When the pandemic began in March, like many Americans, I met the challenges it presented head on–enthusiastically even. Admittedly, compared to people suffering serious financial and emotional hardships, my sacrifices weren’t huge. Yet even in relative comfort, living with the day-to-day uncertainties of Covid was frightening and at times overwhelming.
I drew strength from a collective sense of duty (we were all doing our part to limit the spread) and from the knowledge that past generations have endured far greater trials. After all, I wasn’t sending my sons off to war or trying to survive a famine. The early days of Covid weren’t easy, but I knew what needed to be done, and I resolved to do my best.
Things are even harder now
Now everything is different. The sense of unity I felt with friends and fellow Americans who were also toughing it out at home is gone. Restaurants, bars, gyms, and salons in my state have reopened (with some restrictions). Youth sports have resumed. And people are traveling, shopping, and hanging out in large groups. While we still aren’t completely “back to normal,” Covid restriction and limitation are required less and ignored more than they were even a few weeks ago.
Unfortunately, this isn’t a sign that we have gotten a handle on the virus. In fact, where I live the threat of Covid is greater now than it was in April. The decisions that our leaders are making about which activities to limit (almost none) and which to resume are based on economic factors, mental health concerns, and in many cases, just the compelling desire to do what we want.
It’s that last factor I’m struggling with. I understand the need to re-open the economy, and mask mandates do make it safer for all of us to venture out. As the mom of teenagers, I also get the mental health concerns associated with long-term isolation, especially for young people. I recognize that our country can not sustain the types of shutdowns we saw in the spring without serious consequences for businesses and individuals.
How do we weigh all the factors we need to consider during this Covid era?
But where is the balance?
As a parent, striking a balance between my comfort level and my children’s desire for normalcy is extremely difficult. When restrictions began to loosen in our area, and it became clear that “everybody else’s mom” was letting them, we reluctantly agreed to let our sixteen year old son to start hanging out with friends again, as long as he followed a few rules–like only gathering outdoors.
I don’t like it. If it were up to me, he would still be safely ensconced in our covid-free home watching movies with us every night. But at least we have tried to set up some guidelines to keep him, and by extension ourselves, safe.
Still, it isn’t just our youngest son’s social life that is worrisome. We have an adult son too and two daughters in college. And while we have no control over their level of risk, we do still want to be with them. When our older son and his wife come over for dinner, do we social distance? Stay outdoors? What about when our girls come home for winter break? Do we keep our distance for the first couple of weeks?
Interacting with the people I love was much easier when all the people I love were locked down.
Of course, I don’t just love the people in my immediate family. I love my friends and extended family too. In April my friends and I met for Zoom cocktail hours. By late May we began meeting poolside or on back patios–always aware of the distance between us. But now cooler weather is coming.
With the holidays coming, there will be many challenges
By November will patio parties even be an option? Can I host a socially distant Thanksgiving with my cousins? Will there be masked Christmas parties or curb-side gift exchanges? It has been difficult, but doable, for me to comfortably navigate my social life during the warmer months. But colder weather will present a whole new set of challenges.
So, while much of the rest of the world seems to be getting back to normal, I am struggling. Do I learn to live with the risks associated with being “back out there?” Or do I soldier on, seemingly alone, with my attempts to limit the spread and protect my family?
There are no easy answers, and I am sure I won’t always get it right. I know that sometimes we will allow our son to make plans that I won’t feel entirely comfortable with. Other times we will have to make the difficult decision to say no.
This won’t last forever
I know that at some time in the future, I will get together with friends or go out to dinner, and I will worry I‘ve taken too great a risk. Other times, I will play it safe and regret missing out on something fun.
It’s hard to believe, but I sometimes find myself wishing for the early days of the pandemic–the solidarity, the communal sense of duty, the commitment to simple living. Of course, I recognize I am romanticizing it a bit.
From the beginning some people who resisted restrictions; there were those who don’t believe the science or who weren’t willing to make sacrifices. But at least back then, back before we were all so tired, I knew the right thing to do. I knew that staying home was the best thing for my family and for our community. And it didn’t feel like such a sacrifice because so many other people were sacrificing too.
Now, much of the world seems ready to move on, and the best I can do is try to find the balance between isolation and risk, between being cautious and being afraid.
That might prove to be my greatest pandemic challenge yet.
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Source: https://grownandflown.com/covid-balance-risk-caution/
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