I was hunkered down on my bathroom floor, numbly scrolling through my phone when I got a text from my husband. “Is everything ok?” I looked at the time and realized I’d been in there over 40 minutes. Apparently, survival mode had kicked in again.
“I’m on my way out,” I replied.
He told me to take my time, recognizing at that moment something I didn’t. I’d been locking myself in the bathroom every night after dinner since the shutdown began. He’s an essential worker gone from 5:30 am to 6 pm leaving me home to tend to every one of our kids’ needs, take care of the house, and charter these scary waters mostly alone.
The last time I was in the habit of hiding behind a closed door at night, I had a newborn and a 13-month-old, severe sleep deprivation, no time to myself, no help, and likely postpartum depression. As I crawled up off the bathroom floor, it hit me. I am right back in the throes of survival mode.
I’d already battled my way out of that tumultuous stage and our life had been running smoothly for a few years. I am bummed to find myself back in this familiar territory.
Burdened by that drowning feeling where I’m barely keeping my head above water. Barely meeting everyone’s needs and neglecting most of my own. Overwhelmed with guilt as I fail to curate a schedule that engages and enriches my kids’ minds. Most of our days are spent in boredom. It’s all I can do to occupy our hours, counting them down until bedtime.
Not that we’re getting much sleep. Our restlessness now is due to the unease of our world. The kids play musical beds almost every night, waking from nightmares they don’t remember or just needing to feel safe in a world that changed drastically and abruptly without the capacity to understand why.
Knowing that what helped me back then, won’t help me now adds to the overall bleakness of my circumstances. I can’t take the kids to the park to burn off energy. I can’t get a sitter and escape the pressure of home. I can’t escape my home. My only relief is found on the bathroom floor after my husband gets home.
When my kids were babies, I hadn’t found my mom tribe. Now that I have, I just miss them. There is no social life in survival mode. My kids worry about their friendships the same way I worry about mine. Sheltering in place makes them hard to maintain.
It’s hard, but not impossible. And there is hope in our unique situation. This isolation is temporary and the foundation of our social lives will be there for us when the world reopens. And it’s promising to reopen soon.
Meanwhile, the absence of FOMO {fear of missing out} has been as beneficial to our overall well-being as the absence of pollution has been to our environment. We are missing nothing. There are no concerts, sporting events, or parties. There are no perfectly polished faces on social media living unattainably wonderful lives. Everyone, from my family and friends to the rich and famous, is united in the same plight, living a boring, uncertain, quarantined life.
Thankfully I have a nice yard, a quiet street, and woods behind our house. My kids are at an age this time where I can let them into our fenced backyard to play while I finish my coffee in peace. And for the time being, it’s enough. It’s got to be.
I look forward to the day my kids wake up and I get to tell them we’re going somewhere fun. I’ll feel safe and they’ll feel happy. It will almost feel normal. We’ll get cleaned up and dressed, maybe call some friends. We’ll load up in the car and leave our house, our chores, and the weight of what we’ve endured behind.
I’ll cut them loose at a park, or take them to a baseball game. And as they smile in the sunshine, I’ll take a small moment to breathe in the enormity of what’s transpired. What we’ve experienced and survived. I’ll smile as they play with other kids and feel a lump in my throat. I’ll let it sit there.
This is what it was all for.
