If I ever had to explain to my therapist what my anxiety felt like and what would trigger fear and panic it would be the following scenario: disruption of every day routines; inability to escape; lack of control over my environment; lack of control of what I can do; feeling trapped; inability to control the future; inability to let go of the past; not being able to breathe; thinking I am going to be ill; thinking I am going to die; not being able to fulfil my role as a mother; not being able to live as I want; fear of loss; fear of being restricted; fear of catching an illness; fear of having the norm and everything I take for granted taken away.
For the last few months, we all very quickly have had to adapt to new norms - clapping with our fellow neighbours on a Thursday at 8pm for the NHS, observing the 2m rule everywhere and supporting Captain Tom and his heroic 100 year old birthday goal – all these habits very quickly became ordinary. New words like zoom, lockdown, furlough, and new C-words- covid-19 and coronavirus- entered everyday vocabulary and slipped off the tongue easily into conversations as if we really knew what they meant. Life very quickly became surreal, and I felt I was living inside my own worst nightmare… yet somehow, and I don’t know how - I think I kept it all together, most of the time.
However, despite the slight relaxation of lockdown ‘law’ and the fact that I can go back out into the real world, albeit with baby steps, my anxiety had now decided to peak again. Perhaps being cooped up in my bubble I was able to dismiss the ordinary and pretend I was in it like everyone else. Each day rolled into the next one, punctuated only by calls of “what’s for lunch” and “what’s for dinner?” from the feral, hairy children I was now responsible for 24/7 and a squeak of a cork as my other half opened yet another cheeky red.
As a family unit, we have been lucky – we didn’t get ill. We don’t know of anyone who caught the virus, we weren’t furloughed as were both able to work from home. Both kids are old enough to plough on and lucky enough that their schooling continued online so I didn’t even have the onerous task of home-educating. Yet the main emotion I have bubbling away, coming to the surface to rear its ugly head now we have moved onto this phase - is guilt – the kind of guilt only those who get anxious really feel.
How many books did I read? How many times did we tune in to something cultural? How many pictures did I paint, songs did I sing, board games we play? What happened to the new me walking every day? Or joining in with an online yoga session? Where has the 10 weeks gone. Why is my house still messy? Why didn’t we even fix the garden up? How many times did I peruse my social media accounts to see the amazing efforts of those who did good and heroic deeds from shopping for their isolated neighbours, to knitting NHS rainbow scarves out of their own pubic hair?
I bumped into a someone this week I hadn’t seen since February and he looked brown, healthy and lean. Even his hair looked OK. He explained he had had so much time on lockdown that he had been out cycling 25 miles a day and had time to each day to sit in the sunshine reading book after book – “ it’s great, it’s like being on holiday’. And I felt jealous then guilty. And so I beat myself up again – noting the grey roots/ saggy stomach and slight hangover I had. Guilty for not feeling fulfilled – for wasting my time. For feeling that I didn’t do enough. Guilty I am going to be judged as my lockdown story just isn’t exciting enough. I didn’t contribute. I am beating myself up for not doing anything worthwhile or virtuous. For not being a key worker, for not using my time wisely, for not helping strangers. For not even being bothered to have a shower some days slipping back into the comfy familiar. Anxiety creeping up and through my stomach – catching my breath, tingling away at my fingers and toes. The familiar sense of doom in my gut. And that is where I am this week. Guilty for being me.
I read somewhere that everyone has been in this storm together – we are all just been sailing on different boats. And that made me feel just a little bit better. And then I read somewhere else that some of the unsung heroes in this surreal drama are those that just stayed at home and slobbed out.
Despite not being able to speak fluent Russian or having a chance to sort out my cutlery drawer – I think as a family we did OK and can hold our heads up as we did our bit for the NHS. We looked after our children and cooked lovely food, we laughed, got bored, kids played far too many computer games and we stayed up too late binge-watching box sets. But we stayed put.
The new C- word? We coped.
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