How has the pandemic changed us?

I am constantly re-evaluating my life trying to discover what I want it to look like after the pandemic. Maybe your heart will resonate with this painting and some thoughts which have been growing within me during this trying time. I imagine you’ll have your own thoughts to add. If so, I’d love to be a part of the conversation and hear your story.

I created this painting in the spring of 2021 when I felt like I was in an emotional “winter fog”, drained of color. I remember asking myself why I was drawn to such a dreary landscape when everything was blooming around me. My paintbrush can sometimes be more honest about my emotions than my pen. I attribute these feelings to being in the middle of the pandemic.

This last year has changed each of us in some fashion. I know it has changed me. The altered trajectory of our lives has reshaped our views, our goals, our opinions and perhaps even the sound of our heartstrings. The isolation has taken a toll on the infrastructure of our souls.

I have been so focused on NOT getting COVID, government guidelines, political stances, mask wearing, vaccinations, social distancing, and strategies for accumulating food, that I’ve overlooked what was brewing within me: my feelings, and mental health.

We know various traumas in our lives – the death of a family member, job losses, moving and more can cause stress, depression, anger, or sadness. We have collectively experienced these now as well. Perhaps we haven’t moved to a new location, but our hearts have been distanced from those we live amongst. There hasn’t been enough time or safety for the nurturing of relationships. Some of us haven’t seen family or friends in months, and conversations have been few and far between. We have politely stepped away from each other. No touch. Our smiles go unseen. Most of us have been starved from the lack of kind words and hugs received in 2020. And for me, that’s a huge loss. It feels my heart has shrunk from lack of use.

My days feel different because I have had to whittle down my “practices“ to only the most essential. Life shifted, habits were rearranged, so subtly at first, I didn’t realize the outcome of my choices. Prayers went unanswered, dreams died, jobs were lost, plans were canceled, loved ones were out of reach, all without closure. With a masked face I kept my thoughts to myself while feeling deeply disturbed as I wondered if others cared. Friendliness was replaced with suspicion (“Is he vaccinated”? “Are we standing too close”?)

Because I struggle with hearing impairment, masks impeded communication in noisy environments as I could neither hear nor read the covered lips. So, I hurry through grocery stores with my head down so as not to engage anyone in conversation, knowing it is fruitless, but at the same time chiding myself for my lack of friendliness.

I think I got in the habit of not “showing up” to do life. I can’t hug on zoom calls and I personally find it difficult to show or read emotions on a screen.

There is an awkwardness in conversations I find difficult to both navigate or interpret. I dance around or debate various subjects, i.e. politics, masking up, vaccines, safety procedures, instead of addressing sadness, stress or how we are are coping. I feel forced to choose sides while attempting to stand in the middle. Judging occurs more often than I would care to admit. I want to impart love and acceptance of those around me. So, “why the hesitation?”, I ask myself.

Now as I slowly emerge from this “foggy” road, I find, for better or worse, that I live in a very different world. Adjustments are needed in both my clothes and my attitudes. I struggle to find my bearings, having to decide what or to whom I will give myself. It’s difficult to navigate just how friendly I should be. I never used to hesitate to receive or give hugs and when I do, I turn my head away and hold my breath which somehow makes it feel a bit phony.

I notice my life has been reshaped, recycled, and reimagined. I mourn the loss of happier, more carefree days that weren’t full of restrictions. I grieve the kinder me. I miss my laughter and my smile – I miss yours as well.

I resonate with Pete Greig, author of the book God on Mute, who penned the following prayer;

“Father if you were to hand me a big red switch to solve my problems and heal my pain, I’d flick it without hesitation. But in the absence of that switch, please at least make something good out of this mess. Don’t let this ugly situation make me ugly. Give me ‘beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair’.” (Isaiah 61:3)

Ahhh...and then once again my hope is a bit rekindled and life doesn’t seem quite so foggy and stark.