Everywhere you look there is information—how to homeschool, how to work, what to wear, what to eat, how the coronavirus is spreading, how many people are dying and where. I’ve spent hours scrolling through articles, tweets, links, sometimes I feel better for it, other times I don’t. Some of it is stuff I’ve written. It’s overwhelming because it feels like we should know as much as we can, stay up to date. Coming to terms with the persistent uncertainty is exhausting, but it’s our reality.
“Ok” looks different each day. I plug along feeling like I’ve got the hang of it but then something happens, might be a Clover fur, dust bunny floating along the floor or the way the underwire of my bra digs in and I just crack. I doubt my capacity to parent, to lead, and to, on the most basic level, even function.
I go to my usual tactics for self-care and grounding—being ceremonial with coffee, lighting candles, applying mascara till my lashes touch my brows. Some of it works, some of it doesn’t. I am beginning to comprehend that I need to accept where I am and that in many ways I’ve already been here. The control I felt a few weeks ago was false, I didn’t have control of the economy, my kids’ health, or the behavior of others.
The uncertainty is forcing me to take the days in smaller increments. Get through the next ten minutes. Send a family text and agree to make lunch together. Take a walk. pet the dog. Cry. Panic-surf the internet. Hop on the Peloton and disappear in physical activity. Shower. Stare out the window. Ask Sean for a hug. Cuddle up in Fin’s room. Flop on Avery’s bed. Take Briar a snack.
The view through my new office window helps. Chipmunks scamper over stones, squirrels shake their tails and climb the tree, Clover sprints to chase them, and the sunlight moves through the trees. Writing helps, articles, updates, texts to friends. Your pictures help on Instagram. Listening to Governor Cuomo helps. Washing my hands and organizing the canned goods helps.
I suppose I came here to say that I hope that you are ok.