The past month has felt like a year. I can’t be the only one who feels this way, right? I’m having a hard time remembering a world before, even though I know there was a bright, colorful one. I can’t seem to recall a day where I didn’t obsessively check Governor DeWine’s Twitter feed (something I never thought I’d say). I wake up every morning with a pit in my stomach over our bleak new reality.
Our lives have changed dramatically in a short time period. To be real, this hasn’t been a time of massive productivity or inspiring creativity for me, and that’s okay. I’m simply surviving day to day the best I can. I did think it worthwhile to compile a list of all the ways in which life has changed for me.
Since our world has changed…
I’ve cried. A lot. Like basically daily.
I’ve had to go on blood pressure medication thanks to a Teladoc appointment and some scary high at-home readings.
I’ve felt the bittersweet pang of being an essential employee. There is relief to still have a stable income but immense anxiety that I can’t just stay home and keep my family safe.
I’ve worried about my grandparents. I’ve worried about my parents. I’ve worried about my kids. I’ve worried about my husband. I’ve worried about my in-laws. I’ve worried about my siblings. I’ve worried about my neighbor. I’ve worried about that one person I met that one time years ago. I’ve worried about small businesses. I’ve worried about local restaurants. I’ve worried about doctors and nurses. I’ve worried about my favorite grocery cashier. I’ve worried about my hairstylist. I’ve just plain worried.
I’ve found I no longer have the attention span to read a leisurely book or watch a guilty pleasure TV show. I can’t turn my brain off long enough to relax and enjoy something mindless.
I wake up every single day expecting that it is the day I start showing symptoms. Or my husband does. Or one of our kids.
I religiously take our temperatures every morning. I feel my daughter’s forehead while she is still asleep. I press my cheek to my son’s every morning to make sure he doesn’t feel hot.
I feel a literal weight on my shoulders that cannot ease.
I’m understanding that I don’t have the best or healthiest coping mechanisms for extreme stress.
But… if I look hard enough (and believe me, I have to look really, REALLY hard) I’m able to see some good, too:
I’ve realized my kids don’t need a lot to be happy. They don’t need fancy play dates or extravagant trips. They just want to be around us.
I’ve felt rejuvenated by some time outside and a little fresh air, two things I’ve most definitely taken for granted until now.
I’ve happily supported local restaurants that I desperately want to succeed.
I’ve shown up to work, despite the fear, because I know that people are relying on me.
I’ve laughed at a lot of really clever Internet memes.
I’ve talked on the phone to my grandparents frequently, and I’m so looking forward to the day I can safely give them hugs again.
I’ve felt the comfort of my sweet babies falling asleep pressed against my chest. Everything feels right in the world for those few peaceful moments.
Yes, the bad still outweighs the good. But I’m trying to see the silver lining. I’m digging deep and making it a point to seek it out; otherwise, I won’t survive with my sanity intact. If you’re in a similar place, I urge you to do the same. Purposefully look for a little bit of good in each day, even if you don’t want to or think you can’t find it. Since our world has changed, I haven’t felt like myself at all, but reminding myself that there still is good gives me hope. I think we could all use a little bit of that right now.
