We’ve been told to return to our lives as we once knew them, to accept the changes we’ve faced, and to brace ourselves for even more. Or, we’re told to prepare for a near lockdown again.
That’s easy for others to say. The last 18 months have been hell. I’ve had teenagers cooped up in the house with me, their only parent, as they desperately tried to break free from my rules and push every boundary. It’s been like playing table tennis, with me as the ball.
But now, off to school or university they go, and back to my life I go. But can I?
I’ve lost so much during this pandemic. I’ve been through more than I ever imagined—mental health struggles, battling Covid, and facing the possibility that my children were going to lose their only parent.
I’ve watched my children transform into shadows of themselves, struggling in a world that I couldn’t fully protect them from. And yet, through it all, I’ve continued to love and protect them, even from themselves, with no space to breathe. I’ve endured so much, I’m not sure when or if I’ll ever feel “normal” again.
I can say, without hesitation, that I hate my house. I’m not even sure I like my children at times, although I know I love them. My home, once my sanctuary from the stresses of work, is now a constant reminder of everything that’s gone wrong. Work has become the sanctuary, and home feels like the battlefield.
Every corner of this house tells a story of struggles, stress, and the endless worry about how I’ll make it through another day. So how do I go back to a life that no longer exists? I have to create a new life, a new version of myself, without the children I’ve spent so many years nurturing.
Thanks, Covid.
Real Talk: Diary of a Seriously Fcked Off Parent 