What I Didn’t Expect to Feel During COVID-19 Isolation
Current status: 8 weeks into COVID-19 isolation.
It was widely shared that the first few weeks of isolation would bring feelings of discomfort for many of us, labeled early on as grief.
As things began to lock down, and the virus took hold of our world, I prepared myself for those feelings to come rushing in. And they did.
Grief for the loss of lives.
Grief for the small businesses in our community who had to shut their doors permanently. For the many people who lost their jobs.
Grief for the lack of desperately-needed leadership on a national scale.
Grief for realizing that things may not be the same for a long time, especially with family and loved ones.
All of those feelings sank in, raw and real every single day, circling around like reflective figures on a never-ending carousel.
But there was one distinct feeling that I didn’t expect. It crept up with a slow burn under the swirl of everything else.
The grief of losing my identity.
Pre-COVID-19, my husband and I were working on opposite ends of the United States. We lived a pretty nomadic lifestyle, meeting each other somewhere every other weekend, and the outdoors was a big part of our lives. When we traveled to see each other, it was typically to a location where we could hike or surf.
There was something about the outdoors. We called it “fresh air therapy,” because of the calm that we felt under Mother Nature’s wing.
Standing within the sweeping lines of nature made our worries feel smaller. Anxieties melted away. It was our escape. Our moment to be hyper present, tuned in to every breath as the air moved around us, the trails or water below us.
I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach…
Henry David Thoreau
Then the option went away. This horrible virus ravaged the world, and along with everyone else, we closed the doors to the lifestyle we once had.
It was okay at first. We were grateful (and we still are — we’re so thankful for our situation given the circumstances).
But soon after, I felt empty.
The very habit I built my life around to nurture my physical and mental wellness was gone. My anchor wasn’t there anymore.
I was lost.
For the first few weeks, I distracted myself, not even aware of the feeling.
This is the perfect time to learn the ukulele.
We, as a couple, can use this time to get closer.
I can finally focus on learning a new language.
Band-aid distractions worn as a cover-up to say “I’m okay.”
After a couple of weeks, the exhaustion set in. My brain was tired, anxiety was gnawing away at me, and I fell into a dark place. I didn’t know who I was anymore, what I enjoyed doing, or what the purpose of each day was.
It was in that place, that I was finally able to recognize and attribute the darkness to identity loss.
In came the crashing wave of guilt. How dare I feel that way? It was selfish. Weak. Why was I so fragile that this one thing (that seemed so superficial) had me spiraling? I thought I was stronger than that.
The world was battling a monstrous pandemic, and here I was, grieving the loss of who I was before this all happened. What the hell was wrong with me.
It became an unhealthy pattern for days, filled with negative voices and emotional swings until I began to methodically practice the following:
- Feel the complicated feelings, and acknowledge them instead of trying to react to them, or “fix” them
- Neutralize the voice that spits guilt about those feelings
- Find one thing to be genuinely thankful for every day
- Lean into my support network (because none of us have to get through this alone)
This has become a new routine, and it’s slowly helped break through the fog. At least now, there’s some clarity around what I’m experiencing. I don’t feel alone, and I’m not shaming myself for it.
The activities that made us “who we are” might be gone for the near-term. But what if those were bandages in their own ways, too?
What if we never had to dig into our needs until now, because there were so many ways to distract or satisfy them without naming the needs themselves?
“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.”
― C.G. Jung
I’m not saying anything will ever replace the outdoors for me. It won’t. But I’m learning more about the core need that nature had been fulfilling.
It was my need to be calm and present, disconnected from the day-to-day pressures. The need to see that my world was smaller than the actual one we lived in.
Knowing that, maybe it can be fulfilled in other ways for now.
Today, 8 weeks into isolation, I’m still working through this and thought perhaps some of you were, too.
If you’re going through your own routines to get through each day, I’d love to hear what you’ve found to be helpful.
