Lockdown Lethargy

So far I have experienced this lockdown in distinct emotional stages. There was the initial stage, when we went so suddenly from 'social distancing' to full lockdown, which was stressful and anxious but at the same time novel and, in a morbid kind of way, exciting. Then there were a few days in which I found myself actively enjoying lockdown, on a domestic level, counting all the positives it had brought my small family, forcing us to develop routines and habits to keep us all happy and healthy, and forcing me to slow down a bit. Then there came a couple of weeks in which, as I discussed in my last blog post, lockdown started to feel normal, days and weeks speeding by. 

Right now, lockdown time has slowed down again.

As will probably surprise exactly no one, I am a busy person. One reason why it took a global pandemic to force me to slow down is because I like having lots to do, having places to be, deadlines to meet. Maternity leave was a shock to my system in this respect, but I just replaced work responsibilities with going to baby groups. I used to say that I'd have been quite happy staying home all day with the baby, but that she liked the socialisation. I now realise I was lying outrageously to myself. She's happy as a pig in mud playing all day at home. The baby groups, the swimming, the Book Bugs sessions, the music, were really for me.

But! I hear you say. There's no reason why you can't be busy in lockdown. There are virtual baby groups, you can have coffees via Zoom, you can write blogs, learn the violin, crochet a baby hat... all of which I've tried over the past few weeks, and they do fill the time. But over the past few days I've found that both my motivation to do these things, and the pleasure I take in doing them, has bottomed out entirely. My get-up-and-go, which in the pre-lockdown past has enabled me to juggle organising events, writing articles, rowing training, and seeing friends, has wandered off, yawning, when faced with the single ball of staying occupied during lockdown. I am experiencing Lockdown Lethargy. 

 I feel too lethargic to dream up a caption to justify this illustration of our locked-down play area...

 
The way my husband - who is also experiencing this stage - describes it, Lockdown Lethargy makes everything 'just okay'. A nice glass of wine? It's okay. Hobbies that used to delight? They're okay. Research topics that used to inspire excitement? Just okay. Of course, 'just okay' is a lot better than 'really crap', and better than what many people are experiencing right now, but it's still draining living inside what feels like a photograph with most of the colour taken out of it. More seriously, 'just okay' feels like a milder version of a familiar-to-me symptom of depression, in which the illness sucks joy from any activity to which you'd normally turn to lift your mood.

So I have decided there are two things to do to tackle this. One I am doing right now, in actually writing a blog post rather than just sleepily thinking about it. A few weeks ago I was right, I think, to take this newly-discovered time to slow down, but now I need to actively speed up before I come to a full stop. Basically, in terms of doing stuff and enjoying it, I'm going to try faking it until I make it, because this isn't depression (yet), this is just Lockdown Lethargy, and pulling my socks up to get out of it is a very okay response.

The other thing is to remind myself that, just as the previous personal phases of lockdown have passed, so too shall this - and wait and see what the next emotional stage of lockdown brings for me.

A new normal

It is strange, and a little scary, how quickly we adapt to new circumstances. Speaking to a friend recently, we both agreed that the second week of lockdown had seemed to go by in a flash. During the first week, it felt as if time was moving in slow motion, every hour and day filled with the question of how it would be possible to get through weeks or even months of this bizarre 'new life' with sanity intact. Now, there is so much that a week ago felt strange that now feels normal. 

It feels normal, now to keep one's distance when out and about, to the point that it feels like a terrible social solecism to accidentally cross the invisible two-metre line: meeting even a friend on a narrow path results in an awkward dance. It feels normal to stand in a stretched-out, socially-distanced queue outside the greengrocer's, to wait by the door of a shop for the last customer to exit before you can enter. 

It feels normal to wake up and fill a day almost entirely within the bounds of one's own home. There is a rhythm and a routine that is almost soothing. Domestic chores have become pleasantly meditative: one of my favourite parts of the day is putting the washing out on the line, and taking my time over it, because after all, what is there to rush for? 

I know I am very very lucky to have this outside space as part of my home.

It feels normal for the vast majority of social interactions to take place over a screen. In the first week of lockdown, Zoom meetings, WhatsApp video chats, and Skype calls felt charged and formal; people anxious to make connections, but still clumsy in dealing with multi-person chats, unsure where to put the phone for the best camera angle. Now, it feels oddly natural, as people get the hang of selectively muting their microphones to better hear whoever is speaking, of propping their phones up somewhere whilst they get on with chores or tending to children, just as we'd have done if visiting in one another's homes in the pre-lockdown days.

It feels normal, now, to think of 'pre-lockdown days' as a time quite separate from now.

The weekly ritual of stepping out of the front door to clap at 8pm feels so entrenched, now, that it is hard to believe it has only taken place twice in our lifetimes.

Some things still don't feel normal to me. I am still startled to see people wearing masks, though I understand why they do it. I find it easier to capture a sense of calm and normality in the present moment than when thinking about the future. I live by the sea, and every time we take our daily walk I find it hard to imagine a summer in which families will not congregate on the beach, sunbathing and playing in the water. I worry that harsher lockdown measures may be necessary, and what that will look like. Sometimes, I worry that by the time lockdown is ended, we'll be so used to it all that 'returning to normal' will be a whole new time of strangeness and adaptation.