Memoirs with Mom: The COVID-19 Sh*t Show
If COVID-19 has accomplished anything, it has lifted the veil on our domestic situations. In some cases, said lifting has been as pleasant as a duct tape band-aid.
If your household is functional, happy, and loving, you are likely coping from a place of strength, even if you have substantial challenges to overcome. If your household is dysfunctional, abusive, or unhappy, you are probably in hell.
What about my own domestic situation? Well, it needed some tending, for sure. Almost a year and a half ago, I opened my home to an old friend and her two children in an attempt to help her improve her life, an effort that definitely put my own well-being in a precarious situation. When a stay-at-home order was issued in my state, I could no longer deny the pitfalls of gambling my peaceful home for the sake of helping someone else. I stuck it out for about a month before it became completely untenable, and two weeks later we parted ways — ideally forever.
Now I once again have a peaceful home, and my new challenge is to manage the isolation. Ironically, I feel less isolated living alone than when I shared my home with others, but I didn’t have the bandwidth to focus on feeling isolated then. I was too busy trying to survive the dysfunction. Now it creeps up on me, especially in the mornings. And so, like many of you, I do what I can to stay busy.
Since my novel Evolving Elizah is currently undergoing an editorial assessment, I’ve turned my attention to another project — a memoir about my relationship with my mother. I anticipate working on it between other projects, so I don’t expect it to come together quickly. But I know there is no better time to start writing it, because this emotionally and psychologically tumultuous pandemic is the exact same roller coaster I rode in my relationship with my mother.
There’s something oddly harmonious about contemplating her while I struggle with isolation. She isolated herself for much of her life, and she certainly isolated her children. In fact, as I struggled to first understand the reality of stay-at-home during COVID-19, my first terrible thoughts were memories of isolation as a child, and a teenager, and even a young adult — helpless, scary, dangerous isolation.
However, I know that my struggle with isolation now is not the same struggle I survived as a child — because I am a different person. I have a different array of choices, and I have no fear of choosing something that serves me. In fact, COVID-19 gave me an opportunity to prove that I could and would choose something that served me as I dealt with the toxicity of my housemates. It wasn’t easy, but I did it.
I certainly have a lot to consider as I begin to sketch out what my mother meant to me, and what it meant to be raised by a woman who was clearly mentally ill, although undiagnosed. No doubt, this memoir will be a doozie. But hey, I have survived — my mother, this bizarre pandemic, sixteen months of toxic housemates, and so much more! So, why not? I’m ready.
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