Admitting to myself that I couldn’t hold it all together anymore.
Written 5/11/2020
COVID-19 — a term that initially seemed to belong to a strange science fiction movie, but in reality, it feels eerily close to home. For many of us, the world has shifted dramatically in ways we couldn’t have anticipated, and even though I’m one of the lucky ones, it doesn’t stop the sadness from creeping in. I’m still employed and receiving my normal wage, despite not being able to work my full hours. As a home visitor, I now work from home, reaching out to the families I once visited in person. My job is to support them — helping connect them to resources, taking their minds off the constant news of illness, and allowing them to focus on the joys of their children’s development. I’ve been fortunate to receive support from my agency, with daily and weekly check-ins, answers to countless questions, and access to counseling if needed. I have my health, and so does my family. My fiancé is still employed and taking precautions, working alone and staying safe at his workplace. Even though I’ve been able to stay relatively comfortable during this time, it’s impossible to ignore the heavy weight of the pandemic. I go to the grocery store every few weeks, the shelves are stocked, and people seem to be following safety measures. I’ve barely driven since work travel has been suspended, and I’ve even been able to put my stimulus check toward paying off bills to improve my financial situation. In many ways, I’m truly one of the lucky ones. But even then, I can’t shake the sadness.
A Complex Kind of Sadness
My feelings are complicated. I find myself worried — worried that expressing how I feel will come across as privileged, or that I’ll be accused of “feeding into the panic.” I’m anxious knowing I will hear how others have it worse, and feel guilty, while also fearing that my feelings won’t be validated. It’s easy to get lost in all the concerns about the future, the economy, and the health of our society. The world feels uncertain, and I can’t help but wonder how long it will take for us to heal. But this sadness isn’t just about the big things I worry about. It’s also the quiet, accumulating weight of smaller, hidden burdens. It’s the exhaustion that comes from not feeling like you’re “fine” anymore but still saying it when asked. It’s the mental strain of pretending things are normal when your heart is heavy and your body is physically tired. When enough people ask you how you’re doing and you can’t say “I’m fine” any longer, you finally break. You admit that you’re not okay, and that’s when you realize just how much you’ve been holding in. It’s a strange sadness — not just from one event, but from a collection of events that, over time, have added up and left me feeling empty. It’s the grief of a world that feels out of control and unpredictable. And even though I know I’m lucky, that guilt weighs on me too.
The Unseen Struggles
I feel sadness for so many things, things that I may never fully be able to articulate. I’m sad for the essential workers who weren’t acknowledged as essential until now. I’m sad for those who risk their lives for a paycheck because they have no other option. I’m sad for the healthcare workers who are overworked, under-supported, and often unheard. I’m sad for the families of those who are sick — families who can’t be at their loved ones’ sides because of the restrictions. I’m sad for those who have lost loved ones, not just to COVID-19 but to cancer, old age, or accidents, and who can’t be with them in their final moments. Funerals are being postponed, and that is another layer of grief we must carry. I’m sad for the high school seniors and college students missing out on milestones like prom and graduation. I’m sad for younger students forced to adapt to online learning without much notice, and for parents who have had to take on so much responsibility during this time. I’m sad for pregnant women navigating childbirth with less family support and added stress about health risks. I’m sad that my own family members still think this pandemic is a hoax, and that some people are protesting “to save the economy” without fully understanding the consequences. I’m sad that our local governments didn’t act sooner and that we don’t already have a clearer, more robust plan to handle situations like this.
Deeper under the surface I think I’m sad that people lack trust, faith, and understanding. I can’t help but wonder how people are really doing, but know I’m not ready for their response. I’m sad for all the canceled fundraisers, events, and parties — those moments of connection that we’re now missing. I’m sad that, like so many others, I can’t sit down and plan my wedding, or that my fiancé’s parents’ restaurant might not survive this crisis. I’m sad that even though my stimulus check helped, $1200 just isn’t enough for most people to make it through. And I’m sad that we have to even worry about money, because it feels like health and lives should always come before financial interests. As the days drag on, I feel my faith in humanity slipping. I’m disappointed that the good we’ve seen come from this pandemic, like the ways people have supported each other, will likely fade away when it’s over. And I’m disappointed in myself, too, for not being able to take advantage of the time to be creative, to work on my health, or even to keep up with the dishes. There’s a part of me that feels like a failure, always, but especially now.
Accepting the Privilege and Guilt
Despite all of this, I know I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m healthy. I have a job, and I’ve been able to keep up with my bills. My family is safe. I have support and resources available to me. But even though I am grateful, it doesn’t mean I’m immune to the emotional toll of this pandemic. And it doesn’t mean that my feelings are any less valid than anyone else’s. In a time like this, it’s easy to feel guilty for admitting that you’re struggling. But I think that’s what we all need — permission to feel. Whether you’re one of the lucky ones or someone who’s facing unimaginable hardships, it’s okay to admit when you’re not okay. We are all carrying some weight, and it’s important to be honest about it. So yes, I’m sad. But I’m also hopeful. Hopeful that we will get through this, even if it takes longer than we think. And in the meantime, I’m grateful — grateful to be one of the lucky ones, and grateful to finally allow myself to unload.