I am settled in to start writing. It’s Saturday, late morning, I’m in my bedroom and the door is closed. I put on some instrumental music and I lower the volume. And then I turn it up because I remember there is no need for me to be on alert, no reason to listen out for the kids and to worry about having to stop what I’m doing to to break up a fight or get someone a snack or make lunch. I am a mother of three and I am self-isolating due to testing positive to Covid a couple of days ago. As a result, for the next few days I will no longer be needed by anyone and that is the weirdest sensation I have ever experienced, one that subsequently brought up many thoughts.
On Day 1 I do a quick internet search to find any tips and advice on being a mama who is self-isolating from her family. There’s nothing, at least nothing that gives me satisfaction and comfort. A bunch of official links pointing me to the basics, the protocols and the guidelines one has to follow but no information, no acknowledgment of the physical and mental challenges of being separated from your kids in this capacity.
As I write this, I haven’t hugged or kissed my kids in two days. There will be many more to come. 8 to be exact. I am self-isolating in my en-suite bedroom -because I’m fancy like that and obviously because it matters in this context- food and hot teas are left outside my door by my partner. I sleep with the windows half-open to clear the air and I surround myself with books, notebooks, movies and podcasts. I am safe, I am warm, I can be entertained. Let’s get that straight.
And I’ve been away from the kids over the years, during quick little weekend getaways with my partner or my friends. But this is different. They see me and I see them, from a distance. I wave to them from my bedroom window as they play outside in the garden, I hear them in the bathroom, laughing and splashing around and being silly with each other. But I can’t just open the door and bring them a towel to dry off, I can’t mop the wet floor and I can’t help them put their pyjamas on. I am here yet I cannot tuck them in at night, I cannot kiss away the pain of a booboo or hug their frustration away when I hear them crying or upset. Georgie and I looked at each other from a distance last night when he came upstairs to say goodnight and we both remarked between laughter and tears how weird the situation was. Then once again I closed the door and I’m in this world where no one needs me.
The majority of my days are spent with my kids. As a mother who does not have a nine-to-five job and as one whose world for the last ten years has revolved around being the main caregiver, I feel I have been catapulted into another dimension. It’s surreal, I find myself diving deep into the pros of this situation only to have the cons come up as a cold concrete slab that hits me in the face. Could I ever have imagined a time and moment in life when I would NOT be able to go to my kids? No. Never.
I come to terms with my conditioning, I realise how deep the role of mother -always doing, always serving, always martyring herself- is carved into my psyche. It’s not just the physical pain that comes from being unable to be with them, it’s this mental unease and restlessness. That is something I do not know how to deal, these are emotions that I have no clue how to handle. It takes a lot of awareness to stay away from the guilt and stop the monkey brain from telling me there is something I need to be doing, that resting, lying in bed, staring out a window, lighting a candle, putting some music on, watching movies and allowing myself to just BE is so completely wrong. I know it’s not wrong and I know there is a really good reason but that doesn’t make it any less unsettling and uncomfortable. At times during the day, I sit on the edge of my bed and literally remind myself of this little fact.
During this pandemic, self-isolation looks and feels very different for everyone. There are groups of young people isolating together in cabins up in the mountains. There are grandparents cooped up in their homes patiently awaiting the moment they will see their kids or grandkids again. There are whole families isolating, sometimes up to a month. There are fathers who test positive and leave the home to self-isolate elsewhere. There are kids who must stay in their rooms, getting unlimited access to iPads and cartoons on the tv and maybe a walk around the block when no one is around. I’ve heard many stories along these lines, but what about mothers? Where are the stories of just mothers self-isolating?Could it be that mothers are sacrificing their health to be with their kids? Not because they really do, though I have no doubt there are mothers who really do and I get that, but because no one can ‘fill in’ for them?
Like most of us living in this era of madness and uncertainty with a highly-contagious virus making the rounds, I knew our time would come. However, I always felt it would be one of the kids who gets it or my partner who socialises way more than I do. The notion of me being the first didn’t occur to me because that could never happen. There was no plan in place in case the captain of the ship fell ill.
Though to be completely honest, the thought did cross my mind on more than one occasion and I even secretly fantasised about it. Being left alone to my own device, not having to wake up at the crack of dawn everyday, no obligations, no schedule to follow? Anyone who is a main caregiver, especially one to young kids, will without a doubt envy the situation I am currently in. I know I would!
But what does that really say about us as mothers? The more I think about the quietness, the uncomplicated result of self-isolation and all the balls I have been forced to drop, I realise how much we do as mothers. And how fucked up it is to secretly fantasise about getting sick just so you can get a rest. But I know the reality already, don’t I? I mean, I talk about it all the time, through my writing, my social media platforms. I made a bloody podcast about the unrealistic demands of motherhood, for crying out loud! Yet, every time the reality glares into my face and stares my down I found myself in a state of shock.
I am used to being interrupted, I am used to distractions lingering around everywhere. A half eaten banana on the kitchen counter, the doorbell ringing, afternoon activities, demands, obligations, kids everywhere, always. And now nothing, just the click clack of my keyboard, no end and no beginning. And I still don’t know how I feel about it. And I still can’t shake the unease. But I am becoming more and more aware of it and I know that’s something.
—————–
