You've read them—the inspirational messages on social media, encouraging you to see the social isolation required by the coronavirus pandemic as an opportunity to stop and re-evaluate your priorities, to decide what you want to discard or carry through to your “New Normal.” And maybe that resonates with you. Maybe you're experiencing an almost magical lucidity about what really matters.
Or maybe you're like me, and reading those messages makes you want to hurl your phone at a wall.
Yes, the relative simplicity of my new and isolated existence—with 8- and 10-year-old boys, a husband, and a 1-year-old greyhound mix—has certainly brought into sharper focus the importance of quality time with those I love. I can see again why I fell in love with my husband: his dirty jokes, unique dance moves, kindness, and his sure-footedness in the face of my whipsawing emotions. We all are, blessedly, healthy. We are not on the front lines. We have enough food to eat and a roof over our heads, and I don’t take any of that for granted.
Still, the crisis has brought to me not clarity but first-world frustration, cynicism, and anxiety over whether I will ever get back the life I spent careful time nurturing, cultivating, and curating. As we enter what feels like the 245th week of lockdown, I find my introverted side craving time that is truly alone while my extroverted side screams for the fitness classes, band rehearsals, and patio drinks with friends that previously helped keep me sane.
During a recent scroll through my social-media feed, filled with celebrities urging me to find deeper power within myself while they quarantine on pool floats, I came across an article on Medium.com that brought my negative feelings to a boil. The author’s claim that we rely too much on consumerism to soothe our souls—and that we shouldn’t return to that when this is over, no matter how much Best Buy wants us to—resonated with me. But I took issue with his characterization of this time period as “The Great Pause.”
“What happened is inexplicably incredible,” he wrote. “It’s the greatest gift ever unwrapped. Not the deaths, not the virus, but The Great Pause. It is, in a word, profound.”
He asked us to “take a deep breath, ignore the deafening noise, and think deeply about what you want to put back into your life. This is our chance to define a new version of normal, a rare and truly sacred (yes, sacred) opportunity.”
Even as I write this, I am struggling to ignore the deafening noise of my children, who are fighting over a scratchy blanket while screaming for snacks instead of translating inches to centimeters and building a diorama. My mommy guilt hasn’t disappeared—I’m still distracted by my phone, and by the increased demands of work, and I still don’t want to look at another Minecraft creation. But now the guilt is compounded because I am yelling at my kids to leave me alone, for the love of all that is holy, because I am on yet another Zoom call, and please just go ask Alexa for help with Common Core math.
There is no space for taking a “sacred opportunity” because I live in a one-level house and the only place with quiet is inside my parked car. I have no time to make my life “richer” because my husband’s employer laid him off after 15 years, erasing almost half of our household income, and my boss wants to know where the report is, and another deadline is looming, and my 8-year-old doesn’t want to do phonics, and I need to pencil in my eyebrows before this afternoon’s Zoom call so no one will see that I stress-tweezed too many of them out.
So maybe I’m doing it all wrong?
I sought insight from Nicole Lippman-Barile, PhD, a clinical psychologist with Northwell Health.
“The psychological impact of this pandemic is huge and far-reaching, and it very much varies from person to person,” she says. “That said, I’ve seen the following themes with my patients: low motivation levels; fatigue, despite getting ‘enough sleep’; and alternating between levels of ‘I’m OK,’ and, ‘Wow, I’m really anxious and upset that this is all happening.’”
Check, check, and check.
“As the weeks progress, people’s emotions shift from anxiety, to anger, to sadness, with a constant undertow of grief and uncertainty that fuels this all,” Lippman-Barile says. “At times some may experience optimism, especially as it relates to numbers decreasing, yet others are stuck in a loop of negativity, with the fear that life will never go back to the way it once was.”
We are, she explains, experiencing collective grief. Indeed, I feel profound loss over the life I spent decades building—through trial, error, and therapy—and populating with the people and activities that bring me joy. To be sure, the pandemic has given me more time with family. But the crisis has taken away my other sources of happiness, and my best coping mechanisms: real interaction with friends, singing with my band, motivating others as a fitness coach, and pushing myself in strength-training, yoga, and Pilates classes.
I am keenly aware that others have experienced much greater losses, and I feel ashamed for wallowing in my own. I’m also grappling with the sneaking suspicion that I am most uncomfortable with this situation because it has stripped me down to my most basic bones, and maybe I don’t like what I see.
“It’s very revealing, and it can be very scary,” Lippman-Barile says. “But now is not forever and indefinite, despite what our negative thoughts and anxiety tell us at times.”
And, she says, it really is OK to see this Great Pause as not so great at all.
“The Great Pause sounds shiny and nice, and perhaps possible, if you are existing in the ‘right’ conditions—you still have a job or are not financially stressed and concerned, you are physically and mentally healthy, you still can meet your basic needs with no worries, and you actually have the spare time to work on higher-order needs,” Lippman-Barile says.
“Experiencing a collective trauma and pandemic is incredibly hard, and not everyone has the privilege of turning a pandemic into a productive and fun experience,” she says. “Sometimes, just surviving is enough.”
