Aftereffects

I’m one of a handful of people I know who have never had Covid. (And I’m knocking on wood as I say this, as I know people getting it for the first time very recently, including the CWP, who just went down after three and a half years.) Despite my good fortune in not getting ill, the pandemic has profoundly affected my life, mostly in ways that only became apparent in hindsight.

THE GOOD

The return of domesticity. The end of my marriage saw my metamorphosis from suburban soccer mom to carefree apartment dweller. No responsibility for repairs, no outdoor space to maintain, and very few possessions to organize. And, with dozens of restaurants steps from my door all hosting happy hours, no cooking. Ever. When we moved into our new home three years later, I’d become accustomed to outsourcing it all and it didn’t occur to me to resume my role as a domestic goddess. Lockdown changed all that. I cooked all but a handful of days the first two years of the pandemic and continue to cook the majority of the time. I still got help with the yard, but all the time at home saw me growing flowers from seeds (and proudly cheering up the house with bouquets of sunflowers and jam jars of zinnias) and

generally becoming more engaged with making the yard a gorgeous oasis. I also still got help cleaning the house, but I became much more involved with its daily care and maintenance. I’d been tending towards minimalism since my flight from suburbia, but now I went to the next level: Marie Kondo would have been proud. All of these changes began as either grudging necessities or attempts to fill the seemingly endless hours. Somewhere along the way, they sneakily became sources of great satisfaction in my daily life.

Boredom. The Groundhog Day feel of months of isolation eventually led to new heights in creativity. Why not take up painting, or sewing, or pickling? Why not bake for all the neighbors and drop it outside their doors? Why not get out all those board games, or read those books, or invent pool competitions? We had spa days and runway shows and hosted driveway happy hours. Did all the things relegated to “someday when I have time” and then some. Over two years of practice left me with a new habit of thinking outside the box in every area of my life.

Flexibility. I thought I’d learned to be fairly flexible after chronic illness turned our lives upside down five years earlier, but it seems I was a relative amateur. Circumstances presented almost daily opportunities to strengthen this positive asset in almost all aspects of life. We became the pivot queens. From arranging for the CWP to attend college online, to becoming VIP customers at Instacart, to learning to read on a device, I was constantly finding innovative ways to stay connected and healthy. And this was an important part of, perhaps the key to, releasing the desire for control and beginning to thrive again.

Discernment. Hours upon hours of down time brought clarity: about who I am, who and what is important to me, and who I am important to, among other things. This clarity, in turn, has made me much more discerning about how and with whom I spend my time and energy.

Self-reliance. Having spent most of my life as a people pleaser who would rather eat worms than ask for help, I’ve always been in the habit of figuring out how to do things myself. Physically, that is. Mentally, I was dependent on anyone and everyone for validation, approval, and love. Building a relationship with myself led to the visceral knowledge that, while I revel in connection, I am the only one who can provide the things that I need to feel whole.

Gratitude on steroids. I started a gratitude practice many years ago, at a time when I could intellectualize my appreciation but could not yet truly feel it. As I continued to heal, I would often find myself spontaneously and deeply grateful for the many joys, large and small, of my new life. Once I got over my initial whining about the pandemic being a kick in the stomach when I was just getting off all fours, that gratitude returned and was amplified. In addition to all the new things I was trying and learning, I was safe and healthy and comfortable. Grateful beyond measure.

Solitude. This is, hands down, the most precious gift the pandemic delivered to me. I’d always been appreciative of the occasional chunk of time to myself (careful not to overdo lest I have to face my demons), but this experience transformed me into a superfan. Turns out these massive amounts of unbroken solitude were exactly what I needed to take my healing to the next level. Having the time to actually practice mindfulness and self-care was important. Having the space to sit with my feelings, to question my thoughts, to really get to know myself, was miraculous. Ultimately I realized how much of my time I’d previously spent on things that weren’t important to me, how often I’d been unwittingly acting in dramas of someone else’s creation, how many of my relationships were not reciprocal. I can’t overstate how radically solitude changed my self-concept and how I live my life. Which is why I now carve out plenty of alone time and guard it fiercely.

THE BAD

Stagnation. I was just beginning to emerge from the pit I’d fallen into as I adjusted to a nuclear divorce and a teenager suddenly disabled by illness when the pandemic arrived. I was in acting class twice a week, and exercise class three times a week, walking the beach daily, and finally making connections in the community. The sudden evaporation of all of that hit hard. I was not only losing hard-won ground socially but felt like my creative well was bone dry. I regressed, and I’ve just recently begun to tentatively step forward again.

Alienation. Maybe it’s because I live in Flori-duh. Or maybe it was my family. Maybe it was my doom scrolling. Or maybe it was the unrelenting need to be especially careful due to the CWP’s vulnerability. Whatever the case, there was never a moment that I didn’t feel other. That I didn’t feel either misunderstood, or left behind, or both. I always had the feeling that our life was surreal; that we were living in a parallel universe. This feeling only intensified as the weeks and months dragged on and everyone in my orbit seemed to return to business as usual.

Division. It’s one thing to have differences of opinion. It’s another to politicize those differences and to have that division encouraged by the person in the position we’ve traditionally looked to for guidance and calm encouragement in times of turmoil. To further inflame that division with lies and misinformation, so that a coherent solution for a public health issue was impossible. Seeing the selfishness and cruelty, and yes, ignorance, of so many shook me to my core and damaged my faith in humanity.

Migration. Stunning numbers of people moved to Florida from other states so that they could be “free”, increasing its utility as a punchline and its trove of “Florida man” news articles. My beach town, once blissfully quiet in the off season, is now crammed with residents and tourists all year round. Congested pedestrian and vehicle traffic has made enjoying the downtown area increasingly difficult. Housing prices are now ridiculously inflated (as are most goods and services), and there is a severe shortage of affordable housing for the many service workers who make this a vacationer’s paradise. These developments definitely delayed and hobbled my initial efforts at reemerging.

Estrangement. Some of the aforementioned alienation and division was just too much to overcome. Being unwilling to put my daughter at risk meant I lost some relationships. Focusing on my healing and growth meant I lost others. And my incipient peace and self-regard made it clear that letting sleeping dogs lie was the way to go. It is far easier to type those last few sentences than it is to accept these realities and process the pain involved, but I’m working on it.

THE UNEXPECTED

Those of you who’ve known me for a while might recall that I’ve never really excelled at seeing things coming. For me, it was all unexpected. So the good provided a refresher course in the joys of surrender and the faith that what seems like the depths of personal disaster might soon be revealed to be a fabulous gift. And the bad served as a much-needed reminder that we control very little, that life can change overnight, that we are guaranteed nothing. That we need to live in the moment and love hard.

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Let’s talk! What was the pandemic like for you? Are you noticing lingering effects, positive or negative? Have you totally resumed “normal life” or have you made changes?

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