Following the news since March 13, 2020 has been quite a rollercoaster of emotions: virus, pandemic, shutdowns, lockdowns, quarantines, isolation, remote everything, social distancing, travel bans, testing, reopening, vaccine development, vaccine distribution, phase 1a, phase 1b, slow rollout, shortages, phase 1b rollback. I cried when I heard the news of the first shipment of the Covid-19 vaccine being prepared for shipment. I have cried every time I have scrolled past a friend’s post on social media announcing they had been vaccinated. I cried when the state department of health announced that essential workers in phrase 1b would include food service and education. My partner and I were on our way out of this thing! More of my friends would be on their way out of this thing. I say “thing” as if a global pandemic is a Bermuda Triangle of sorts, as if there is a physical way out of a global pandemic. Unfortunately, the way out still isn’t clear. The relief I felt at the news of the vaccine’s approval and distribution was quickly dashed by memes popping up all over the internet: “What will I do after I get the vaccine? Nothing. I’ll go home, keep wearing a mask, and keep social distancing.” And keep feeling isolated and frustrated and emotionally impacted by a global pandemic.
And yet every time I felt bad for myself, or depressed, or (more often) frustrated and angry by the limitations of living through a global pandemic, I felt shame. Many are far more isolated than I. Some people had lost their jobs, or had to give them up to stay home with their children who were now “going to school” from the safety of their bedrooms or living rooms or kitchen tables. Many people were struggling to pay their bills. When the university I taught for part-time announced they had created a fund for faculty impacted by the pandemic, I immediately discounted myself. My partner and I were both still working; we had both received economic stimulus checks from the government; what hardships were we facing, really? The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that just because someone else may be suffering “worse” than you or may be “more” impacted by something than you, this doesn’t discount the ways in which you are being affected. I had amassed thousands of dollars of legal bills directly related to issues brought on by the pandemic; why wouldn’t I put my name in the lottery and see what kind of financial relief my employer could offer? (I was awarded some relief, which I gratefully accepted.) Why should I feel guilty for receiving an economic stimulus check when I immediately spent it trying to make our home a more comfortable place to work from, learn from, play and rest in while we waited out the pandemic? Wasn’t the point of economic stimulus payments to encourage people to go out and spend money?
I am reminded daily of my privilege. I do not discount it, and while my head aches and my heart hurts for those with less, I have come to admit that it doesn’t seem like depriving myself because others don’t have access benefits anyone; it’s not like ripping up the stimulus check means the money goes to someone else. Not asking for help because someone else needs help more doesn’t guarantee they will receive help at all. Pretending to be miserable because everyone else is doesn’t make anyone else less miserable. It seems that the best I can do for anyone else is make sure I am healthy, emotionally, physically, and financially so that I can be available to help others in any way I can show up for them.
And yet, when I received the much-anticipated email alerting me that I was now eligible to make an appointment for my first dose of the Covid-19 vaccine, my joy and excitement were short lived. Almost as soon as I scheduled my appointment, I saw a friend’s post on Facebook about how her school district had not yet verified their employees’ names in VAMS (the Vaccine Access Management System) because the Department of Public Health was pulling back on phase 1b access: by expanding those eligible to anyone 65 years and older, they had effectively “bumped” teachers from the queue. According to my own school superintendent, at the current rate of vaccine availability, it would take seven months to vaccinate everyone eligible in phase 1b. Even though I knew the vaccine wouldn’t be the magical and finite stopping point to the pandemic, acknowledging it might still take another year (or more!) before I could resume living life the way I wanted to was a gut punch.
Can I be happy for myself while feeling so scared, worried, and anxious for others? Is it possible to be victorious without compunction? Or is the hallmark of empathy a big heaping side dish of remorse alongside the delicious plate of accomplishment? I think if nothing else, 2020 brought me the cliched 20/20 vision. I clearly see the answer to all of these questions is “yes.” Yes, it is possible to be happy while feeling a buffet of other emotions at the same time. Yes, it is possible to be victorious without compunction. And yes, experiencing empathy for others means no matter how delicious accomplishment is, we may also need to swallow a little remorse.
(mostly) full disclosure 