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.

10 Top tips for keeping up morale

Many of us are having to manage more anxiety than normal, as well as drastic changes in our daily lives. There are two key principles which it is useful to bear in mind: Managing anxiety takes mental strength and energy, and, that the state of our morale affects the state of our immune system. (At this point I have to say this doesn’t mean that anyone who becomes ill wasn’t positive enough. Absolutely not. Rather just that we know that keeping our spirits up is important to supporting our immune system. It’s not a guarantee of perfect health!)

Bearing these two key things in mind, here are ten tips for managing anxiety and keeping your spirits up

1.      Count your blessings

The new science of positive psychology has proved the benefits of the old adage of, when you are feeling low, counting your blessings. The exercise they have designed is known as the ‘three good things’ exercise. At the end of each day, identify three good things that have happened during the day. It’s good practice to write them down. Doing this regularly helps train your brain to look for the positives amongst the gloom, to find the silver linings if you like. For instance today in the paper there was a report on the positive effect of the lockdown for wildlife.

2.      Reasons to be cheerful

In addition, you might like to think each day of a good outcome of the current crisis- a reason to be cheerful. I’ve been doing this and putting them out on twitter. Today mine is going to be: Lockdown means chance of being hit by a bus – zero!

3.      Gallows humour

Which brings me to my next tip, the use of humour, specifically ‘gallows’ humour. I worked as a social worker in child protection for many years. Gallows humour was crucial for getting us through the sadder and tougher times. It exists for a reason. To make the unbearable bearable, to restore functionality quickly when a collapse into despair isn’t helpful. Be aware it doesn’t travel; it is very specific to the moment. And some people appreciate it more than others. Laughing in the face of death is a well-known coping mechanism, it works for me in small doses. Laughter reduces threats to size.

4.      Humour generally

There is lots of evidence that laughing is good for us and for our immune system. Whatever rocks your funny bone. Remember, this all may be no laughing matter, but, also, we don’t have to be solemn to be serious. Laughing is a good coping mechanism

5.      Managing your news feed

We are being offered 24-hour, worldwide updates. Following all this is not likely to do you any good. You can’t influence things other than by taking the sensible precautions we’ve all been told about. So take positive control and  limit your daily diet. Personally I read the paper rather than watch the news. One benefit of this is that there is less ‘emotional contagion’ from the page than from a person, so less transmission of anxiety. I listen to classic FM rather than my usual preference of Radio Four. I leave the room when dear beloved is getting his evening fix of doom and gloom from the evening TV news.

6.      Have a worry half-hour

This is a time-honoured technique of ‘allowing’ yourself a specific allotted time to worry as much as you like. So if you need to, spend 15 to 30 minutes allowing yourself to name all your worries. Write them in a ‘dear diary’ if you have no one at home. Or arrange a mutual strictly focused and time limited phone call with another ‘worrywart’. And when your time is up, stop, close that box and move on with your day knowing you have another half hour of worry time allocated tomorrow. With any luck doing this will reduce the likelihood of doing your worrying in the small wee hours, which is the worst possible time to do it.

7.      Get into flow

Find things to do that ‘take you out of yourself’. When we are completely absorbed in things we are in a state of ‘flow’ and when we are in this state we are not focused on our feelings. It’s like getting a holiday from your worried self. For me writing, gardening, and complicated cooking (or these days ‘creating from what we have got to hand’) all offer me productive escape time. This is usually more effective than mindless TV watching (where half your brain is still ticking along thinking about it all). A good, complex film though, is a different matter.

8.      Eat well and exercise

You are no longer at the mercy of the snack bars, train trolleys, airline catering etc. as you skedaddle from one place to another. Make the most of it to eat healthily. Lots of fruit and vegetables are good for immune system. Exercise is very important to both mental and physical health. You know the rules about keeping your distance. Put your face mask on and get out there and yomp for an hour somewhere green.

9.      Phone a friend

Social contact is another thing that is very important to our wellbeing. I am fortunate that I am marooned with dear beloved. Even so, I am resolved to talk on the phone to at least one person who isn’t him every day. You might want to talk about the situation, that’s fine. However, I would suggest you also ask them about their plans for the day, what they are hoping to achieve during this period of lockdown. In other words, try to help them see a silver lining. Ideally you will both come away from the phone call feeling slightly better not even worse!

10.  Have longer-term projects on the go

‘Wise people’, someone once said ‘prepare for the worse while hoping for the best’. Once you’ve done what you can to prepare for the worse, then turn your energy to hoping for the best. Starting projects suggests an optimism about the future that becomes self-reinforcing. Uncertainty can act to paralyse us. By pro-actively starting a project we can break out of that paralysis. The hardest part is getting started, but one you do it will draw you forward. Apart from total house rearrangement, I’ve started a new tapestry kit. These take me years to complete. But every evening I can admire the couple of square inches I’ve completed and feel I’m making progress.

And finally, I try to remind myself that, while Coronavirus is a new and scary threat, we live with our mortality all the time and habitually take precautions to increase our chances of staving it off. I cross at the lights, I avoid eating bad food, I get my flu jab,  etc. None of these guarantee my continued survival but they are habits that help. Our new temporary habits of social distancing, hand washing are really just more of the same.

Oh and chocolate! A little bit of chocolate with morning coffee just gives my morale a quick boost!

Stay well,

Sarah