For the past week, I’ve been meaning to write this piece. Laundry? What laundry? I haven’t touched it since early March. My shower routine has dwindled to every other day, and tooth brushing has become more of a suggestion than a habit. Yesterday? My kids had Pizza Rolls for breakfast. My wardrobe has defaulted to sweats—my official “pandemic outfit” consists of a matching hoodie and sweatpants.
It’s been three weeks since I’ve worn makeup, and as I type this, I’m braless. I’m five episodes behind on my favorite podcast and have completely abandoned my exercise routine. Stress-eating has become a staple, with Cheetos and crystallized ginger as my go-to snacks. I can’t even remember the last time we read Harry Potter together—it’s been that long since spring break (we were on book five during bedtime). My emotions are on a chaotic roller coaster; one moment we’re up, and the next we’re down.
My house resembles a disaster zone, chaos everywhere you look. I’ve only worn my contacts once recently for a final therapy session in-office… whenever that was. Time has morphed into a confusing blur—I thought today was Friday, but it’s not (I double-checked). Honestly, I’ve never discussed toilet paper so much in my life.
This pandemic isn’t a picturesque experience for me. I don’t have the capacity to “enjoy extra family time,” explore new hobbies like crocheting, or catch up on shows like Tiger King. Right now, we’re fully entrenched in “just survive somehow” mode, which I’ve borrowed from The Walking Dead: Just. Survive. Somehow.
I’m not in a thriving phase; this isn’t the time for that. The concept of thriving feels completely out of reach. My mind is a whirlwind of endless details—personal needs, family obligations, work responsibilities, social connections, homeschooling four kids, grocery shopping, ensuring I get enough sleep, remembering to eat, maintaining social distance, caring for my mental health, and maybe squeezing in some laundry. Life has become busier than it was last month. Free time feels like a distant memory.
About a week into this survival mode, a realization hit me: this situation feels oddly familiar. It mirrors the experience of maternity leave. The ambitious goals of a first-time mom on leave often resemble the lofty expectations we set for ourselves during this pandemic. Suddenly, you’re homebound with a newborn, hyper-aware of germs, adjusting to a single income, and obsessively monitoring your baby’s bowel movements (yes, more toilet paper talk).
How many first-time moms truly believe they’ll have time to read during their maternity leave? Or maintain their workout routines? With a newborn, even a daily shower becomes a luxury. Meal routines are thrown into disarray, and new moms often lose track of time, days, and even themselves. Our hair gets thrown up into messy buns, and we try to keep some social contact alive from home. Our spaces become cluttered battlegrounds of diapers, takeout containers, and missing phones (it’s usually stuck in the couch cushions).
This new reality feels overwhelming, and we’re all just trying to make it through. Emotions swing wildly—from elation over the new baby to sheer panic about taking care of them.
Picture this: your baby finally takes a rare nap, and you scroll through Facebook, where someone comments, “Enjoy every moment.” But you haven’t showered in three days, your shirt is stained with old milk, and the dog just threw up on the floor—cleaning it is on hold because the baby is sleeping on you. You’re not even sure what day it is, your finances are tight from unpaid maternity leave, and you haven’t seen friends in a month. All you want is to hit the gym, but instead, you’re drowning in guilt for not savoring every moment with your baby. You should be loving this time, right? But you’re not, which only amplifies your guilt.
Sound familiar?
My reaction to the “make the most of this pandemic” messages is similar to my feelings about “enjoy every moment” during maternity leave: just stop. I’m merely surviving, and adding guilt to my already full mental load doesn’t help. I know we’ll be okay post-pandemic, just like I knew I’d manage motherhood.
Yet, I won’t ignore the stress, worry, and anxiety of the present. I refuse to trade my current reality for a hopeful future. I fight each day to remain present. My current situation isn’t perfect, and I won’t downplay my feelings—that’s not how we work through them. I reject the guilt of not being productive during this pandemic.
What I will do is celebrate the small wins. Here’s what I’ve managed: I’m making time for social interactions on Zoom or FaceTime, I’m journaling, and I’m steering clear of alcohol as a coping mechanism. I even did laundry while writing this (let’s see how long it takes me to actually put it away). My gratitude practice is still alive and well.
So yes, I’m just surviving somehow.
If you’re feeling overwhelmed like I am, you’re not alone. For more insights, check out this blog post on home insemination. And if you’re looking for reliable resources on pregnancy and home insemination, this article is excellent. For those considering self insemination, Make a Mom is truly an authority on the subject.
Summary
The pandemic has turned life upside down, leaving many parents feeling overwhelmed and guilty about not thriving. This article draws parallels between the chaos of maternity leave and current pandemic life, emphasizing the importance of surviving rather than thriving. Celebrating small wins and acknowledging feelings of stress are vital for mental well-being during these challenging times.
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