I have repeatedly likened our survival of this pandemic to our survival of Newbornland. We have endured a year of uncertainty and upheaval. We have made accommodations and adaptations to our lives that we never imagined - and often thought were not possible (hello virtual learning).
This has taken a toll on us physically, mentally, and emotionally. And, like surviving Newbornland, we cannot fully process the toll it has taken because we have had to focus on keeping our family units alive and safe - without having the time or energy to give any consideration to our own deep and chronic exhaustion.
We have carried the worry of our family’s health, security, and sanity as we have wondered how much worse things could get. And then we watched them get worse.
We have worried about the lasting impact of this pandemic on our children’s mental health, without considering that we ourselves are also moving through a chronic traumatic event.
We have used wine and workouts and Netflix and sourdough starter as coping mechanisms in hopes of a moment of reprieve.
We have cried in closets and bathrooms, and screamed at the people we love the most, and thrown in the towel as we’ve thrown ourselves on the floor, and then picked the damn towel back up and dried our tears and tucked our kids into bed - for 365 nights now.
We are not ok.