Isolation

The world is A Lot right now, isn’t it?

Last week I was having an excellent holiday in Iceland — Coronavirus was something I was aware of, but at the beginning of the trip it was only a sort of mild concern in the UK. By the end of the trip, we were praying our flights home wouldn’t get cancelled like so many others as more and more places went into lockdown. I got home at 2am on Monday, and home was a very different place.

On Tuesday, we said goodbye to my grandma, in the last open funeral service that church would perform for the foreseeable future. Half the people who would have wanted to go couldn’t make it — whether because they were elderly and at risk themselves, or staying home with children because childcare was impossible and no one wanted to bring school-age children to a room full of potentially vulnerable people. Those of us who were there had to stay the requisite six feet apart. I broke that rule to hug my mother as she cried watching them drive the coffin away — we live together anyway, and there was no way I could just stand there and watch her sob, even as I was crying too, as my cousins and aunts and uncles were crying, reaching out before pulling our hands back at the reminder of what was no longer safe. 

I thought about dedicating an entire blog post to my grandma. She was an incredible woman, a four-foot-five whirlwind of Irish sass and golden-hearted kindness, offering a listening ear and a supportive smile — and copious amounts of food and tea, even when you insisted you were full. She filled my childhood with stories, all from her head, not a book or paper in sight. She made storytelling look so, so easy. I suppose a lot of that is why I ended up in the career I have — though my stories don’t fall into place nearly as smoothly as grandma’s did. 

But even if I wrote pages and pages about her, it still wouldn’t do her justice. She was the lynchpin of our family, and we can only hope to carry her influence with us in life. Even the Catholic guilt, which is definitely hereditary, because I have never been to a Catholic church service in my life, and yet it’s still there. 

Then I thought about writing a blog post about the state of the world right now, but all that did was make a lump of fear and anxiety and absolute heartbreak rise in my chest. These are unprecedented circumstances, and as much as I’d love to say that humanity is facing them with grace and compassion, looking at the news quite clearly proves that otherwise. I could plead and cry for people to be considerate, stop hoarding, stay inside and wash your hands. I’d be another voice in a crowd of many, and I doubt one more will be enough to make those obstinate people listen. I fear the only thing that will is something we may not recover from. 

A lot of creators are turning outward in this time of crisis — offering livestream Q&As, or free content, or Twitter chats. A fantastic effort by some wonderful humans, and I encourage all of you to look into all the hashtags and appropriate places for something to brighten your day.

Sadly, I myself don’t have much to offer at the moment. I haven’t got a new book coming out or recently released that I could create content around, and I’m not entirely relevant enough to offer resources or online hangouts. I’m also trying so very hard to just keep my head above water that I don’t have the energy to start trying to bail out others. It makes me feel selfish to admit it, but if there’s one thing many years of therapy and doctor’s appointments have taught me, it’s never to apologise for needing to take care of myself before offering aid to anyone else. If you’re in the same boat, it’s okay. Not everyone can offer themselves up in a time of crisis. Some of us need to curl inwards, protect our vulnerable underbellies, and take a step back for a while.

I have edits to do. I have a new book I was partway through writing before I went to Iceland. I don’t know if I’ll be able to focus enough to complete either of these things, but I’d like to try. And that means getting off Twitter, getting my brain out of the never-ending cycle of bad news and anxiety and uncertainty online, and doing my own thing.

I’ll still be online. I don’t think I could physically tear myself away. As someone with a chronic illness who works from home and barely goes outside anyway, isolation hasn’t really changed my daily routine all that much, but this level of anxiety is new and it’s something my medication is struggling to handle. I’m still keeping in touch with friends and responding to tweets and messages, and if any of you do want to buy my books to comfort you through this difficult period I would absolutely love that — if you can, support your local indie bookstore in the process. I also have the Take Back the Skies short stories on Wattpad, which you can read for free here.

But, other than that, I’m going to focus on myself and my routine and try and stay steady. All I can say is be kind — to those struggling to adjust, to those still working through this and keeping people safe and healthy, and to yourself. It’s okay if you don’t fulfil all your life’s goals during this period of isolation. It’s okay if all you do is watch Netflix and play Animal Crossing. As long as you make it through to the other side, no one can question your methods. So be kind, be safe, and be considerate of the most vulnerable in your community. 

I love you.