A not so gentle reminder from COVID-19: Healing is a Journey
Like most of us March 2020 was progressing for me like any other month. I spent 5 days/week at my office. I’m the Executive Director of a grassroots social justice nonprofit organization so I stayed pretty busy. My children who at the time were in 1st grade and Pre-K spent most of their time at school. When they weren’t in school they were at soccer or in ballet or gymnastics. In the evenings we raced home to finish homework, make dinner, rush through bath time, speed through a story and throw the kids in bed by 7:30 (ya know… so that they could get the recommended 10–12 hours of sleep). We spent our weekends at home having late brunch and soaking up Netflix (not allowed during the week), visiting friends in Charleston or hanging out with Oma and Pops (my parents) in their backyard playground paradise they setup just for their grands.
I was admittedly on auto-pilot. Coasting through the days and weeks as best I could. Unintentionally racking up “accomplishments” and checking off lists that some simultaneously illustrious and elusive “they” said I had to check off. Then… the world began to come to an end. COVID-19. I mean it legit felt like maybe the world was ending. I know I’m not the only one that felt that way, I asked all my friends. And I have really smart friends and we all agreed that the world was very possibly (maybe still is, jury’s out) coming to an end. Schools closed, businesses shut down, we had to sanitize our groceries and we were advised to only have contact with the people in our homes or else…we might get sick and die. Literally, die.
There was this nonstop heaviness in my chest. Couldn’t shake it. After about 2 weeks of being inside day in and day out with what felt like a growing cinder block on my chest I remembered. “UGH. This is anxiety.” How’d I forget? Somehow I’d managed to tuck the somewhat distant memories of my racing heart, ruminating thoughts and obsessive behavior (ie. panic attacks) into some secret compartment that had grown a layer of dust an inch thick. But COVID showed up and blew the dust off, yanked the drawer open and shoved anxiety back into my face, no brakes. It was brutal. Suddenly that familiar daunting feeling was back and determining the trajectory of most of my days.
The news cycle, the unlimited unstructured free time, the uncertainty, the guilt about the kids watching too much tv…the guilt of denying them screen time. What if they needed to zone out to cope with this weird new reality? What if I let them zone out too much and they forget how to read or spell their names? Then just like that… the pandemic’s over and they’re back in school experiencing some weird more intense version of the summer slide before summer even starts. What?! It could happen. This sounds like an over exaggeration. Unfortunately, it’s not. This is how it happens. One small thought like “ugh, we never let them watch tv during the week and now they’re binge watching a show every week…” snowballs into “my kids may end up illiterate because I’m too lazy to take them out to play.”
Anxiety is such a liar. I know this because this isn’t my first rodeo with her. I think she’s a her because she’s way too smart to be a he. Sorry boys. Just saying. Anyways, my first (maybe not my first but my first significant) memory of experiencing anxiety was a couple of days after my daughter Ryan (now 7) was born. We went to Food Lion to grab a few things. Her Dad ran inside and I stayed in the back seat with Ryan. While we waited a car sped through the parking lot and our parked car shook a little because they were going so fast. Not much, really… just a little. The shake made my stomach turn and immediately I had this terrible vision of me getting out of the car with her car seat in hand and that car speeding by and hitting us. My heart raced and I got hot. I grabbed Ryan out of her car seat and rocked her through tears. She was fine of course because nothing had actually happened but I wasn’t. I didn’t even want to put her back into her seat to leave the parking lot. My stomach was churning and I’m sure if I’d had my blood pressure checked in that moment it would’ve been elevated.
This was the beginning of unimaginably torturous, intrusive thoughts. I would randomly see awful things happening to Ryan which made my heart race, made me want to be with her immediately, made me so mentally exhausted all I could do was sleep. It was a silent torture. I didn’t talk much about it unless I was reminding my husband not to leave the fan on over her while she slept or asking him to double and triple check the temperature of her milk to make sure she didn’t get burnt. The thoughts seemed totally reasonable but I knew better than to speak them outloud to anyone else.
Many of us chalk this up to first time Mom jitters or even just habits of an overprotective Mom. But if I’d ever voiced some of the terrible things I saw happening to my baby in my head you’d believe me… this was different. It got worse when she went to daycare. Again, I suffered fairly silently. My close friends and family knew that I was very nervous but I don’t think anyone knew how loud the intrusive thoughts got. I went to my OB to express my concerns and she prescribed me some medication to help me “relax,” and assured me that Ryan would be fine. I remember asking her if she could guarantee that. After a long pause she said, “Wow. You're right, I can’t guarantee that.” Of course, she couldn’t. For some reason I needed her to acknowledge that while my thoughts were irrational, they weren’t impossible. She explained to me that while many women suffer from Postpartum Depression many women also suffer from Postpartum Anxiety but it’s not talked about as often. And that was my very first formal introduction to anxiety. Things got better as Ryan got older but a couple years later my son Reece was born and my anxiety was back full force like she never left. The only distinction I can remember from my Ryan anxiety and my Reece anxiety is that my Reece anxiety was compounded by the resurgence of my Ryan anxiety. Some days it would get so bad that I would try to go pick them both up from school in the middle of the day for no reason. It took check-ins from teachers and friends with kids at the same school to reassure me that our children were at a great school with loving and capable teachers. It was incredibly disruptive for me until Reece was about 2 years old. I would still have fleeting moments where I’d have intrusive thoughts about something awful happening to them but I was usually able to quiet them with grounding exercises that got me out of my head and back into reality and the present moment.
This is not a piece about Postpartum Anxiety. It’s a piece about how healing is a journey. It’s about how COVID-19 drug me back into the arena with anxiety when I thought I had won that battle (for the most part). I made it through that debilitating era of being a Mom with anxiety to small children. I had to accept that my love for them was so expansive that it made me overwhelmingly aware of how fragile life is. My love was so big that in an instant it would shift into fear and I’d be consumed by the thought that I might not have enough time with them. But let’s be honest… forever would never be enough.
I’ll probably never be completely rid of anxiety. I’m on a journey. The destination doesn’t exist. There’s no ETA, no finish line. It’s an endless journey. My prayer is that I can enjoy the day to day. My prayer is that I can savor the joy and appreciate the gifts. My prayer is that I can learn from the heartache and suffering but not linger there too long. COVID-19 makes this exercise easier and harder at the same time. There are fewer distractions and background noise so the warmth of joyful moments seems more palpable…harder to miss. At the same time there is so much about our lives that we miss being able to share with loved ones and friends. We’re approaching a year of this isolation and sometimes the intrusive thoughts sound like “your kids might never have a normal birthday party again…” or “you took your kids to the grocery store and now Reece is sneezing. How irresponsible…you could’ve used Instacart… check his temp.” I do my best to stop those thoughts in their tracks. Because don’t forget, anxiety is a liar.
I hope no one read this looking for tips on how to battle anxiety during COVID-19. I’m no expert and sometimes I feel like I’m making it up as I go along. Sometimes my efforts work and some days I cuddle up with the cinder block resting on my chest and take a nap while my kids binge watch a Netflix series. But here’s what’s helped me so far. Not all at once and in no particular order:
I meet with my therapist once a week. No exceptions. Every single week.
I sleep when I’m tired. Midday, midweek, whenever. If I’m tired, I sleep.
I find it almost immediately uplifting and energizing to cook and eat something really colorful and healthy with bold seasoning.
I’ve learned to take my time with tasks that I used to have automated. For example: I abandoned my Keurig and now use a French Press for my coffee. Something about the process requires me to be present and intentional. Helps me find my center.
I have sporadically found the energy and motivation to meditate and do yoga. I haven’t been consistent but on the days where I do these things I feel notably more centered.
I wear crystals in a copper necklace that help me stay calm and find my center. Tiger’s Eye for focus, Amethyst to relax, etc.
I take spiritual baths, And burn sage and palo santo to clear negative, stale and nervous energy from my body and space.
Listening to books on Audible. Untamed by Glennon Doyle, Rising Strong by Brene Brown and Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert were all amazing.
I also pray. No explanation needed there.
I won’t lie and say that I ask for help and breaks from family and friends. I should do that more often. You should too. Whatever help looks like…if it’s available you should accept it. You deserve.
In the beginning of the pandemic I was running several times a week. Circumstances have changed and made that harder to do. I felt significantly better after exerting that energy and being outside. We all need the fresh air and exercise. My therapist says running is, “nature’s Prozac.” I need to get back to it.
I hope you all do whatever you need to do to take care of yourselves on this journey. I’m going to keep doing what I can to be well…day by day.
