We Are In This Together
A nurse, a mother, and a pandemic – finding steadiness when the world felt
uncertain.
The Quiet Fears We Carry
I have completely neglected this blog. Life has been full…. my career, my
business, being a mother…… and somewhere in the middle of all that, writing
fell away. I am usually a private person. I don’t often let readers into my
world. But what happened in those early weeks of the pandemic felt too
significant to keep to myself.
Even before things escalated, I was carrying a quiet weight. The worries
circling at the back of my mind were the kind a working mother doesn’t
always say out loud. What would happen to my children if I were isolated?
What if something happened to me? I have no extended family in Australia,
only the family I have built and the children I have raised. That reality
sits differently when you are heading into a hospital each day and the world
outside is shifting beneath your feet.
My daughter had been diagnosed with asthma as a young child. I had
always held hope she would outgrow it. Suddenly that hope felt fragile. And
then there was the question of the school environment essential workers’
children still attending, while most of their classmates were safe at home.
My daughter in Prep had only just found her rhythm. Now she was walking
into near-empty classrooms, making sense of new friendships all over again.
The Day My Body Said ‘Enough’
I have talked people through panic attacks before. I know the signs. I know
the words to say. But I had never been on the receiving end — not until the
day everything I had been holding quietly became too much to contain.
I had to excuse myself from work mid-morning. I made it to the basement
car park before my body took over — the hyperventilating, the tightening,
the wave of sadness I could not name. I used the same techniques I had
offered others, and slowly, I steadied myself. Then I drove to school to
collect my children.
My son was at the oval playing soccer, visibly disappointed I had arrived
early. My daughter was in her classroom, absorbed in art and craft, content.
I spoke to the teachers that day blurted out my worries, held back tears
that kept finding their way forward. And every one of them said the same
thing: “We are in this together.”
What Those Words Actually Meant
Those four words did something I did not expect. They reminded me that
this was not a crisis singling me out that the weight I was carrying was
being carried by many people, in different forms, in different places. The
nurses holding it together in the wards. The teachers staying in classrooms
for the children of essential workers. The parents at home, navigating fear
alongside their children every single day. We were a network. A quiet,
determined, imperfect team.
I think about the unusual texture of that period often. Alarm clocks fell
silent. Homes were cleaned and cleared. Afternoon naps returned. Deals
that once required flights were renegotiated from kitchen tables. There was
so much fear, and alongside it, an unexpected stillness. I do not think there
is any good that comes from a crisis of that scale. But I do believe that
within it, there were pockets of clarity about what matters, about who we
lean on, about how quickly ordinary life can feel precious.
What I Would Say Now
If you found yourself struggling during that time or find yourself
struggling now please talk to someone. It does not need to be a formal
conversation. It can be a teacher in a doorway, a neighbour over the fence,
a colleague in a corridor. The simple act of being heard, and hearing “we
are in this together,” carries more weight than it sounds.
Step away from the noise when you can. Take in what is relevant and useful,
do your part, and then protect your mind. Underlying mental health
struggles have a way of surfacing during times of pressure and that is not
weakness; that is being human.
Love on your people. Health comes first. And when it feels like too
much, reach out. We are in this together.