Recently, Joanna French and her family were quarantined after their children were exposed to COVID-19. Here’s an honest look at how quarantine impacted her mental health.
Well…it’s been a rough week. Correction: it has been a rough nearly two weeks.
You see, we have been quarantined. We have been trapped in our home for way too long. My sons were exposed to COVID-19 at school, and for the good of those around us, my husband and I quarantined as well. If they have it, we have it, we reasoned. So we stayed home.
With that being said, I am an introverted extrovert. I love people and I love alone time. I am generally very flexible with change; I also desperately need routine. I have PTSD, and about the time both my boys received an autism diagnosis, I realized that routines help me a ton, too. Quarantine killed that.
I desperately want to articulate to you the nightmare it was for me. I love my family dearly. My husband is one of my favorite humans on the earth; my boys are my biggest blessings and my joy. But I must be able to leave my home. I need other humans. When I lose that connection with others, I feel trapped, isolated, and claustrophobic. For me, this connection is not a want. It is a need. We have been out of quarantine for two days, and I am just now mentally well enough to sit down and write this.
It was a joy to have extra time with my boys and my husband. It really was. I got a ton done that doesn’t usually get done, and we were able to spend time together, when that rarely happens. We laughed. We melted down. We got over it.
I would never deny the joy we experienced. I also have the blessing of working for a church who understood my situation. I get paid, even when I can’t show up. For me, those were the clear blessings.
Photo credit: Yan on Pexels.com.
But the struggle? Man—it was real. I wrote to cope. Here are some pieces of that.
Day 1: I feel like I did when I was a child. I feel the seconds tick by. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. It felt eerily reminiscent of waiting for my father to come home. Am I going to get beaten today? Worse? I know I am safe, but it does not feel like it. I almost punched my husband for coming up behind me, unannounced.
Day 2: My child is not a threat to me. He is attacking me because he is struggling, too. Because I am his safe person. Because it’s safe to be mad at me when the world is falling apart. He is not a threat to me. He is a blessing, a little person who is having a hard time. I can be a good mommy to him through my PTSD. Love is patient. Love is kind.
Day 3: I raised my voice to K today. I don’t yell. That is not who I am. He scared me when he ran up to give me a hug. He cried; I cried. I asked him for forgiveness. He still is angry at me, says he’s not ready to forgive me yet. Me too, kid. I am still mad at me, too.
Day 4: It is 3:26 in the morning. I just woke up from a nightmare. I could feel everything. I still can. My husband turned over to hold me and I screamed. I do not think I am going back to sleep.
Day 6: How am I supposed to keep my kids’ schedule? How am I supposed to be both their teachers at the same time? If I must do all the work, why can’t I just homeschool? I need the teacher to stop writing me all the time. It feels like I am getting yelled at. I am trying. I am trying. I just cannot sleep. And…I’m just one person.
Day 7: I will not cut my wrists. I won’t. It will NOT make anything better. It makes everything more broken. It will make my kids broken. The memories are just memories. There is no power in them. Your husband loves you. He is not going to hurt you. Breathe. Pray. It’s gonna be okay.
That’s probably a good window into my struggle.
I am a pastor, friends. I have huge hope and joy and happiness. I am blessed beyond measure. I am also mentally ill. Messing with my routine really affects my brain and well-being so significantly.
Repeatedly, I reminded myself: This I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: because of the Lord’s great love, we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. Lamentations 3:22-24.
My PTSD. will never consume me. But some days, it cripples me.
People, we are Christians. We must show compassion when someone seems to respond to quarantine over-dramatically. Some people are going to act like it’s the end of the world. Please, understand that it probably feels like an insurmountable obstacle to them. There are scars on some of our souls that may never heal in this lifetime. Being quarantined can be traumatic. Someone must say that, and we must understand it.
I am STILL reeling. I am STILL not okay.
Can we stop pretending like the mental health issues in this pandemic are not as pervasive as the physical health ones, now? Please?!?
Joanna French is the special needs pastor at Flint Hills Church, Junction City, KS. Joanna and her husband Jairmie have two boys with autism. In 2017, Joanna started Flint Hills Embrace with the goal to make Flint Hills Church a place where everyone belongs. Why? Because we all have a place in God's plan.
