Whether or not everyone realises it, the whole world has been going through a grief process as this pandemic has become an inevitability. Without even mentioning the deaths which are mounting, there have been profound losses experienced by all of us, from the simple convenience of shopping for groceries as and when we need, to the loss of social contact, family closeness, and even life without fear. As a population, we have been adjusting to the new normal by experiencing these losses en masse, and responding with en masse behaviours, though you all experience these behaviours as individual choices. While the Kubler-Ross model of grief/change is imperfect, it nonetheless holds truth and a certain level of universality for any of us adjusting to a new loss in any form.
I experience this process of loss in my life with chronic illness. In many ways, my chronic illness adjustment mirrors this pandemic. When FOMO, the feeling of missing out, became an en vogue concept in response to ubiquitous social media a few years ago, I remember feeling mystified about it. One close friend remarked to me at the time that I must have constant FOMO, living with a chronic illness. I knew I didn’t, but I felt she was right, that I should, because I was constantly missing out on something because of my health. It took me a long time to realise that I didn’t experience FOMO because I had long ago adjusted to a different kind of normal, one where any commitment or plan carried with it the possibility that I would not be able to do it. My normal was that nothing was certain, and so if I made it to that person’s wedding, or this friend’s party, it was a good day.
I was reminded of my FOMO realisation when I saw a friend’s post a few days ago. She confessed that she and her husband hadn’t yet been able to erase the white board they use as a calendar, even though they knew they wouldn’t be attending any of the events on the board. She just couldn’t bring herself to let go. (I, on the other hand, had deleted all the events for the next month from my calendar the very first day of isolation.) It struck me how all of our processes take different lengths of time, even within different parts of our lives– some of us can adjust to staying inside more easily than others, but can’t erase the calendar.
Four weeks ago, when I started my isolation, I was frustrated by the country’s (and citizens’) denial. When the government announces it’s not closing schools any time soon at 10am, but by 5pm has closed the schools, that’s denial. When I spoke with some people that week, many said, “Oh, sure, it’s bad in London, but it won’t come here.” That’s denial. The huge portion of the population who believed (and some still believe) that this is all media hype and it really isn’t so bad– they are experiencing en masse denial.
Anger has sadly been evident, as I see friends who are still working in public-facing jobs posting about the abuse to which they are subjected at work. And yep, those passive-aggressive, snide, or nasty Facebook posts, I see you, too. Misinformed gripes which reveal our fear and anger have abounded, especially last week and the week before. This is all compounded by feelings of being pent up, and many of us are stuck at home with our family members and other complex dynamics bubble away. And these things are of course linked to our depression, which can be harder than ever to ward off now.
I’ve seen a lot of bargaining behaviour, too. I think there was some major bargaining behaviour last weekend, with all the people abusing the outdoor exercise time. Well, ok, fine, if I have to stay home and miss Easter/Passover/etc with my family, I will, but I’m damned well enjoying this WHOLE DAY outside! I mean, I don’t really blame people (though it is really unhelpful to people like me). There’s other forms of bargaining, too– like, I’m getting the extra big tub of ice cream in my click and collect grocery order and I’m eating the whole tub tonight. Or, leaving the kids at my sister’s for the afternoon so I can get a break is still pretty much staying at home, right? This is hard, and not everyone is going to be good at it immediately.
This week, I’m pleased to say I’m seeing wider levels of acceptance of the situation. The UK government has admitted that we may need to extend lockdown, which is something we all knew would happen, but many (especially the government) didn’t seem to want to face. I smelled my neighbours barbecuing last night, showing some return to normalcy while still staying at home. There’s less anger on Facebook these days, and a glance at a webcam of Regent Street showed an empty London.
That doesn’t mean it isn’t still hard. We will still have moments of all the other feelings, things that will force us to grieve our loss all over again, often suddenly and without warning. I face that with my chronic illness adjustment, too: like this week, as the government has become increasingly disorganised and confused around the vulnerable people list, and I’ve had to advocate for myself within a giant, anonymous, seemingly uncaring bureaucracy, from home. It’s particularly stressful when my life and safety are at stake. And it brings back all sorts of old traumas of being ignored by medical professionals, of things falling through the cracks in the system, etc… And I re-experience the anger and depression of the adjustment to chronic illness life all over again. But it’s ok, because my resiliency helps me accommodate those feelings, adjust, and accept the current situation. The process doesn’t tend to trip me up any more, and I move on to a happier equilibrium before too long. The world, as it moves through this pandemic process, is finding its resilience, too. We’re loving each other more, helping those who need it, and possibly imagining a more empathetic, compassionate society. This will change us, but it may be in the most wonderful ways imaginable.
This Isolation Life 