How the Pandemic And Lockdowns Broke My Mental Health

Matthew Henry for Burst

Unless you’re an adrenaline junkie that enjoys jumping out of airplanes, we can all agree that fear is an emotion most people don’t actively seek out.

Fear is not a good feeling in your body.

But it’s uncomfortable for a reason — it’s motivating.

Your brain triggers this bodily discomfort to alert you. This mechanism has been fine-tuned by years of evolution to help us survive and run for our lives from predators.

But our fear response is so intense and effective; people can become fearful of the response itself.

In short, we can become fearful of fear.

This is what happened to me during the first winter of the pandemic.

In late December 2020, I was running on empty. I had years of career pressure piling up, and stress was running high.

Like many people who are burnt out, I started having serious trouble sleeping — something I had never really experienced in my life.

Shortly after, I started having panic attacks at night as I was going to sleep.

People who’ve never experienced a panic attack might not understand how it feels. A panic attack isn’t just feeling slightly anxious or worried. Think about the most scared you’ve ever felt. I’m talking, legs trembling, hyperventilating, heart-pounding — raw fear. That is what a panic attack feels like; it feels like jolts of electricity going through your body.

After just a few evenings of this, the act of getting in my bed gave me an attack. Like Pavlov’s dog that learnt to salivate just from the sound of a bell — I developed a conditioned response to my bed. The place that used to feel warm, comforting and relaxing became a dreaded, anxiety-inducing place.

As if the nocturnal panic and insomnia weren’t bad enough, when I peeled myself out of bed in the morning after a few hours of broken sleep, I woke up to a completely different world.

It was early January 2021, and Quebec was in a period of tight covid regulations. Stores, restaurants, bars, gyms were all shut down. Private gatherings were forbidden. We even had an 8 PM curfew. Yes, you read that right — 8 PM!

I didn’t have access to any of my usual coping mechanisms. No meaningful activities or distractions I would usually turn to for relief.

Unsurprisingly, the panic started to creep into the day. As a result, I spiralled into a very dark and scary place.

I was sleep-deprived, isolated, and engulfed in physical anxiety all day. The symptoms were intense — non-stop intrusive thoughts, pounding headaches, brain fog, dizziness, nausea, and even blurry vision — I could not concentrate, which made me ineffective at my job. This made me feel even more badly about myself.

I remember one day, I just stared in a complete daze at a wall for what seemed like hours. My body felt stiff. My movements were slow. Even talking felt exhausting.

Ultimately, I became depressed. I had no appetite and lost 15 pounds in just two weeks. I could barely function. When I started fantasizing about hurting myself, I knew I had to seek help.

I went to the hospital because I had no clue where to turn for mental health support. The doctors there were surprisingly unsympathetic. The attending psychiatrist told me to “dance in my living room for 20 minutes” to help me relieve my stress. I felt so alone, scared, and unheard. They wrote me a couple of prescriptions and sent me on my way after a night in the emergency room.

I admit one thing: I could have responded to the situation in a better way. I could have tried to “ride the wave” until it passed. But people who have suffered from severe panic or anxiety know this is much easier said than done. Especially if you’ve never experienced that level of anxiety before in your life, your knee-jerk reaction is to run from it. It feels fucking terrifying.

Simply put, it’s challenging to accept fear. Even people with mild symptoms respond to their anxiety with avoidance and “safety behaviours” without even knowing it — a glass of wine, weed, mindless scrolling, cleaning, etc.

So if there is one piece of advice I could give to anyone going through a difficult time, don’t panic.

If you are feeling anxious, depressed, on edge, not sleeping well, flooded with negative thoughts, this is a normal response to the world we currently live in. Try and accept the discomfort, as hard as it can be.

Just don’t fight it. Because ultimately, resisting and avoiding anxiety will only make it stick around for longer. Or worse, you’ll teach your brain to see your anxiety is a real threat; this can put you at risk of developing an anxiety disorder.

Fast forward to winter 2022, and I am in a much better place. I’ve done a lot of CBT and exposure-based therapy. However, I still suffer from symptoms almost daily. Ultimately, I still haven’t fully returned to my “pre-crisis” self.

In the end, I’m positive the strict regulations and isolation aggravated my mental state.

I have always been an outgoing, extroverted person. If I had been able to see my friends, go work in a coffee shop, go to my yoga classes, if I had some sense of normalcy in my life, if I had something to distract me, then I wouldn’t have gotten sucked so deep in a downward spiral.

I know one thing is for certain, I am not alone.

The restrictions that the Quebec government has forced upon people have had alarming consequences for the mental and emotional well-being of its citizens.

This is not just anecdotal. There is a wealth of scientific research that shows just how damaging social isolation is to the human mind and body.

For example:

• It is well documented that people with a good support system have a better chance of recovering from a mental illness.
• Isolation and loneliness have a detrimental effect on our health — reducing our cognitive abilities, and sleep quality, and even increasing our risk of premature death.
• A recent study suggests social isolation activates immune mechanisms, causing inflammation in the brain. Leading to symptoms of fatigue, burnout, and anxiety.

Bottom line: Cutting people off from their support systems and the things that they love is a recipe for disaster. We can see the widespread effects of this reflected in recent mental health statistics:

• Insurance claims for SSRIs (antidepressants) are up 17% in 2020. (Express Scripts Canada, 2021)
• 1 in 4 (25%) Canadians aged 18 and older screened positive for symptoms of depression, anxiety or posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) in spring 2021, up from one in five (21%) in fall 2020. (StatsCan, 2021)
• In a recent poll, “social isolation” was found as the leading self-reported stressor having a negative impact on mental health. (Mental Health Research Canada, 2021)

Final Thoughts

I hope my story will shed light on what a mental health crisis looks like on a personal level. And I hope more people can come forward to share how the pandemic (and the strict regulations in Quebec) have impacted their mental health.

Some people have seen positive changes to their personal well-being from the changes the pandemic brought, like better work-life balance.

But many have equally struggled.

I hope my story will bring comfort to those who have suffered by having their lives changed in such profound ways. And to anyone who has struggled with their mental health in the past two years.

Please remember: you are not alone.