We’re All in Transition

“So, yeah,” I said, with a smile creeping across my face. “I feel good!”

“That’s great,” my therapist encouraged. “That begs the question… do you want to keep scheduling with me?”

It was all happening. My life finally felt like it was falling back into place. I hadn’t had a panic attack or anxious episode in a few months. My depression felt under control. My job was going great. My separation with my husband was in a peaceful place and we were co-parenting like rock stars. I was in a relationship and feeling happy. I was sober for the first time in years. I’m all better now, I thought.

“Maybe just once a month for maintenance and we’ll go from there,” I said with excitement. I exhaled a deep breath of satisfaction.

That was 2 months ago. What a fool. What a beautiful, arrogant, short-sighted fool. You thought everything was all honky freaking dory when little did you know, you were one global pandemic away from falling all the way back down to the bottom of the well.

How are you guys doing? Are you staying safe? Are you staying sane? Are you sick of asking people that every day? Are you sick of hearing it every day? I know I am. As RHONY’s Dorinda once said, “How’m I doing? Not well, bitch!”

I should have sensed that this was the beginning of the Twilight zone when I spent my son’s birthday party with my estranged husband, his girlfriend, my boyfriend, and ALL OF OUR CHILDREN together. That was the first time I drank in nearly 50 days. We hadn’t even started working from home yet.

Before I delve into this blog any further, let’s just get all the gratitude stuff out of the way. I’m grateful for my health and the health of my family. I still have a job and I’m able to spend money locally to support struggling businesses and less consciously on grocery store runs for snacks and puzzles. I have a roof over my head. I have people who love me. I have more than I deserve.

More importantly, though, this is all super freaking hard. And yes, everyone is having a hard time, but sometimes it feels like everyone else has this figured out but me.

Let’s talk about working from home. The first week was kind of fun, right? Look at us, figuring out Zoom! Checking in for our one-on-ones. Slacking up a storm. Wearing leggings. How fun! Look at all the time we have back from not commuting! What a treasure! Guys, we should treasure this time. We’ve always said we’d get so much more done if we could just work remotely and now here’s our chance! Let’s do it!

Then, complacency kicks in. I used to be able to wake up before 6, make breakfast, get a work out in and get ready all before I head to be at work at 8. Now, I can barely drag myself out of bed before 7:45. Wearing leggings all day sounded great until I tried to button pants on one day. My neck is killing me from being slumped over. I walk around my place like a gorilla in a cage at the zoo. And even though everyone else is also working from home, I keep feeling like everyone is hanging out without me. I miss my coworkers and I’m sad at the end of our Zoom meetings.

Let’s talk about parenting. Here’s the thing: you still have to do that while you’re working from home. Here’s the other thing about Shelter in Place: you still have to teach your kids while you’re parenting them and also working from home. And here’s the REAL kicker: when you’re a single mom that lives in a 700 square foot, 1-bedroom apartment, you have to do that all by yourself.

Things are not going well. I am not equipped for this. My brain thinks I am equipped for this. Years of having High Functioning Depression have led me to believe that I should do everything all of the time and if I can’t then I am worthless. Most of this was under control (see paragraph 3) this whole situation has set me back years. I suddenly feel responsible for delivering them a world-class education (one that includes speaking Spanish, mind you) on a shoestring budget. So basically, I feel like every teacher.

“Just make a plan and stick to it,” I’d say, as I put together my version of a “lesson plan” that everyone’s mom was sharing on Facebook. Kids need structure so if I just make a daily agenda, we’ll all be fine, right? I planned the whole thing out and my kids were excited to take on the day. They got through each “center” before 10am. “Now what, Mommy??”

Here’s a fun arts and crafts idea: I’ll let them make a collage out of things they find in old magazines! I’m sure that’ll stimulate some sort of fine motor skill or understanding of shapes and colors. You know, learning stuff! The end result was an obscene amount of glue on my floor, a fight that broke out over the pair of scissors that resulted in me getting stabbed in the wrist, and my oldest son creating a dramatic reenactment of my separation. (Look, mom! These two people were together and now ::rips picture apart:: they aren’t! Just like you and daddy!)

My youngest has no concept of what is going on. I feel like I am one of Drew Barrymore’s family members in the movie 50 First Dates, explaining to him everything that has happened leading up to that day.

“Good morning! Everything is shut down because people are getting sick. We can’t go to school anymore but you still have to learn. Mommy needs to work still but we can take a break at lunch to stand in the front yard. Everything is fine.”

“Can we go to Magic Mountain?”

“No”

“Why?”

“Because everything’s closed.”

“What about a museum?”

“Also closed”

“Is it a weekend?”

“It’s a Tuesday”

“Why are we still in pajamas?”

“Because we are being responsible by staying home!”

Then there is the act of keeping them safe. Early in the quarantine, I made the mistake of taking them to the grocery store to secure some basic necessities since they blew through my entire pantry in 42 hours. “Don’t touch ANYTHING,” I warned. “Keep your hands to yourself and be prepared to get in and out.”

They touched everything. We were there for 45 minutes. Sensing that I would do anything to get them to cooperate, they started testing what they could put in the basket and as a result, I ended up spending $180 when all I really needed was cat food. I needed to step-up my scare tactic game to get these kids to learn.

“Mom, why can’t I touch things?”

“Because you might die.”

Feeling bad, I corrected myself. “You probably won’t die, it’s just that you might actually kill someone else.”

Much better.

When I am not keeping them from licking surfaces or rubbing their hands on their faces, I am just trying to keep my shit together. There’s a complete feeling of helplessness that seemed so silly at first. While this pandemic was all around me, it wasn’t directly affecting me so complaining about staying at home just seemed tone-deaf, especially when people are dying. Even seeing posts about allowing yourself to “grieve” the loss of normalcy only made me realize why old people hate “snowflakes”. People, it’s NOT that hard! Toughen up! But now that we approach 23 days of this new normal, I feel completely resigned to it. And because I am a snowflake, I feel like I am reliving the 2016 election results every day, looking around and trying to figure out what in God’s name the future will hold. I cry every day over the smallest things, like listening to a podcast or seeing a clickbait video. I cry every day over the biggest things, like my marriage ending and the loss of a dream both of us had. I cry in front of my children. I cry in front of my ex. I mostly cry by myself.

The other thing about working from home while parenting from home while teaching from home when you’re a single parent is that you only have your kids for half the week. I used to be able to leave for work, come home, and give my entire evening to them. Now, there are so many blurred lines between roles during the day, I often can’t manage it without losing my temper constantly. When they leave and the collages, paper scraps, unfinished writing lessons, and make-shift box cars are put away, I feel completely empty and robbed. I am full of regret for every frustration that I took out on them. I hate myself for not having more compassion and checking in with them to see how they are doing, if they are safe, if they are sane.

“No one is doing ok,” my therapist reminds me.

“I know,” I sigh. “I just want to go back to feeling good.” Back to when I was sober. Back to when I wasn’t anxious all the time. Back to when I felt like I could get out of bed. Back to when happiness was in my grasp.

“Happiness is a feeling, not a destination,” she says as we wrap up our appointment. “So, same time next week?”

“Yup. Go ahead and make it a reoccurring invite.”