As we mark a year since the onset of COVID-19 in the United States, the virus has profoundly altered our lives. In my home, we’ve dubbed it “The New Flu,” a term I coined back in April 2020, and it stuck. My daughters were just beginning their educational journeys—one in Pre-K and the other in a second year of preschool—when everything changed. March 13, 2020, marked the last day they attended school in person, a reality that persists to this day.
While I stand by my choice to keep them home in Fall 2020 due to my youngest’s compromised immune system, I can’t help but mourn the social interactions they missed. Like many, I feel the weight of isolation, especially since I had just moved to Pennsylvania in September, only to enjoy five months of normalcy before everything shifted. By Halloween 2020, I had finalized my divorce and was eager to embrace my new life as a single woman, reveling in my newfound freedom every other weekend while their father navigated life as a bachelor in nearby Philly. Yet, life seldom adheres to our plans.
Now, a year later, I find myself regretting not building deeper connections with others who share similar values. We have made some casual friends—well-meaning individuals who often overlook safety protocols, traveling freely and socializing without masks. It’s baffling to think I moved my family to a place where following health guidelines appears optional. We do have one family with whom we consistently engage in outdoor masked playdates, enduring uncomfortable summer heat and foggy glasses, but the effort feels minimal compared to the greater community’s lack of caution. My priority remains the safety of my children and my elderly parents, which means declining invitations to gatherings like block parties or holiday celebrations.
As a single mom, I must remain vigilant. With my youngest and my parents’ health at stake, I’ve had to suppress my frustration over social events that continued unabated through the winter. For me, safety means being vaccinated. As a healthy 34-year-old, my realistic expectation for a first vaccine dose is the end of May 2021. That’s manageable, but what about my daughters? I long for them to start First Grade and Kindergarten in public school this August, and I can only hope that becomes a reality.
I wish I could say that quarantine helped me rediscover myself, but instead, it forced me to confront both my shortcomings and strengths simultaneously. The burden felt overwhelming at times, and without applause from the sidelines, I’ve had to push through. I was diagnosed with ADHD this year, and after exploring various medications, I learned that stimulants don’t work for me. So, my journey toward finding the right solution continues.
I am grateful for the time I’ve spent at home with my girls during this pandemic, especially with my mother—a retired teacher with over 40 years of experience—helping with virtual kindergarten. I am aware of my privilege in having this opportunity. Nevertheless, the daily challenges remain daunting.
If I see one more post claiming “there’s light at the end of the tunnel,” I might just lose it. True hope lies in widespread vaccination. Until that day arrives, I find myself balancing a sense of cautious optimism with the reality of potential worst-case scenarios. I teach my daughters to maintain hope while I grapple with my fears.
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In summary, this past year has tested the limits of resilience for many single mothers, particularly amidst the challenges of the pandemic. Navigating isolation while prioritizing family safety has become an intricate balancing act, filled with both hope and uncertainty.
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