(This article was originally posted on The Voice Nook on Substack.)

Two weeks ago, a tornado touched down about a mile from my house.

A long and intense storm passed over our area with much thunder and lightning along with some of the heaviest downpours I’ve ever seen. Thankfully, the houses in my neighborhood were unaffected, save for some minor storm debris…small branches and leaves and such.

Our phones screeched tornado warnings multiple times throughout the event. To be honest, a tornado seemed so unlikely that we ignored those screeches and just went on with our day until around the 45 minute mark of the storm when I started to feel pretty antsy. But shortly thereafter, the storm finally passed by and, of course, the sun came out like nothing had never happened.

We didn’t know that a tornado had actually touched down – or that it had touched down so close to us, until the next morning when bystander photos and videos started appearing in my feeds and a friend texted me to see if we were ok.

Later, when the official weather service map of the tornado paths (there were two, in fact) was published, I was struck by how close they were.

I didn’t know what to feel.

I didn’t feel a sense of personal tragedy because my house and neighborhood were objectively fine. Though while looking at photos of the homes that were impacted, I felt some of the weight of their grief.

I didn’t feel a sense of fear because the storm was long over and the sun was out. There was no more immediate threat.

I mostly felt the sense that something about this was Very Important, and that I needed to register and remember the importance of it.

I was talking about this with a friend yesterday and they said, ‘It broke the illusion of safety.’

Hmmmm…yes. That. Or something like that, I think. Maybe.

If you’ve been here a while, you might recall that we have a saying here at InnerVoice: Whatever you’re feeling, feel that.

Not like, in a ‘make it your whole identity’ kind of way.
Not like, in a ‘wallow your life away’ kind of way.
Not like, in a ‘bypass what’s really going on for you’ kind of way.

More like, in a ‘if you don’t fully feel it, then you can’t fully understand it, and if you can’t fully understand it, then you can’t fully know what to do about it’ kind of way.

And that includes the feeling of not knowing what to feel.

It’s super uncomfortable to sit in ambiguity…especially when the potential feelings (and implications) are so big.

But there are so many reasons why we might not know yet…

Maybe all the layers haven’t yet been revealed.
Perhaps there are several truths at once.
Maybe something that used to be true isn’t true anymore.
Or maybe we already know the truth deep down, but we’re not yet ready to be with what we know.

And sometimes all we can do is sit in the not knowing…or the almost knowing…or the I actually know but I can’t yet be with my knowing…until clarity is revealed bit by bit over time…or it isn’t.

I still don’t know how I feel about the tornados. I know, for certain, that we will heed the phone alerts in the future. Beyond that, I’m not sure how to weave the Very Important information into the fabric of my days.

As for the broken illusion of safety. I’m not sure how to feel about that either. I can’t remember the last time I actually felt wholly safe.

There are many layers to that statement, and writing it brings up a lot of grief. Another feeling that’s difficult to sit with.

So…I guess I’ll go sit with it. (Blech…brutal.)