Monday
Being part of the generation of original latchkey kids and having lived a fairly solitary and lonely existence well into my teens, believe me when I say that I know, deep in my bones how to be alone. When my family began practicing social distancing two weeks ago, I was confident that, yes, while this was going to thoroughly suck, of all people, I’ve got this.
I'm like the Rambo of social isolation. I am well-versed in the reprieve literature provides. That’s an escape hatch I’ve used throughout my life. I know how to draw, and paint, and write, and how to go for a walk outside and get lost in the wonder of nature. I’ve tried to hold onto even just a tiny bit of childlike curiosity and wonder because through those eyes, there is always hope and beauty. But while I enjoy being alone, it's not the (mentally) healthiest place to take a comfortable seat.
Confident that I’d be able to at least help ease my children into this weird new world we’re entering, I forgot that two of my kids are at that absolutely perfect age where they don’t want anything to do with me. Nothing. At. All.
I mean, they’re my kids. We spent those magical early years in Maine together. It was the three of them and me and it was messy and maddening and hilarious and blissfully happy, but they were little people then. Now, they know what’s happening and they’re teenagers and they don’t give a shit what I have to say. This is normal. I get it, but at this particular moment in time, it's an extra bitter pill to swallow.
This is hard and this is going to continue to be hard. Frankly, I’m struggling with the realization that for many of us, life is about to look vastly different. So, while I’m used to being alone and normally welcome solitude, I am not good at being alone in my house when I’m surrounded by my own people who have retreated behind closed doors and eye-rolls, anxiety, and general disinterest in anything I have to offer. I have to remember that I was a teenager once and call upon that part now.
Tonight, during dinner, I cracked. I yelled and I cried and went upstairs to crawl into bed.
It’s Monday. Tomorrow will be better.
Confident that I’d be able to at least help ease my children into this weird new world we’re entering, I forgot that two of my kids are at that absolutely perfect age where they don’t want anything to do with me. Nothing. At. All.
I mean, they’re my kids. We spent those magical early years in Maine together. It was the three of them and me and it was messy and maddening and hilarious and blissfully happy, but they were little people then. Now, they know what’s happening and they’re teenagers and they don’t give a shit what I have to say. This is normal. I get it, but at this particular moment in time, it's an extra bitter pill to swallow.
This is hard and this is going to continue to be hard. Frankly, I’m struggling with the realization that for many of us, life is about to look vastly different. So, while I’m used to being alone and normally welcome solitude, I am not good at being alone in my house when I’m surrounded by my own people who have retreated behind closed doors and eye-rolls, anxiety, and general disinterest in anything I have to offer. I have to remember that I was a teenager once and call upon that part now.
Tonight, during dinner, I cracked. I yelled and I cried and went upstairs to crawl into bed.
It’s Monday. Tomorrow will be better.
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