Today, I Broke Down in the Middle of a Playground Surrounded by Other Parents

This pandemic… I understand it’s challenging for everyone, but for us parents, the impact feels different. At least, that’s how it feels for me. Am I alright? Not today.

I had a moment today that could easily fit into an Oscar-worthy drama. Am I being overly dramatic? Perhaps. But honestly, I’ve never felt as isolated as I did today—sitting on the ground, sobbing in the midst of a bustling park. Dramatic? Or simply a heartbreaking reflection of what many parents are experiencing: loneliness, fear, and frustration.

Setting the Stage

Let me set the stage. I’ve always been an anxious person. I like to refer to it as “catastrophe anxiety,” where I constantly envision the worst possible outcome in any given situation. Going for a hike? Surely a volcano will erupt. A day at the beach? Here comes a tidal wave. A global pandemic? Everyone I care about is definitely going to fall ill.

I recognize that this mindset is irrational, yet the fear grips me tightly. The past year and a half has been consumed by worries about safety, quarantine measures, masks, tears, excessive sanitizing, and the endless list of missed experiences.

The most heartbreaking part of this entire ordeal has been watching my three-year-old miss out on her childhood because I’m trying to keep her safe. What’s even more challenging is seeing others around me seemingly living normal lives with their children.

I don’t judge anyone; I know every parent is facing their own tough choices during this time. Yet, I can’t help but wonder what’s wrong with me. Why am I so filled with dread? Why can’t I just let go like everyone else? It feels like more than just my usual anxiety at this point, and nothing I do seems right.

Conversations with My Pediatrician

We’ve been lucky that Covid has mostly spared younger children until now. I’m grateful that my toddler willingly wears her mask, allowing her some outings into the dun dun dun public. But when I look around, I see the other kids playing without masks, and parents shopping carefree at stores and enjoying the playground—more on that later.

I catch glimpses of parents appearing composed, which makes me assume their decisions come easily. That leaves me grappling with guilt for choosing to prioritize my child’s safety over her ability to just be a kid.

Logically, I know that can’t be true; other parents are just as concerned for their children as I am. But emotionally, it’s a crushing feeling.

Naturally, my pediatrician has become my confidant. Each time new data emerges regarding the pandemic, we chat. I ask her what’s safe, what to avoid, and she gives me her best guidance. Our conversations often end with the agreement that the benefits of socializing at this age outweigh the risks of Covid. We discuss the “rules” around mask-wearing and agree that outdoor activities are safer than indoor ones, although I often feel like I’m picking my battles.

But it never feels like enough. Ultimately, I’m still the one making the tough calls: let her play and risk exposure to Covid, or keep her safe at the cost of her childhood experiences. How is this even real?

Finding a Balance

Recently, I’ve been trying to find a “balance” between safety and allowing my child to enjoy her youth. After discussing it with her doctor, we decided that playgrounds could be considered “safe” as long as she wore her mask and we practiced good hand hygiene.

Against my better judgment, we visited a playground today. My daughter was masked and happily exploring, but every time another child approached her, she would run away.

Jab #1… I know she’s a social kid, so this was a bit surprising. It was the first time I truly witnessed the pandemic’s impact on her. As the park became busier, with no masks in sight, we moved to quieter areas to keep our distance. Eventually, I reached my limit and said it was time to leave.

Being a toddler, and having been to the playground only a few times in the past year, she didn’t want to go. She hesitated, then yanked off her mask. Jab #2… I nearly had a heart attack (okay, that’s a bit dramatic) and tried to grab her for some sanitizer before she could touch her face. The little one resisted with all her might. Once I finally managed to hold her, we both ended up on the ground—her in my lap, crying, while I frantically waved a bottle of hand sanitizer.

In that moment, I could feel how it must’ve looked to outsiders. I probably appeared as a paranoid mess, clutching a bottle of Germ-X while wrestling with my toddler.

That’s when I completely lost it. Sitting on the ground, crying with my irrational toddler on my lap, in a crowded park, while happy parents and kids played in the background—none of them even noticed. They were oblivious, and I’ve never felt more isolated.

So many aspects of that scenario perfectly mirrored my feelings about life right now. I felt like an outsider while everyone around me continued on with their lives. Jab # freaking 3. I sat there in tears for a solid five minutes before picking up my child and my pride, and moving on with the day. It’s funny how we parents manage to do that.

Reflections

Today was heavy. Tomorrow might be easier, and the next day I may find clarity in my decisions. But today, I felt alone, isolated, and afraid. I longed for a community to share this burden with.

To all the parents grappling with impossible choices, know that I see you. Regardless of how you navigate Covid with your children, I understand that each decision is a struggle. Please, see me too.

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Summary:

In a poignant reflection, a mother shares her struggles with anxiety and the overwhelming pressure of parenting during the pandemic. After a challenging outing to a playground with her toddler, she experiences a moment of despair that encapsulates the fears many parents face today. While she grapples with guilt over her choices, she ultimately recognizes the shared struggle among parents and reaches out for connection.