Thank You For Self-Isolation

COVID-19 Ruined My Mental Health, But Also Saved It

I’d like to start by acknowledging that I’m aware of the damage that has been done by COVID-19. To lives, families, businesses, and more. I am so grateful for the health of my family at this time, even though there have been financial burdens and loss of employment. But in this article I want to set aside those consequences of self-isolation and approach it on an individual basis, of us staying at home, and what it’s done to our mental health or mental illness.

I mentioned in my article, “I Still Haven’t Baked Sourdough”, that a lot of my energy and time during this period have been focused on my mental and struggle. And by the way, I still haven’t baked sourdough, does anyone have a recipe or tips?

But yeah, I wanted this to be the time that I got a book deal, that my blog took off, that I made thousands through freelance writing. I wanted to look back at this period and see it as a defining moment. And while it won’t be that financially or in terms of external success, I will look back on this time as defining. Because while 2020 has been disastrous, it is also the best I have ever done emotionally.

The beginning

Let me go back to the beginning, and take you through this process and roller coaster with me. So when self-isolation started, I was pretty happy. I had seen other countries going into lockdown, but doubted my own would, or that the company I work for would actually send us home. But on a Thursday afternoon, we got this message, so on Friday I packed a keyboard and screen and left the office for the final time. I left my delicious Tony Chocolonely chocolate bar there, I’m still mourning that.

As a secret introvert, I loved it. I didn’t have to leave my house anymore? I didn’t have to force plans with friends or family? I didn’t have to work on their schedule? I was ready to thrive. I was going to beat my running goals, write so much in what would’ve been my commute time, and watch all the series I never got around to. I was reading, finally reading again! I was cooking new meals and working on my apartment.

What a time, *sigh*.

The drop

But then it hit. I want to say it was three weeks in, but I have no sense of time during this. So at some point, Depression returned. Swooped in one day. Want to go for a run this morning?

Well, your legs are going to feel like they’re attached to cinder blocks, and your mind is going to continuously tell you that you can’t do it because you’re a failure. Oh, look there’s some more food, let’s use it as comfort again and ignore actual hunger. Why don’t we call in Eating Disorder so you can cry in front of the mirror and refuse to have sex without a t-shirt on? This doesn’t seem like enough, I think we need Anxiety in the room, to really make you stress about that text message someone sent you or whether anyone even likes you anymore.

My mental health had been doing so much better, a year after being correctly diagnosed and receiving schema-based treatment. And then it was all gone. I was crying every single day, and when I wasn’t crying, I was empty, hollow. I was struggling with the most basic tasks, I was tired, all the time. And all I could see on social media was everyone working out and becoming their best selves. I felt like my worst self.

And I’m so happy I did. Because the thing is, I was always feeling like this, I was always carrying those voices around with me, I was just masking them. Self-isolation is the first time since I became mentally ill, that I actually stopped. That I didn’t fill my days and avoid being alone at all costs. For over 8 years of hidden struggle, I had distracted myself and others by over-coping.

Even when my father passed away almost two years ago, I returned to work 3 days after the funeral. I was in the office, smiling and pretending to be fine. I had all of this darkness inside, and self-isolation forced me to release it. Because I couldn’t focus all my attention on others, worry about them so no one would worry about me.

I couldn’t rush from the gym to the office to a dinner engagement. I had time, I had so much time. I was alone. I have never properly been alone, maybe for a few hours at a time, but not like this. And being alone when mentally ill and having repressed grief is terrifying. Because it feels like crap to be alone, but only because you’re actually feeling your crapiness then, you’re not masking it with a smile for someone else.

Self-isolation forced me to acknowledge that I was still hurting. And I am still hurting now, but at least I can admit it to myself. At least I can begin to implement changes and work on it.

The rise

What kind of changes?

Well, regulations are slowly diminishing here in the Netherlands. I can see friends again. I could go back to before when I would force myself to see people four nights a week, yet still be paranoid that they were angry at me, that I wasn’t doing enough. Well, I could now, but I’m not going to. I’m seeing people once a week, twice at most.

I’m seeing them when I want to, and not if I don’t. I even cancelled plans, something I would never have done before, no matter how low I felt. I just would’ve prayed that they would cancel them. But I confided in the friend, said I was having a depressed day and needed time alone.

I’m writing and reading, but I’m trying to reduce the pressure I put on myself. After experiencing the loss of someone, I felt trapped by how short life is, how far I am from my dream of being a published author. And while I remain determined, I am also accepting myself, my limits and my needs. I am giving myself days off, knowing that in the long run it will allow me to be more productive.

I am caring for myself. For the needs of my inner child. I am trying to turn exercise into moving my body, being grateful for my body, and not “I need to lose weight, I’m huge, I’m disgusting”. I want to say that I love my body, I don’t yet. But I want to. I want to love it as it is, not what it was, not what it could be. I’m trying to stop food from being a comfort, and instead make it just food, eating and not eating. It’s a challenge, but one that I want to take.

I’m trying to realise my goals, which were always deep within me, but now I allow them to the surface. The fact that I’m even telling people I want to be a published author is something that never would’ve happened before COVID-19. I’m trying to stop focusing on being responsible in the work I do and the life I force myself to live. I want to be happy, not responsible. I want to be a writer, and so a writer I become.

I’m trying to address my grief. I managed to avoid it for a year and a half. And I still can’t fully give myself to it. But I’m trying. I’m working on accepting that they’re gone, so that I can somehow find a way to be okay with that. Tips welcome, as I’m pretty lost on this one, just like the sourdough. What even is sourdough, why is everyone so obsessed with it? Why am I?

Self-isolation sucked in a lot of ways. I would’ve loved to be on a beach with a pina colada in my hand, but I’m not. And a lot of people struggled too, and had a really rough time. But we shouldn’t ‘forget’ it, nor 2020. Because being at our worst, showed us that we can take it. That we can not only survive, but thrive from it. Self-isolation brought us to the deepest depths, and we’re still here. And that is something to celebrate.

Do what you need to survive, don’t focus on being the best, the fittest, the most productive. Focus on actually being you, because can you look in the mirror and honestly say that you are? Focus on being the most you that you can be. Let self-isolation teach you, but not mould you. And let your darkest moments serve only to remind how brightly the sun actually can shine.

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