After lunch, the kids go outside to play. It no longer matters if it’s cold or drizzly — they are eager to go out in weather they would have balked at a month ago. I stand in the window watching them make mud pies and peel the bark off sticks. Between the dead grass and the dreary sky, the world is colourless and dull. Caution tape flutters over the entrance of the park nearby. It looks like a pandemic out there, I think.
Parenting during a pandemic is scary. It’s hard and it’s sometimes heartbreaking — but we’re putting on a brave face for our children because that’s what they need from us right now.
Panic isn’t going to help — it’s only going to make us fall apart, which will make it harder for us to get through this. We need to show up in love. We need to remember that we can’t control what happens but we can control how we think, feel and act. We need to take care of each other, and we need to take care of ourselves.
I am no stranger to anxiety + panic attacks, but I have never had such a CONSISTENT obsession about my breathing (and lack thereof) as I’ve had over the last three days.
I went off my antidepressants, and now I’m working on myself. It’s uncomfortable as hell. It’s the most difficult DIY project of my life.