A Pandemic State of Mind
April 9, 2020: Pandemic Musings
On March 13, 2020, I was one of millions of Canadians told to "go home and stay there." And for me, that meant loading my little Ford Fiesta with 4 (yes, 4) boxes of files, electronics and paper products, and heading home to set up a virtual office. As of July 13th, 2021, it's been 16 months since that long and surreal trip home from work feeling scared for my family, my friends and the world. And home, I've stayed. I can count my trips in to the office on my fingers and toes... with a few left over.
In the intervening months, I have felt myself changing. Oh, I'm still close to my family. I still lead with my emotions, think positive and talk more than listen. I'm still artistic and a bit of a scatterbrain. And I still approach problem solving from a creative angle, preferring action and movement to planning and preparation.
But I have changed, and the thing that has changed the most is my relationship to (and with) time. The passage of time is still is marked by the same increments, of course; an hour is still an hour... a minute is still a minute. But in March of 2020, when we were told the pandemic might take 2 to 2.5 years to be under control, I remember thinking that such a timeline was unthinkable. Untenable. Unworkable. I wasn't worried about working from home - I'd done it before. But I was incredibly worried about having my life - our collective lives - held in limbo for as much as 2 whole years. Being socially secluded, isolated and closed off during that time seemed impossible to wrap my mind around.
But I went home, parked the car, set up an office in my room and learned how to 'zoom.' I worked to combat the emotional toll isolation takes on a person. I cried sometimes and shook my fist at the universe, but never where anyone could see me. And before long, I came to realize that time itself has no value if you aren't doing something meaningful. I don't mean ticking something off your 'to do' list. I mean doing something truly important. Like sharing a supportive message with a friend who is down. Setting down some concrete plans for the "what if" that hung (and still hangs) heavily over our lives. Finding ways to replace a hug with something safer but just as meaningful. Moments spent on these things have always been very important... but now they have become critical to our humanity and wellbeing. As time went on, I also came to realize that 2 years is not that long, when lives are at stake. I miss living a normal life... but I'd miss my loved ones more.
The second shift I experienced is related to how the pandemic has affected my mental state. By mid-2020, I was fearful and anxious a great deal of the time. I worried if one of us had to spend time outside of our house. I sanitized obsessively - we had the cleanest groceries on the block. I found myself guiltily feeling grateful that when loved ones' jobs were downsized. If my loved ones, friends, family were forced to be home, I felt they were safer.
As time went on, I started feeling frustration with the way things were being handled - sad for local small businesses forced to close, angry that big box stores seemed to get a free pass where mom and pop shops seemed to be penalized at every turn. Frightened by the financial implications of the pandemic; rising prices, shortages, work stopages, closures. Frustrated by slow vaccine production. And completely overwhelmed by the sheer complexity of our new normal - all the rules, protocols, difficulties.
And underlying it all, I was desperate for the companionship and support of my friends and family - many of whom I haven't seen in person since this all began. We do what we can with calls, chats and Facetime, but there truly is no "social" in distancing. I am not a "huggy" person. But when it is safe to do so, I'm hugging everyone. Long, weird hugs, with no apologies given.
Through all this anxiousness and uncertainty, I have also come to realize just how firmly I am "the person" for my entire household. The one who cooks. Who cleans. Who supports. Who pays the bills. The person who drives you to your appointment. The one who set up those appointments in the first place and kept track of them. I am the one who performs internet searches and purchases. I am the person who peels you off the wall when your anxiety becomes overwhelming. Who arranges the cushion on my father's chair. Heck, even the dog wants me to protect her from larger dogs and random loud noises.
In short - like so many women, I am the caregiver and the holder of the home front. And I'm comfortable in that role, generally speaking. But again - like so many women, there is no one designated to care for me. It's always been that way, I guess. But in a time of strife, it is a jarring and isolating realization. So I have become my own determined caregiver. I have begun doing the things I used to say I didn't have time for. My red front door, enlarged back garden and new breadmaker are good examples of my self-care. So is my expanded collection of books. I now take long, guilt free baths. With candles. Everytime. I call someone if I get overwhelmed. I make time to do these things as a way to help myself cope with my uncertainty, anxiety and depression. And it helps.
And as I plan to return to my workplace on a semi-regular basis beginning this month, it is with a new understanding of the importance of being meaningful in my use of time, and embracing self-care. I'm off to run a bath right now... and perhaps I'll take a glass of Merlot with me. Stay safe out there, fellow babies. I owe you a hug - and I mean to collect.
