A year into the pandemic: Living Alone, Zoom Fatigue and Fertility Cliff Anxiety

A year you could tell your grandkids about except it doesn’t look like you’ll have them.

Living through a pandemic has been something else. It’s only now, a year later, that I feel that I have processed it enough to be able to start writing about it.

I started working from home in mid-March 2020 and I remember within a few days of that a meme popped up in my newsfeed starring a puppet-like creature looking sideways with the words “when you find out your daily lifestyle is actually called ‘quarantine’,” and I instantly related to it. I am an absolute homebody who has always preferred socializing during the weekend because I need that home time to recharge my batteries for the next work day. However, I soon realized that the homebody commuting to work experience is different than the homebody working from home one.

I didn’t realize that those couple of minutes of fresh air twice a day while commuting was so important. I, like many others now suffering from Zoom fatigue, did not realize that back-to-back meetings feel a lot more draining by video than in person. I didn’t realize that even on days with only one or two video meetings scheduled it would still feel pretty rough to “jump” on a meeting. It’s something like feeling like you’re making progress with certain tasks or projects and then having that work flow interrupted due to meetings, which of course also happened in an office environment but it’s different. When working at the office I worked out of that wannabe cocoon better known as a cubicle and there was a constant influx of coworkers passing by or talking to each other or talking to me, so my work flow had already been pre-interrupted by the first meeting.

I live by myself which at any time, but especially during a pandemic, can be intense. I can’t speak for others who’ve been living by themselves during this pandemic but I feel that every thought that could pass through my brain has passed through it.

· I’ve googled absolutely everything, like pink satin puffer coats, that I’ve ever had any interest in googling.

· I located a super sweet fourth cousin in Canada who has been trying to help me solve the mystery behind the identity of one of my maternal great-grandfathers.

· I’ve spent hours asking my parents questions about their shared immigration story as a young couple to try to get it down on paper but haven’t felt motivated enough to really get on that.

· I’ve spent countless hours on real estate websites even though I simply can’t afford the open floor plan homes near me.

· I’ve considered moving out of state and then gone back to browsing local real estate listings.

· I’ve gained weight, lost weight, and then gained again.

· I’ve tried working out for a few days at a time and have hiked a bit.

· I’ve discovered new music.

· I’ve watched everything that I’ve ever cared to watch from the channels in my cable plan and from multiple streaming services friends let me use.

· I ordered acrylic prints of some of my favorite whale-watching pics and hung them up in my kitchen.

· I’ve played so much Settlers of Catan.

· I’ve tried a ton of recipes and I perfected my mac and cheese.

· I’ve picked up way more espressos on ice than actual takeout.

· I’ve picked at scabs, proper healing be damned.

· I’ve had some medical procedures for the first time ever, like a mammogram (turned out ok thankfully), due to my body feeling a little off from all the time at home.

· I’ve cancelled flights and for the first time in more than a decade had a year where I didn’t get on a plane.

· I’ve had some lame dates.

· I got crafty and used batting and multi-purpose spray to reupholster my deflated couches, but they’re back to looking deflated.

· I’ve had lengthy video chats with friends and family.

· Often, I’ve also been that friend and family member who sucks at reaching out beyond sharing funny memes, but I was a good sport and did a 30 day minimalism challenge with a friend.

· I’ve bought some stuff I didn’t need but wanted.

· I’ve found it endearing to see my parents spring into mama and papa bear mode in continuously bestowing me and the rest of my immediate family with immune-boosting concoctions (radishes, ginger and onions galore), hearty stews, N95 masks and gloves.

· I’ve felt tremendous gratitude that although I had a few family members and friends come down with COVID-19 they all recovered from it.

As lucky as I’ve been I know that emotionally it’s been a lot. In the beginning of the pandemic, when everybody was anxious (and I guess taking it out on the toilet paper aisle) and nobody knew what was happening, I had unproductive work days where it felt like I was moving through water. Months into the pandemic, I took two weeks off work only to feel as if I hadn’t taken any time off within hours of being back at work. I’ve had plenty of mostly sleepless nights, at times have found myself unable to push myself to clean my place for weeks on end, have felt lethargic and uninspired, and felt waves of hopelessness after George Floyd’s death, Trump’s big election lie, and the Capitol insurrection.

On top of everything, about six months into the pandemic I turned 38 and felt the closest I’ve ever felt to fertility-related despair and didn’t really want to talk to anyone about it. There are a lot of different types of fertility-related despair. I can only speak to my type which is “single gal who doesn’t foresee major issues getting pregnant but doesn’t want to do motherhood on her own.” Before my 38th birthday for whatever reason, I felt fairly confident about the “doesn’t foresee major issues getting pregnant” bit but at the 38th birthday mark I had to be honest with myself and admit that my future as a mother looked bleak. Over the years I’ve read several books and articles on the topic and I knew I was already several years past the optimal age to get pregnant but I had been able to distract myself with life stuff like buying a condo, changing careers, and well you know trying to work at relationships that weren’t meant to be.

Now in the thick of this pandemic there was none of that. In my despair I thought things like…I could freeze my eggs but would it make a difference if I didn’t meet the right person to build a family with? I could freeze my eggs and meet the right person and those eggs could totally fail when they’re put through the IVF cycle and it would have all been for nothing. Half of me felt like if there’s ever a time to freeze your eggs it’s now when you’re working from home and can pick up medicines and make it to appointments more easily and the other half of me felt like “It doesn’t matter how fab and sexy egg-freezing boutiques make it sound, egg freezing is brutal on one’s body and wallet and heart.” For now the latter half won and I’ve simply had to make peace with this being something that I might regret in the future.

Living through a pandemic has put me in a position where I’ve been living in my emotions and in my reality more than ever and it’s only now, a year later, that I’m starting to feel that it’s been an important year in my life. It hasn’t been a wasted year. For one, it’s been years since I stopped whatever I was doing and sat down to write.