Category: Anecdotes

I’ve been getting increasingly frustrated with myself for my lack of progress in my research. I’m feeling a great deal of (self-imposed) pressure to get lots of work done in this time since I’m never going to have this much “free time” ever again. Under normal circumstances, my research is all in-lab work, so in theory, I have tons of time now to work on some of my side projects that I never had time for pre-quarantine. However, what I’ve found is that despite not going into the lab every day, I somehow don’t actually have more free time. My days are almost entirely eaten up by endless Zoom meetings and a constant onslaught of emails. Despite never leaving my apartment, I am more exhausted than ever. I’m finding it difficult to focus and get work done in the scattered hours between Zoom meetings. I have this panicked feeling that all this time is passing me by, and I’ll emerge from this period of isolation with no substantial progress in my work.

There is also a perception now that it is not acceptable to take time off. There is no longer a boundary between work and home, and there is a (mis)conception that everyone is available all the time for last-minute Zoom meetings, etc, since we’re “just at home not doing anything.” When all of my work can be done from my couch, it doesn’t feel reasonable to take a mental health day to rest and recover. I also no longer have the option of forcing myself to take a break by planning a weekend trip to visit friends or family. I constantly feel guilty for not working harder because I always feel at any given time that I *should* be working.

I know that this mindset is almost entirely self-imposed. I’m working on self-compassion and patience. I’m trying to applaud myself for whatever amount of work I am able to accomplish in a day instead of punishing myself for the work I wasn’t able to accomplish. I am terrible at making myself adhere to a consistent schedule, but it is something I’m trying to move towards. I know that sticking to a regular sleep schedule, eating at regular times, and structuring my time with “work hours” and “play hours” are key for mental health. It just takes a lot of willpower!

3 Faucets by Dennis Ryan

I love this artwork because, for me, it captures the intensity, rapid movement, and frantic fervor of OCD hand washing. Especially during this pandemic, my hands are often cracked and bleeding. In a sense, hand washing can be an act of violence against myself. I’m trying to wash my hands with more gentleness and love, incorporating a loving kindness mantra into the ritual. 

I have OCD, and the pandemic has certainly taken a significant toll on my treatment and recovery. I’ve had OCD since early childhood, but within the past two years, I put a LOT of work into my cognitive behavioral therapy, and I am happy to say that I vastly improved! I used to routinely wash my hands until they bled, but stopped this behavior along with many other compulsions. Part of my exposure therapy involved no longer carrying around hand sanitizer everywhere I went, occasionally eating without washing my hands first, etc. Of course, under the current circumstances these kinds of exposures are no longer possible. It’s demoralizing to feel like I am backtracking in my progress even in cases where my response is consistent with the new “baseline” and technically not an OCD response. My various OCD-type symptoms are cognitively linked, though, so washing my hands more frequently, however “normal” that may be under the circumstances, has sadly re-kindled other obsessions/compulsions I had previously eradicated. For the most part, my OCD is actually not particularly cleanliness-based, but rather is more guilt-driven. I often get wrapped up in “magical thinking” where I feel like I am personally responsible for bad things happening in the world even when there is absolutely no logical connection between myself and the external events. For instance, I am terrified of not properly sanitizing things and as a result infecting other people. It has gotten to the point where just leaving my apartment to get my mail or take out the garbage is excruciatingly terrifying. A trip to the mailroom requires 30 minutes to an hour of sanitization and makes it impossible for me to do anything productive for several hours due to what I like to call a “radius of anxiety” around the stressful event. And then there is the secondary layer of guilt in feeling bad that I feel bad since I know I am extremely lucky—I’m healthy, my family is healthy, I have the privilege to work from home with pay, I have secure housing, etc. I’m trying to be patient with myself. I’m very thankful for the free tele-therapy currently available through the Student Health Plan and for my wonderful network of supportive family and friends. I was able to overcome my OCD before so I can certainly do it again!

Working out has been great – I really needed to see some progress, and working out can help me be free of anxiety even for just a fleeting moment. Workouts can be so exhausting that I don’t have the energy to be drowning in my anxiety.

I have started a long list of friends and family members to whom I’m writing letters on a rolling basis. I bought a small selection of notecards, but am also just using regular paper to do so. While some of my mail has been in a perpetual limbo, reaching out to friends and family, especially those overseas, has made me feel connected and surrounded by loved ones, especially as they have begun to respond with letters and notecards of their own.

Poem by Michael Lentz

I was surprised that the first thing I did was pull up the Decameron, which I haven’t really opened since I graduated college 5 years ago. The Decameron is a Thousand-Arabian nights book written during the Black Death in Florence. In that same vein, poetry and literature have helped me. Thinking about them while I see all the trees and flowers bloom during Spring has brought some sense of peace and perspective day to day. Reaching out to friends has also really helped. This pandemic is global, so I think everyone everywhere is feeling nervous, anxious, and stressed. Contacting an old friend on facebook or instagram to tell them that my family and I are still doing OK and that I hope they’re OK as well has brought a lot of comfort. I try to limit myself to one social call a day, preferably during a walk so I can get some exercise and sunshine. That being said, having a therapist through the university health plan has been really useful. I encourage folks to reach out to the health center and talk with a counselor to see if you can get some short term help or long term help. Therapy isn’t the only way or outlet for folks, but I have found it comforting and I encourage people to try or even consider it.

I’ve built routine into my days, but I don’t feel obliged to be particularly “productive.” In a typical weekday, I’ll get up a little later than I used to, enjoy coffee and breakfast while reading the news, spend a couple hours working (sometimes a whole day if I feel up to it or interested and into it), and then spend the rest of my time cooking, baking, reading for pleasure, and playing Animal Crossing. And this is good. Taking care of myself (physically, mentally) and my partner is enough. Being is enough.

This pandemic has combined two of my greatest fears: (1) a (possible) global breakdown of civilization in which I am totally useless, become a burden on others, and then perish in a moldy cave, and (2) losing my parents prematurely. My entire family is made of healthcare providers, and my parents are located in one of the U.S. epicenters. The first few weeks of this pandemic were filled with profound, overwhelming anxiety and fear. I already deal with generalized anxiety and depression in the best of situations, much less during an unprecedented pandemic during which we are led by an absolute moron. I was gripped by the news and couldn’t look away. The fear and anxiety eventually morphed into sheer, abject rage at everything – the government, the president, spring breakers, anti-vaxxers, travelers, this situation, the helplessness, the racism, the mask/ventilator shortage, the danger my family and others are in. It felt good for a while, felt righteous and real and true and valid in a way that my feelings don’t normally feel. But it was also exhausting, and I alternated between rage, fear, and guilt.

Now that we’re over a month into this, I’ve started to come to grips with the situation. I remind myself that my family, friends and loved ones are taking all the precautions they can, and that I am doing everything I can. I’ve substantially cut down on my news intake, limiting myself to reading NY Times in the morning and an update in the afternoon. I don’t read any news in the evening or before bed. I write in my journal almost every day, and try to meditate before bed every night. I go to video therapy once a week. I vent to friends. When things get really bad and I start spiraling, I take an anti-anxiety medication in addition to my daily antidepressant. I spend a lot of time planning what I’m going to cook. I have scheduled weekly zoom calls with friends and family. I practice cognitive behavioral therapy and mindfulness. I spend a lot of time texting with friends and family. I try to go to bed at a reasonable hour.