In three weeks, my husband, kids, and I are relocating from Minnesota to my home state of Wisconsin. It’s a decision that didn’t come easily. We’ll be uprooting lives we liked for new ones full of unknowns. Moving is draining, especially during a pandemic. And expensive.
For many of us, the past year of Covid has been a clarifying time, highlighting our personal values and forcing a more honest consideration of our priorities. In some cases, that clarity can make big decisions feel easier and more urgent — but on the other hand, the constant risk assessment of living through a pandemic can also cause major decision fatigue. …
I’ve been living with a strange feeling for a few weeks now: a sense of hope mixed with anticipation mixed with energy. It first took root the day after the presidential election was called, and it swelled again with the vaccine news that brought the end of the pandemic into view. For the first time in months, I have the energy to get shit done.
In terms of motivation, a burst of hope is like the first day of school: That blank slate feeling is the perfect push to shake up old routines. …
“Do you even like turkey?” I asked my husband last night over our dinner of pad thai as we mused out loud about what we’d make for Thanksgiving. The truth is, I don’t. I’m not really a fan of most parts of the traditional Thanksgiving spread. But until that point, it hadn’t occurred to me that this year, we could skip it all: the bird, the stuffing, the sweet potato casserole.
And almost as soon as the thought popped into my brain, I felt guilty. This Thanksgiving will look different than most, sure, but it’s still Thanksgiving.
You, like me, may have already settled with the idea that gathering with friends and family is off the table. And if that’s the case, then you, like me, may assume that the way to ease the pain of this Thanksgiving is to recreate the usual holiday routines as faithfully as possible. But trying to force some sense of normalcy on a very strange day may end up just making things worse. …
Last year, when my son started kindergarten, my mom friends warned me that he might come home irritable the first few weeks. They were right: My normally happy-go-lucky five-year-old would trudge off the bus, throw his backpack on the entryway floor, and turn on the TV without a word (except to demand a bowl of Goldfish). When I asked about his day at dinner or at bedtime, he’d shut me down and change the subject.
It didn’t last long, thankfully, but I’ve spent the time since then wondering why a question as innocuous as “How was your day?” would prompt such a negative reaction. I recently found what seemed to be an answer in an Instagram post about how to get kids to talk about their feelings: Seattle-based therapist Lindsay Braman explained that such an open-ended prompt can increase anxiety, especially when you’re asking someone (like a five-year-old) to share emotions they don’t know how to explain. …
“If the kids interrupt me one more time,” I hissed to my husband. I didn’t finish the sentence. I didn’t know how to. I was already at the end of my rope.
This was about a month into quarantine, and my anxiety was roaring into high gear — we hadn’t had childcare in weeks, and I was at max capacity trying to juggle my kindergartener’s distance learning, my preschooler’s constant emotional outbursts, and my own freelance writing work. Something had to give, and I had a hunch it wouldn’t be the pandemic.
The moment felt like a crossroads. I had a choice: I could keep living in frustrated denial, or I could find a workaround. With support from my husband, I scaled back on work, hired a pandemic-safe babysitter, and let my kids watch entire seasons of Paw Patrol when I was on a deadline. That wasn’t necessarily the reality I wanted to live in, but after a while, I realized that being more honest with myself about my own limits — as both a worker and a parent — made this less-desirable reality at least a tolerable one. …
For the week of the election, I’m strategically planning my shower schedule. I’m usually an every-other-day bather, but next week, my only priority is to take a shower on the morning of November 3. Because if things don’t go as I want them to, I don’t see myself mustering up the energy I need to do it the next day, let alone venture off my couch. Starting with clean hair on Election Day gives me a few days of buffer.
A lot is at stake during any presidential election — but for many of us, this one in particular feels like it comes with life-or-death consequences. Kate Truitt, a California-based psychologist, says the ongoing stress of the last four years (not to mention a global pandemic) has made people more sensitive than usual to new, potentially threatening information. “Election Day is the pivotal moment where you’ll either be able to breathe again or feel like you need to go into hiding,” she says. …
When the sound of my kids’ screaming starts to push me over the edge, I grab my phone to text my friend Rachel. “Shitshow here, how about there?” I inquire, usually followed by a series of GIFs that reflect my current emotional crisis. Instead of texting back, she usually FaceTimes. With our preschoolers losing it in perfect harmony, we air our pandemic anxiety and banter about how glad we are we didn’t marry the guys we dated in 2009.
It’s always a relief. It’s cathartic. …
This piece is part of How Google Drive Can Make Every Corner of Your Life Easier
Right now, in a Google Doc under the heading “Things I Love,” I have the following list: velvet couch pillows. Leopard accessories. Rosy lip gloss. Pastel crocs. I wish I were joking about that last one, but I’ve lingered over enough targeted ads for those rubber shoes to accept the truth.
The Doc is a catch-all for items I’ve come across during trips to the store, during idle online browsing, or while scrolling social media — less a premeditated shopping list, more a brain dump of things that happen to bring me joy. When I happen across a product that screams “Ashley,” I feel like someone out there knows me, even if that “someone” is just the algorithm. …
This piece is part of How Google Drive Can Make Every Corner of Your Life Easier
Every once in a while, when I’m carrying a mental load that feels too heavy to bear on my own, I power on my computer and start a Google Doc. Dear God, I type, in Garamond for good measure. I’m sorry it’s been so long.
It’s a method of prayer that would have felt utterly bizarre to me not that long ago. I spent years believing that having God in my life meant living up to a very exacting ideal — a belief I fully embraced for the first time at age 14, when I became a Christian on a windy spring morning at a Wisconsin Bible camp. As I repeated the words of commitment after the emotional youth leader in front of me, I pictured myself following Jesus far away from my old life. …
What would you do if you knew the world was about to end? Like any doomsday prepper, you’d probably stock up on the supplies you would need to survive the impending catastrophe: the nonperishable food, the bottled water, the first-aid kit.
Well, it’s not quite the apocalypse, but as we approach the darker, colder days of our pandemic winter, life as we’ve come to know it these past several months — our tenuous grasp on something resembling normalcy — is coming to an end. …
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