Yesterday was a difficult day. A tough, hard-to-process one.
Yesterday, I cried. There is no shame in admitting to that. I cried, I did.
Yesterday I made a fool of myself, acted selfishly childish, showed my children that mommy also lost control over her emotions and the situation. Luckily, there was dad to pick up the slack, my kids have seen me like this before and understand that no, adults aren’t real superheroes and that it is ok to cry, to feel scared, to FEEL…but that we always dry our tears afterwards, and pick ourselves back up.
Yesterday, French president Emmanuel Macron went on live television and announced more severe containment measures for the entire country for AT LEAST fifteen days. He also announced that borders will be closed for a full month. No flights, no trains, no in and out of the country.
It sounds childish, I know. Still, yesterday I cried.
I cried over the fact that I have a surviving 90+ year old father living in Brazil, along with a surviving 65+ year old aunt, with many underlying health issues, living with him, and that we are in the midst of a surreal pandemic. I am their main care-giver, even from afar. I keep in touch with doctors, my father’s caretakers, and I advise them on everything from what they should eat, to my aunt’s post-cancer life regimen. All with the proper medical support and advice, of course.
I cried because I feel helpless and trapped, as I’m sure countless others do too, and because I’m worried that, if they need me, I can’t go to them for the next thirty days.
I cried because the helplessness brought back flashbacks of when I dealt with my mother’s illness, with her ICU stay, with countless doctors who didn’t have enough answers for me; flashbacks of when I still thought I could rationalize my way through and find solutions, make good decisions. Until I realized I was trapped, I was helpless, and all I could do was let go.
Letting go isn’t as easy as a blockbuster cartoon soundtrack makes it sound.
Yesterday, I cried.
Yesterday, I went grocery shopping and was, for the first time since the pandemic began, scared by the general reaction. To be fair, the French haven’t responded in the same frantic way as other groups have, which is partially why Macron pushed for greater confinement. However, yesterday, at the supermarket, I sensed tension, fear, and disruption. Food was missing, people rushed everywhere, and the loudspeaker blasted every fifteen minutes or so reminding us that this was a state of emergency and that we should maintain a certain distance from each other. It wasn’t frightening, but it was…distressing.
There is comfort in holding on to the mundane, and when the ordinary is threatened, human psyche feels out of balance.
All that added to the stress, and made me cry.
I was also deeply affected by the realization that, being in the hardest-hit region in France, the Grand-Est, the Vosges, things will likely deteriorate at a faster speed. Word is trickling out that hospitals are reaching capacity, and yesterday Macron announced the use of military personnel and the construction of war-style hospitals in the Alsace to help the region before contagion reaches its peak. It’s reassuring that he seems to have a structured plan in place, yet it is…disturbing.
You open your windows to let some sunshine and fresh air inside, and all you see is a normal, perfect world. You seem safe in your bubble, but in our always connected reality you learn that countless others are not, and that decisions are being made that can hurt you and those you love. You face the unknown. That contradiction, of things seeming ok yet not at the same time, is unsettling.
Yesterday, it all finally hit me.
I cried because what should be a once-in-a-lifetime experience for my family, something we dreamt of and worked hard for, is turning into a bad sci-fi movie. Not quite, because you can pause, stop, and walk away from a bad sci-fi movie. You can’t from this.
I grew up on the move, and the experience shaped me greatly. I yearned to give my children a taste of this. My father was a diplomat, I was a history professor, am now a full-time mother. My husband is also in academia. We don’t travel nearly as much. This, the chance to live and experience life abroad, daily activities, the insignificance or ordinary life somewhere else was, to me, priceless. We were excited, we knew there would be challenges, but we valued their outcome.
Yesterday, I learned that we might have to cut our time here, we may need to return home (meaning, the United States) as soon as we are legally allowed to fly. It is more complicated than that, and we have immigration requirements that make it necessary for us to return soon, or we risk living in an immigration limbo. Oh, the burdens of a world with borders.
Yes, yesterday was tough. It was hard watching the news, seeing friends around the world post their experiences, their feelings, their doubts. There are friends in Italy who have been in my spot for over a week now. It saddens me for so many reasons, and I am fully aware that this, that my reaction and most of the western world’s reaction is one of a spoiled child. This is a matter of life and death, but this isn’t a major famine, a major revolution, we don’t risk being gunned down outside our homes, or being bombed, or being taken to camps.
However, we can’t minimize our experiences and feelings either. So, how do you find an intellectual and moral balance?
Times are strange.
Yesterday, I was overwhelmed, and I’m sure I will be again.
It is important to address this, to allow for emotions other than panic and distrust, to consider the psychological implications of the unknown. This is unknown territory both epidemiologically and socio-culturally. In a few years historians, sociologists, anthropologists will surely study our online posts, memes, news clippings, journals, and so on, and they will create new theories as to how COVID19 shaped a year, changed relationships, made an entire world hostage.
Amazing.
We will learn more about how this keeps re-igniting racism, nationalism, conspiracy theories, and extremism. Yes, this will be a topic that will be hard to forget.
So, if you feel overwhelmed, it’s ok to cry.
Yesterday, I did.
Today, I hope I don’t.
