My Writing. My World.
A friend of mine admitted to me recently that he had judged me when I told him I was having anxiety about reintegrating back into society after the pandemic.
For saying that I felt almost feral and perhaps even a little agoraphobic — and not at all sure how I was going to prepare myself for leaving my house on a regular basis again.
Anyone else wake up with an emotional hangover this morning?
And maybe a weird pain in your left eye that you can’t quite figure out?
I felt like I was in a fog for the second half of the day yesterday — my morning’s work woes quickly forgotten in their irrelevance and sudden unimportance in light of what was going on in our country.
Golden handcuffs.
That’s what my husband and I used to call it when he worked for one of the largest software companies in the world. He had an employer who paid him a generous-enough salary that afforded us the luxury of me staying home with our babies for as long as I wanted.
They also provided amazing benefits—we never paid a single copay for 10 years. Not for doctors’ office visits, specialists, or hospital coverage for the birth of both of our babies. I don’t even think we paid copays for prescriptions. That seems completely unbelievable now, so I feel like I’m making that up. But I know it’s true because I remember the pediatrician’s office and pharmacists commenting on it every time we went.
We knew we were blessed. And we also felt trapped.
I'm feeling compelled to take back Valentine's Day.
Take it back from the greeting card manufacturers, the florists, and even from Facebook, where all I see today are updated profile pictures of couples with hearts bursting all over them.
It's not that I am skeptical or pessimistic or cranky about love. Quite the contrary, actually.
