If you asked me how I was feeling 6 weeks ago, I would’ve told you terrified. My anxiety had never been so bad. I remember walking down to Emilys school on what may still have been her last day in Class 6. And feeling like I was in a sci-fi movie. I remember going into a pretty bare supermarket to do our usual shop and walking around in an absolute daze. I remember Jessica waking us up in the early hours shaking and crying saying she was scared. And making the decision in a split second to keep her off school, because I was scared too.
I remember Callum going into work, then coming home an hour later. Then Andrew walking through the door. Sitting down and I knew from his face what was coming, as he said ‘Well that’s it. Building sites closed’.
The days which followed I felt on high alert. I was fuelled by panic. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I thought the world was going to end. Some might think I’m over dramatic. A drama Queen. When the truth is I catastrophise. It’s just who I am and how my brain works. I remember going to bed the day we all realised the severity of the Covid 19 virus and the impact it was going to have on all of our lives. And being unable to sleep. And when I did, it was one nightmare after another. Dreaming of war. I was convinced this was biological warfare. And it was going to wipe everyone out. I just wanted to close my eyes, and wake up when this nightmare is over.
Unexpectedly, as weeks have gone by, I’ve noticed a significant shift in my feelings I never expected. Our family has stuck to Lockdown to a tee. I said from day one we were not leaving the house unless absolutely necessary or for daily exercise. And that’s still the case today. Six weeks ago I felt like a prisoner. Yet ironically as they days go by, I’m feeling a sense of freedom.
I’m enjoying Andrew not getting up at 5.45 for work. Not having to go for a quick shower when I’m still half asleep. Not having the usual drama of trying to locate Emilys book bag every morning. Not taking Emily to school and coming home to a silent house.
I’ve enjoyed staying up till gone midnight watching films with Andrew. Something we only do at Christmas. I’ve loved waking up and looking outside in the morning. Hearing the very zen sounds of ‘Enigma’, and seeing Andrew on his mat doing stretches. Then opening the window and playing the Rocky theme tune on my phone as he moves on to skipping.
I’ve enjoyed ordering paints, clay, tissue paper and other activities to keep the girls amused. And treats I’ve found on Instagram. Even if we’re not expecting a delivery, I still get excited when I see a van pull up outside. Lockdown life!
I’ve enjoyed baking with the kids. Some cakes turned out well, some disasters. I’ve enjoyed making the days more fun for the girls, so I can take their little minds off what is going on in the world. Watching them play together, and listening to their conversations. Jessica taking pleasure in telling a reluctant Emily that Dad says come downstairs and do some work now. I’m so grateful they’ve got each other.
I’ve enjoyed our short walks. We have travelled, but only ten minutes away (which is now allowed). We went for a walk around an empty park last week, so social distancing has been easy. Everywhere feels much more colourful and brighter. And where I usually prefer the rain, I’m finding myself craving the sun.
I’ve enjoyed putting more thought into mealtimes, because I’m absolutely not going to any supermarkets more than once a week. More cooking from scratch each day, when I would’ve usually felt lazy and popped out for a ready meal instead. Eating as a family, and at a decent time. And the money I have saved by doing this.
I’ve never paid so much attention to politics. But now I’m sat on the sofa 5pm each night for the daily briefing. And when we come out of this, I’ll continue to read up on matters which affect our lives and our childrens futures. So next time I vote, I will be fully informed.
I’ve enjoyed all the extra time with my husband. When we’re not living through a pandemic he’d leave for work just after 6. Come home around 5 then be off to the gym. And that’s fine. Our quality time is weekends. But by Sunday I have that sinking feeling that Monday is about to roll around again.
I need to acknowledge that I fully recognise I’m in a fortunate position. I am so lucky to be at home, safe, with all my family and with an income. And I still get to briefly see my parents when dropping off their food shop each week. The girls are missing them, but I know they’ll see them again soon. And although furloughed, we’ve still been able to pay the bills. We do eat out quite often, which I’ve realised is spending money where we don’t really need to.
I worry how the economy is going to look in the coming months. As businesses reopen I shall be making that conscious effort to support them. And I find I’m constantly worrying about the impact this crisis is having upon mental health. And signed up with two charities to offer support. Something else I have realised I want to do with my life. Help others who need it. I just need the confidence to believe I can do it, and figure out where to even begin.
We’ve stayed connected with family and friends via messenger, phone calls and video calls. Even celebrating two family birthdays. I’m grateful technology is at a stage where we can do this.
I guess what I’m trying to say is we’re effectively in isolation. But I’ve never fell less lonely. The first Thursday we clapped, I clapped not only for our wonderful NHS and keyworkers. But because we were a week down. A week closer to eventually returning to some kind of normality. But as I clapped this week, I felt a pang of guilt as I filled with sadness that we’re another week down. And another week closer to some kind of ‘normality’..
Andrew may be returning to work next week. And I think we might start to hear more regarding a plan to get out children back into schools. And I understand social distancing will go one for quite some time
But for now, I feel present. We’re living in the moment. I’m not sure I ever want to return to ‘normality’. Whatever it may be. I don’t want my life to be how it was.