Originally Published on my Medium blog
I started to jot this down in May 2020 when we were just a few months into the stay at home orders. We were still trying to find our sea legs, so to speak, and were a bit seasick. Here many months later, we’ve found a rhythm and the waves have died down though they’re not entirely gone.
I was dreading today. I’d watched my schedule stack up over the week, and I knew it would be a rough day. Already feeling the zoom fatigue that’s common lately, I was on edge even before the day really got going. My typical workout-to-clear-my-head trick only managed to take the edge off the first meeting. So I took a deep breath and steadied myself from the long haul.
But after eight hours of context switching every thirty minutes, one child on the verge of a school induced meltdown, and the other child that was actively trying to find the fastest path to the ER, I had reached my end. I could feel the exhaustion and anxiety creep in. Then, the husband comes down bearing roses. A sweet gesture on the surface, only he proceeds to apologize for their sorry state, and how ripped off he felt about them. “Awesome, shitty overpriced flowers,” I thought in my head.
At that point, every inch of me was screaming for a way out. I considered going for a run, but that felt like too much work. But anything that kept me within reach of someone who needed yet one more thing only amplified my anxiety. So, I sat on the driveway, legs out, and palms planted on the solid ground breathing deeply in and out. In. Out. In. Out. I needed stillness. I needed quiet. I needed to feel ground and in control of something. I needed to be not needed for a hot minute.
30 minutes later, sprawled on my back in the grass on the hill, I finally felt the vice around my chest start to relax, and my anxiety started to ease. See, this working-from-home thing was fun at first and is still enjoyable on occasion. But after eight weeks of simultaneously wearing the mom hat, the professional hat, and the wife hat, I’ve discovered a level of “done” that I’ve never experienced in the past.
I like to think of myself as a go-with-the-flow type person, rolling with the punches and whatnot. But recent events have shown me that there’s more “planner” in me than I want to admit. Uncertainty, if I focus on it, brings on anxiety. In the past, I would use planning as a way to ignore it until it went away, but that’s not working lately. It’s not going away any time soon, and you can’t plan for much at this point.
So, what to do? Well, I’m learning to find grace and give it freely, even when it’s hard. I’m learning to be okay in the moment and that I don’t have to be everything for everybody. That my kids won’t rot if they spend more time on a tablet than they usually do. And that dinner can be a simple pasta and sauce or even take out (now that we’ve found out it’s relatively safe). I’ve accepted that sitting on the deck and reading a book for most of the weekend is an okay way to spend my time. And that ignoring the wash and the dishes for a bit isn’t the end of the world. They’ll be there when I’m ready to handle them (and maybe, just maybe, someone else will do them before I get there).
Most of all, I’ve learned to slow down and be present more. To recognize the growing swell of panic before it overtakes me and to find the bright spot in the moment here and now. I’ve realized that as a family, we’re incredibly lucky. We’re happy, healthy, and comfortable. I get time with my kids and husband that I would never have had otherwise. And I don’t have to “plan” beyond what we’re going to do for dinner.
And that is actually quite freeing.