Stacie Sherman

I thought I could handle anything. I thought life had thrown me all the hardest curves. And then came 2020.

Everything I thought I knew disintegrated as a pandemic swept into town, forcing me to work from home, my daughter’s school to close, my husband’s sales to slow, my son’s anxiety to balloon. Forcing my once tight-knit extended family to divide and conquer. Too many changes, too soon, took my breath away and sapped the strength I thought I had. I retreated as I forced myself to just get through each day. But the days turned into weeks, then months. Long months inside the bubble I built around myself.

Writing is my therapy, and I spurned it. I didn’t need therapy, I needed to get the f%ck out of my house. I needed a babysitter. I needed my daughter to stop crying, I needed her to sleep through the night. I needed the house to clean itself, dinner to just appear. I needed my son to stop checking the covid numbers 20 times a day. I needed a vacation. I needed a family get-together so big you could barely hear yourself talk. I needed to see a movie, wander through a mall. I needed to crowd into my local bar, see familiar faces and forget the big stuff for a few hours.

Some people are fine working from home. I am not one of those people. Working in an office was good for my sanity. It made me feel like a real person, not just an autism mom. It recharged me and gave me balance. At home, I felt claustrophobic.

I should have handled it better. I could have handled it better. I consider myself the queen of cleaning up all the shit life has thrown at my wall. But this one threw me for a loop. I learned that things I considered essential in my life were not that essential. That the services I depended on to carry my load could disappear at the drop of a hat. I learned that the people who I thought understood me, didn’t understand me at all. People who I thought would be there, had their own stuff to deal with. And their stuff was just as tough for them, as mine was for me.

I also learned that considering all things, I had it pretty good. A steady job, enough income to afford help with my daughter. A partner for life. A house big enough to cohabitate with several people working or learning from home. I had my health, I had access to medical care and the means to protect myself and my family from the virus.

There were days when I failed. When I cried. When I screamed. When I disappeared. I hated 2020.

I have lived 47 years on this earth and have had way more than my fair share of struggles, with death, divorce, debt, disabilities. And yet I still considered myself blessed. Yes, I lost my mom at a young age, but I had her strength, her sparkle and her spunk, and I had a great extended family. Yes, my first marriage had failed, but I had hit the jackpot the second time around. Yes, I had money troubles for a while, but I worked hard and those days were long behind me. Yes, my children both had special needs, but they were amazing and inspiring and taught me and the world every day how to be better people. I was blessed.

But then I got thrown a curve ball I was not prepared for. And I got knocked flat on my back.

Suddenly, I was balancing way more than I ever thought I could. I felt more alone than ever. I felt weak, and vulnerable. I felt deceived and disgusted.

And yet here is 2021, and I’m still standing. I am more than ready to put last year behind me. Even so, there were moments to cherish and celebrate. Long walks with my daughter. Funny shows with my son. Quick getaways with my husband. I watched my daughter pick up a heap of new skills at home. I watched my son study harder than he ever has, and adapt to a new job in a new world. My husband and I shared laughs with our close bubble of friends. We cooked holiday dinner together, did puzzles, watched new shows. Our marriage survived when it could have easily fallen apart.

I am so ready for 2021. My children have been away for a week and a half. I have had time to regroup and recharge. I worked out of my office for three days. I was the only one there, but it gave me optimism. I remembered what normal was.

This year we will get out of our bubble and when we do, we will be grateful. Life has changed for all of us. I don’t think we will ever be the same. And if we are the same, then shame on us.