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[title]As we prepare to re-enter the world, with the words ‘the new normal’ ringing in our ears, I’ve been feeling… something. It’s not quite anxiety, it’s far from panic but it’s not yet excitement. It’s not something I can put my finger on but it’s always there. A nervous tension and energy that frankly is exhausting to even think about. We’re confronted by press conferences that, in the same breath, tell us to be excited about a future we don’t yet possess and yet be deathly afraid of a present we can’t seem to escape. It’s not so much a yin and yang as it is an emotional tug of war between the part of us that yearns to live it large, and the part of us that simply wants to live. The broken record of staying home, missing our friends and family, of making (then killing) sourdough starters combined with the ever-changing goal posts of sheltering in place until we hit 70%, then 80% then 90% vaccination targets, it’s a fatigue and frustration that few of us have had to endure ever before. Raves on Bondi beach, SWAT units patrolling the streets of Sydney’s south-west, there doesn’t seem to be a middle path and that dichotomy can leave us doing mental acrobatics and wondering why we should even care.
I know a lot of people find the routine of getting up, getting dressed, leaving the house and working efficiently in an office to be a huge part of the daily ritual but not me. I had a baby two and a half years ago so anything even resembling a social life was already on its way out the window when isolation and stay-at-home orders came along. Not all that much changed in my world. That’s not to say that I don’t empathise with the collective trauma that we are all feeling, having essentially lost the last two years of our lives to an invisible force that can be transmitted with a hug but in terms of the day to day? For a freelancing new mum, what even is a routine?
I’m loving the fact that Sydneysiders are losing their minds to have some wholesome picnics and that my hospitality family will soon be back on some kind of track and how deeply passionate the vast majority of the population is to get vaccinated, so why don’t I want to go back out, escape this relative solitude? I know I don’t want to go back to wearing bras or showering daily but it can’t just be my gradually declining standard of hygiene. Public transport to the office combined with the chaotic energy of getting a toddler ready for daycare every morning could have something to do with it but more than just inconvenience I think it might be fear.
Yes, it sounds dramatic, but when all you’ve heard every day at 11am is to stay at home, keep your loved ones safe, get vaccinated, and casualty rates, it can be hard to shake the feeling that going outside could be the death blow to someone you love. My child is too young to get vaccinated against Covid-19, and my parents, who are both double vaccinated, aren’t getting any younger. My partner believes he is invincible and dragged his feet to get jabbed so that leaves me to worry about the lot of us. As a food and drinks writer, it is my job to be out in the world, supporting and championing the very industry that arguably was hit hardest by the pandemic, an obvious site for the transmission of a virus, so what happens when my very job is to enter the battle ground between a safe and healthy community and the illness that stopped the world in its tracks?
The reality is, isolation is dangerous. It’s lonely and damaging and can be the final straw for those battling uphill with their demons. In the last two years I have had four close friends die by suicide. They were more isolated than I could ever have imagined. Being away from our loved ones and in a very strange new world, uncertainty and loneliness can be too much to bear. A healthcare system that is under strain doesn’t leave a lot of room for mental health resources and those at risk have rarely been in a more precarious position. I’m lucky enough to have a great support system and phenomenal medications but that often isn’t the case for those who are confronting their bad feelings for the first time, especially if they’ve never had to really inspect the darkness and have it stare right back at them.
In July of this 2021, the New York Times reintroduced us to a word that until recently, was the exception rather than the rule, beautifully summing the feeling of “blah” that resonated around the world. Languishing. Described as the neglected middle child of mental health, languishing is the sense of stagnation and emptiness that is borne of an uncertain future and a totally unrecognisable present. We are collectively in mourning, and I know in my experience that losing the last two years to a pandemic combined with the emotional exhaustion of the bushfires just prior, all of the feelings of grief are here and accounted for. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance have led the rollercoaster of emotions straight into a plateau of numbness. I’ve felt white hot rage at anti-lockdown protesters and a seemingly incompetent political leadership, I’ve weighed the metaphoric (and literal) scales of a sneaky visit to friends or family, I’ve had days where I’m just so, so sad and I’ve had days that have light at the end of the tunnel with promises of lowering case numbers and easing restrictions.
We have a blueprint towards freedom which I should feel elated about but that same blueprint will mean mingling with the unvaccinated, whether I like it or not. I truly do feel for those who are not eligible for a vaccination and want to do everything in my power to protect them but that would come at the cost of never leaving my house again, of never going to a restaurant again, of never hugging my friends again.
So now what? Do I just roll the dice and hope for the best, that I won’t catch or transmit the virus simply in the act of doing my job? Of living my life?