You Don’t Have COVID-19? You Can Still Grieve

Wow. This is the first time in the 10 weeks since quarantine started that I’ve been inspired to write. I’ve wanted to! I’ve tried. But alas, I’ve always ended up staring at a blinking cursor and a blank screen.

A couple weeks ago, my boyfriend (an essential worker) came home from work and found me lying flat on the kitchen rug. It was a weird place to lie, but I was feeling hugely unmotivated that day. The sun–which I’d been craving–had finally decided to shine its rays through a cloudless sky, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to move from the rug.

So it goes with daily lockdown life in New York State. There are good days and bad days, up weeks and down weeks, exciting moments and draining moments. I have so far avoided contracting COVID-19–or Corona as I prefer to call it. And while somehow I’ve managed to deal with a bout of lice and poison ivy in quarantine, I’m alive; I’m breathing; I’m healthy.

We were doing this for the greater good. But that novelty has begun to wear off as restrictions are lifted in some states, yet fears and the virus remain. When some of us are still on lockdown, but others aren’t.

At the beginning of the spread of the virus–when life as we knew it began to take on a drastically different shape–we were all reminding each other that we were lucky. We had each other, albeit socially distantly, and we had our health. Death tolls were climbing but we were, for all intents and purposes, safe.

But what my physical health has provided me since the lockdown began, my mental health has not. It’s fair-minded and equitable to remind ourselves of the good and the luck that we have, but it does not do our mental health any justice to negate the difficult circumstances we find ourselves in, virus or not.

Our feelings not only deserve to be acknowledged, but it is imperative that we recognize them. Pushing them under the proverbial rug (not the rug my boyfriend found me recently lying on) does not make them any less valuable or warranted. If that’s all we did, overshadowing our own struggles by comparing them to the struggles of others, our seemingly small concerns would become a large lump under that rug that we would one day trip and fall on. And speaking from experience, that downward spiral is a black hole of its own.

My dear friend who has been experiencing the restricting lockdown life in India reminded me recently that we are always, always allotted to our feelings:

“Quick reminder that it’s okay to not be okay. We are all going through grief. Even if we have stable jobs and our loved ones are healthy.” –Pooja Dutt

Someone out there will always be in a worse situation than you, but you cannot live the life you’re meant to live if you do not take care of yourself. Have theory of mind, but remember to be self-aware. In your reflections of the world in its current state and your place in it, do not deprive yourself of the self-care and compassion that you need, that you deserve, and that you are inherently entitled to.

It Gets Better

Ten months ago, I thought life as I knew it would never be the same. In a way, I was right. I am a stronger person than I was 10 months ago and a better version of myself. But the difference is that I thought my world had been zapped of sunshine and butterflies, that I would forever be spluttering, drowning, splashing but never surfacing for a breath of air. I hated my new normal but it didn’t feel like anything would ever change.

I had forgotten that it was possible to wake up in the morning with a peaceful rhythm in my chest. I had forgotten it was possible to start my day without a tightness that made each breath calculated, or to sleep more than three hours in a night. I had forgotten what it felt like to really, truly live.

People promised me it would get better, but at the time, these seemed like false, rose-colored, unproven words of hope. Because I couldn’t see past the fog, so how could they?

But it did get better.

I have made some big changes since January that have shaped my days to be filled with light instead of darkness.

I went back to therapy.

I started seeing my therapist again and found myself looking forward to our weekly appointments. While I’ve been able to cut back to monthly or even every other month appointments, I still recognize and appreciate the value in having a licensed professional with whom to talk through the ups and downs of life.

I prioritized certain people over others.

Some people in my life have been catalysts to my pain. I cut ties whether directly or indirectly with people who discouraged me, judged me, disrespected me, or were straight up rude or mean to me.

This was extremely difficult for me to do because I really do love humanity, and I really do love the people I surround myself with. But it turned out I only loved some parts of some of these people because there were other parts of them that weren’t good to me or for me. When I realized this, I had a clear idea of who I needed to let go.

I moved.

I still live in Seattle, but I moved in with a new roommate in a new apartment. I feel comfortable in this home environment, something I hadn’t felt for the two years prior. That meant for two years I would go from an uncomfortable work environment (see below) to an uncomfortable living environment every day, which made me unable to unwind and just relax.

My new living situation (which isn’t so new anymore) is working out great. I don’t know what will happen when my lease is up, but I’m surprisingly not worried about it, which shows me how much progress I’ve made.

I got a guinea pig.

Cilantro Clementine aka Clemmy aka the best guinea pig in the world has made my days immensely brighter. She relies on me and I rely on her. When I start to feel anxious, I pick her up (if she isn’t already by my side or in my lap). Just by petting her, or getting kisses from her, or hearing her little noises, my heart is instantly happier. She helps me to remain in the present. It’s truly amazing how a teensy furball can make such a big impact.

I quit my job.

The final straw toward gaining back clarity, peace, and happiness turned out to be quitting my job. For two-and-a-half years, I had stayed afloat in a hostile work environment, thriving professionally but sinking personally. I was often cornered aggressively, literally blocked from escaping a barrage of negative commentary, blamed for things that weren’t my fault, and discredited for pivotal business accomplishments for which I’d gone above and beyond. Without my consent, I was forced to shift from a 32 to 46-hour work week and cover the work of two employees without additional compensation, all the while jeopardizing my creative careers and, most importantly, my mental health.

I had made leaps and bounds in nurturing my health since reaching my lowest low, and I realized this job was the only thing keeping me from progressing.

So I quit. After two years of striving weekly to make changes within the workplace, and a year of casually yet non-directionally looking for other job opportunities, I was exhausted. I had no energy or time to commit to job searching, and so finding a job before quitting simply wasn’t an option. A lot of people are scared to quit without anything lined up, and it certainly can be scary. But I wasn’t rash in this decision. I saved all the money I made from six months of overtime work and set it aside to help me transition.

After my co-worker and I were unjustly yelled at on the end of our shift one evening, I had this “Aha!” moment where I recognized I didn’t deserve to be treated like that. I handed in my resignation the next day. Immediately, I felt that I really was going to be okay after all, that it really does get better. (Coincidentally, on my last day there, I found out I was cast in a theatre show.)

I changed careers.

I also made the decision to leave the veterinary field. Did you know the veterinary profession ranks number one in the national suicide rate? Did you know that veterinary professionals are two to four times more susceptible to mental illness than the general population? In speaking with half a dozen of my friends in the animal field who were also struggling with mental health and the same problems I had with this field of work–such as ethics and compassion fatigue–I thought about what jobs have made me the happiest. I made a list of my skills and objectives, and I set aside time every day (even today) to apply to jobs.

So I made the decision to transition out of the animal world, at least in my previous capacities, at least for now. Around this time, I was also given the opportunity to have my own animal web series, combining my love of animals with my love of writing and acting. It could not have been more serendipitous.

What’s the moral here?

It really can get better, and it will get better if you work at it. That’s the kicker though. It takes so much effort, so much strength and belief in yourself. It takes relying on others, being vulnerable and asking for help, but at the end of the day, it is only you who can pull yourself through to the other side.

It’s easy to doubt yourself and to doubt the words of hope when you feel so helpless and hopeless. But I promise you, it gets better.

Anxiety is a ‘Witch with a B’

Travel, exercise, theatre and discussion help me cope with my anxiety.

I didn’t used to curse. Then I went through an era of the broken heart where I was so anxious about uncertainties that uttering “Goddammit” in tune with Eric Cartman gave me a feeling of relief my many “Peter, Paul and Mary” and “son of a biscuits” simply could not. For those of us who experience anxiety—its intoxicating, overpowering state of body and mind—it can perhaps best be summed up as a “witch with a B.”

There’s a stigma out there on anxiety. It shouldn’t be talked about. Keep it hush hush. If only people were more open to talking about their problems. We might realize we’re not alone.

Anxiety is, in fact, the most common mental disorder in the United States, affecting anywhere from 18-30% of the population. It is often coupled with depression and OCD, two other disorders that aren’t talked about enough.

In today’s society, declaring imperfections is taboo. The fact that one suffers from an all-consuming mental health disorder is not information to be shared with co-workers and friends. Our honest emotional state is supposed to be brushed under the rug, instead masked with what society deems “publicly acceptable” and “professional.” Our insecurities are meant to be quieted, not voiced.

What if we changed what society tells us? What if we stood up on our soapboxes, shouting our imperfections and embracing who we really are? What if we appreciated that we’re human; we’re imperfect; we’re emotional; we’re beautiful.

When I was in sixth grade, I was diagnosed with depression and a minor case of OCD. A decade later, anxiety crashed into my life like the proverbial bull in a China shop, dismantling my stability and crumbling my securities. It lifted both my feet off the ground and has left me scrambling ever since.

A part of my anxiety stems from growing up: the bills, the expectations, the life choices and adult decisions. Another part of my anxiety is caused by relationships with others, even when they’re not my own. Anxiety also fights its way into my life when I try to fit into the cookie cutter lifestyle I simply don’t thrive in.

Passionate people experience extreme emotions, which explains why the highest of highs can be followed by the lowest of lows. Sometimes the happiest people are actually the ones struggling most with a mental health disorder.

Travel cures me. Or at least alleviates the struggle. And it works so much better than any pill I’ve ever popped. I’ve learned to wrap my arms around my fear of uncertainty, to book one way flights, to wake up one morning not knowing where I’ll lie my head at night.

Theatre is my remedy. I focus my mind on line memorization, creativity and imagination. I shed my unwarranted fears before I step onto the stage at night. For a few hours, at least, I am a character in a dream world brought to life. My anxiety is irrelevant.

Exercise is my mental and physical fix. When my heart starts racing, I encourage it. I put on my running shoes and step out the door. My anxiety comes with me. It never really leaves. But it is put at bay.

Talking about it helps me cope. I visit counselors in different cities I move to. I bounce advice off of friends to ease me away from a panic attack. I lean on people, because that’s what humanity is all about.

It’s exhausting spending our lives running from something. It’s so much easier to accept it, understand it, and welcome it.

You might never have known the battle of epic proportions that goes on in my head if I hadn’t told you. Those of us who suffer from mental health disorders are often happy people. But even happy people are not without their hardships.  Forty million Americans suffer from anxiety.

And it’s important that we talk about it.