I can have BOTH community and boundaries. I can draw a line on the communities I am part of. I can walk away from ones that are damaging. They don’t even have to be ones that are damaging to me personally. If they are draining, its not just OK, it’s my responsibility to walk away. My energy can be better placed helping to fuel other communities. The old adage of ‘you can’t pour from an empty cup’ doesn’t just apply to motherhood.

Why am I writing this? Two fold.

1) I‘m very much aware that sometimes I learn something important, and I consider it for a moment, but then it goes in one ear and out the other. It doesn’t stick, because I don’t apply it. This feels like a thing I need to keep at the forefront of my mind, to review regularly.

2) It might be useful to someone, just one person, reading this. Maybe it will fuel you to look at your own communities and what’s happening with your energy. Learn vicariously through my mistake. Have this free lesson on me. In today’s exhausting world, we need to use what fuel we do have wisely.

Right now I’m off to spend time with someone who frequently drains me (hello motherhood), but also, just as regularly, fills me to ‘overflowing with joy‘. Who knows which way today will go, but, whichever way, I‘ll still know I’m blessed. ❤️

As always, if you are feeling troubled, please consider whether you think you would benefit from getting relevant support. https://helplines.org/helplines/

Please remember that it is vitally important to safeguard yourselves as you try and be there for others.

© Highcroft Writing 2022