During the early days of the pandemic, I found myself staring out the window for hours on end. I felt lost and unanchored, struggling with decisions both trivial and significant. From what takeout to order to whether I should invest in an exercise bike, every choice seemed monumental. When I did make decisions, they often felt wrong or completely out of character, accompanied by an omnipresent sense of anxiety.
After a challenging fall and a dreary winter, hope flickered in late spring. Initially, I was cautious, but optimism began to settle in as I thought the worst was behind us. However, that hope quickly dissipated, giving way to overwhelming waves of anger. I wasn’t just sad—I was furious—battling a constant undercurrent of rage that simmered beneath a seemingly calm exterior.
On the surface, life seemed pleasant. My family was healthy and vaccinated, we lived in a community with strict mask mandates, and I enjoyed a flexible, fulfilling job. My marriage was strong, and I cherished spending time with my husband. So, what was the issue? Well, everything else—<>.
In those early pandemic months, I was in a daze. Confusion and fatigue clouded my days. Should I be organizing my closets, napping, working on my resume, or just taking another walk? Eventually, the brain fog transitioned into deep anxiety and an unshakeable funk. Despite functioning adequately—working, volunteering, folding laundry, interacting with friends, and exercising—I often felt an undercurrent of dread.
When asked, “How are you?” I grappled with my response. Should I admit I was drained by quarantine fatigue, conspiracy theories, and the apparent indifference of many? Or should I express gratitude for my family’s health, a comfortable home, and supportive relationships? In the end, my overwhelming emotions left me muttering, “I’m fine… I guess.”
Fast forward nearly a year, and I still wrestle with the same feelings. Despite the fury and disappointment regarding the ongoing pandemic, I find myself… shockingly happy. This emotional dissonance is perplexing. How can I feel such anger and sadness amid a relatively good life? It feels cruel and illogical, like I’m doomed to carry a cloud of gloom alongside my joy.
The answer? Ambiguous loss. Early in the pandemic, many of us discussed grief—grieving the loss of normalcy, security, social connections, jobs, and so much more. A year later, those losses linger, compounded by the erosion of faith in humanity. I’ve always believed in the inherent goodness of people. The realization that this belief may not hold true has shaken me deeply. But can we even mourn the loss of faith in humanity or the belief that people care for one another? Indeed, we can.
According to Dr. Pauline Boss, who coined the term ambiguous loss, these unidentifiable losses can lead to feeling stuck. The accumulation of these losses—trust in the world, routines, and even the ability to connect with loved ones—can be debilitating. In her recent book, The Myth of Closure: Ambiguous Loss in a Time of Pandemic and Change, Dr. Boss emphasizes that we must let go of the expectation of closure. Instead, she suggests finding purpose amid our grief, which feels daunting.
I hope to eventually transform this mix of anger, loss, and grief into something meaningful. While I’m still figuring it out, perhaps sharing this experience will help others feel less isolated in their struggles.
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In summary, many of us are grappling with a complex mix of emotions during these challenging times. It’s essential to acknowledge our feelings of sadness and anger and understand that they stem from ambiguous losses we’ve all experienced. By sharing our stories, we can begin to heal and find purpose in our struggles.
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