It’s OK To Not Feel Great, We’re All In Mourning For Times Past.

I suppose it was that Sunday evening press conference that brought it home to me. It was as Boris articulated the ambition to get people back to work, hung about with caveats and advice to avoid public transport, that the penny really dropped: that ‘getting back to normal’ was a complete pipedream. What he was doing, never mind the rhetoric, was starting to articulate the new normal, which wasn’t going to be a whole lot like the old normal. 

I had already known this but somehow this tangible evidence of the confusion, the uncertainty, the ‘suck it and see’ nature of the concessions, helped clarify for me what was, and wasn’t, going to be possible in this new normal. Essentially the virus wasn’t going anywhere, so neither was the life-and-death threat posed by other people. We were just being invited to increase our risk-taking a notch, while staying alert against an invisible danger (a perfect recipe for anxiety I would have thought).

 As I was coming to terms with this my mood started to slip,  I realised I was having an unusually low week. I was exhausted for no good reason, very slow, everything was a bit taxing. I was realised that I was pre-occupied with what I still couldn’t do: hug my (grown up) children, go out for Sunday breakfast, walk along the closed off river path (when will that be considered safe to open?). It dawned on me that I was in a mild state of mourning,  I was mourning these losses. Realising that was this was what I was doing was very helpful, and in fact once I worked it out and gave myself permission to feel sad about these loses, I started to feel better.

I doubt I’m the only one, and this is a plea that we allow ourselves to mourn what we are losing, even those of us unaffected in a more direct way by the virus. Mourning is not a zero-sum game. We are not taking anything away from those whose losses have been greater than ours, those who have lost their loved ones, those separated from family members who need them, those currently battling the illness. We can feel compassion for them and still have our own sense of loss. We are all paying a price as we try to keep each other safe.

To feel sad that you won’t be going on that holiday this year, or visiting relatives for an extended stay, or to a huge festival, or football matches, or concerts or theatres for the foreseeable future is not being disrespectful to anyone else’s losses. It’s the little pleasures in life that make up the days: meeting your dog-walking friends, your drinking or skateboarding mates, five-minute chats with vaguely known neighbours, exchanging a few words with the postman, watching the world go by outside a café. These things are important and the loss of them is real.

And even when these things return they won’t be the same. The carefree days of jostling amongst each other, complaining about being crushed under strangers’ armpits on the tube, or fighting our way through overcrowded market streets, or sitting so close to the neighbouring table we can join in their conversation, are over. If we do venture back we will carry the knowledge that any stranger could be our unwitting assassin. This knowledge does not make for relaxation. 

I want to be able to have a big boozy meal with my family, in my garden, where we kiss and hug and sample each other’s drinks, have illicit puffs of the smokers’ cigarettes, and share the food. It’s not going to be happening anytime soon it seems. And that makes me sad, and that’s OK.

My sadness makes it clear to me what is really important to me, but that I can’t have right now. And  then I turn my mind again to all the joys I have in my life; my garden, my husband here with me, my college course, my work, books to read, Netflix’s new series Schitt’s Creek, and my slowly advancing tapestry. 

This week I went for a walk in the park at the 2-metre distance from my daughter, and we for a while sat on the grass and chatted 6’ apart. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t like it was, but the sun shone, and we had a good catch up and if that’s the best it can be then let’s make the most of it.

Everyone has the right to feel a little sad about things right now, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. My advice? Allow yourself your sadness, if you do, it will be easier to turn towards what you can influence, what you can do even in these straitened circumstances to brighten up your life, to bring yourself a little joy.