Each year since the first coronavirus wave reached the US in 2020, I have felt a looming dread as we approach the mid-winter. By the time the WHO announced the official beginning of the pandemic on March 11th, 2020, COVID-19 had already been on my radar. In January 2020, I started a course aptly titled “Drugs, Sex, and HIV”1 to learn about a different pandemic and my classmates and I watched the COVID death toll rise first in the classroom, and later in our childhood bedrooms on Zoom. I turned 18 in the first pandemic summer; I have not known adulthood without COVID. As we all know— but seem hesitant to say aloud— the collective trauma of the pandemic changed us. This month, I’d like to open a space to reflect on the ways we have changed and how we plan to move forward.

If you feel so inclined, pause; settle yourself somewhere comforting, maybe even a place where you spent a great deal of time in self-isolation; grab a journal; light a candle; and read on.

Subscribe now

BUILDING A GRIEF ALTAR

I mean this figuratively, though it can be literal too. Gather in your mind, on paper, or with your hands, what you are grieving. It could be anything— it may be amorphous or concrete. Maybe it is a person you love who passed away during the pandemic from COVID or something else. Maybe it’s a simple ritual you missed, a favorite shop that closed down, or your changed sense of safety and connection. Maybe you are grieving the memories that became muddied. Maybe you are mourning your life before long COVID. Maybe it’s a life milestone that didn’t look how you hoped it would: a birth a wedding or a memorial. Locate the feelings in your body as you gather these things. I often find grief resides in my throat, my spine, and my gut. I don’t always know the cause of that grief, but I try to make space for the feeling all the same.

I often notice that as I gather these things in front of me, judgment surfaces. I find it helpful to think of how we treat children when they scrape a knee when responding to this feeling. “Oh my, did you get hurt? Good job coming to tell me! I’m sorry that’s painful, what do you need?” Do not point to the scarred wounds of others to dismiss your own. I firmly believe that facing our grief makes us more capable of moving with and through it. The COVID-19 Memorial Quilt, inspired by the AIDS Memorial Quilt and constructed by high school student Madeleine Fugate, is a beautiful example of how we can use memorialization to soften grief and heal. Returning to the objects of our grief individually or collectively allows us to access the love underlying it.

FINDING SAFETY IN OUR BODIES AND OUR BREATH

I used to need my inhaler less than once a month— I had one inhaler for several years because I used it so infrequently. My asthma got worse after a COVID infection in 2022 and never got better. A case-control study published in 2024 found this was fairly common in adults with asthma. After about a year and a half of my symptoms continually escalating, I had to start taking a daily corticosteroid inhaler. While it helps, it also makes me more susceptible to infections. We already mask in public spaces and avoid large indoor gatherings, but to mitigate infection risk Emory and I have re-entered a smaller social bubble over the last few weeks. The persistent low-level anxiety I felt before vaccinations were available is back in earnest, especially as cases ramp up here in the Northeast. Finding a feeling of safety is critical for my well-being as my winter break ends and I look toward returning to in-person work in just a few weeks.

A contrived sense of safety doesn’t help us here. Fear is a good messenger— it tells us that we should be cautious. That message is particularly useful in a world where telling people to return to life-as-it-was is a lucrative business. Instead of pushing away my fear, I have found ways to mitigate it. I have a few people in my work and social life who I see without a mask on, but if they have been traveling or out at high-risk events, I mask up around them too. I keep COVID tests in the house just in case. When I feel ill, I call in sick, cancel plans, and rest. I keep a six-foot distance in public spaces when I can. I check the COVID trends before traveling or attending mass gatherings outdoors. This is a comfortable balance of caution and courage for me.

You might remember the “Swiss Cheese Model” from the beginning of the pandemic— I find that a useful framework for addressing fear too. The first slices of cheese are layers that reduce fear by addressing sources of actual danger. Limiting the number of large social gatherings you attend, wearing a high-quality mask in public, seeking treatment for underlying conditions, and ensuring you are up to date on your vaccinations can reduce fear by reducing vulnerability. The next layer is addressing perceived danger. This could mean making an action plan for if you get sick, reading up on current COVID research (we know so much more than we did in 2020!), and checking your community risk levels2 regularly. Once danger and perceived danger are addressed, turning to the fear response itself and its manifestations in the body can reduce the impact fear has on us.

Our breath became an object of fear when the pandemic began. We were afraid to infect others, afraid to be infected, afraid that we would not be able to breathe if we became sick. Focusing on the breath, either by extending my exhale to 8 seconds and inhaling for 6 seconds, alternate nostril breathing, or other breathing practices has helped me regulate when I have done everything I can to mitigate risk and I am still feeling on edge. Recalling the exposure risk level of what you are doing when you notice anxiety rising and determining if the level of anxiety you are experiencing is warranted can also be helpful. I’ve found that making a list of the ways I am protecting and soothing myself has been helpful, especially when cases are increasing or safeguards are being removed. Finding a community of people who are also still taking the pandemic seriously is valuable beyond words.

Note: If you notice that your anxiety about COVID-19 is routinely causing distress (remember, stress is fine in moderation), talk to a doctor or counselor about it. There is no shame in needing professional support!

CONNECTING IN A CHANGED WORLD

Ada Limón wrote a stunning essay “Preparing the Body for a Reopened World” in 2021. This excerpt says what I want this section to say in better words than I can, so I will give you her words instead of my own to begin:

I started transitioning during the pandemic. I think it was in part because divorced from my physical body in most interactions, I felt free to present myself as something other than a woman. Oddly enough, the less often other people could see my body, the more well-acquainted I became with my body. In need of mental stimulation and physical activity, I turned to a daily yoga practice and long walks. I stopped wearing makeup and let my skin breathe. I only wore sports bras, if I wore a bra at all, since was only ever seen from the shoulders up and got used to my chest’s natural look. I was able to indicate what I would like to be called over emails and in the grey box with my name on Zoom. I lived in a house full of queer people, all of whom were also reveling in this newfound freedom. I worried that re-entering the physical world would mean losing the self-intimacy I had fostered over months of being a hermit.

It’s taken me a few years to get to a place where I feel like I am capable of inhabiting both my body and the world simultaneously. At first, I was constantly thinking about my body only in relation to other people. Am I too close? Can they tell I’m smiling? Do they think it’s rude that I took the seat furthest away from them? I felt like I had forgotten how to wear clothes after living in pajamas for months, realized much of my old wardrobe was the wrong size or not something I would ever wear again, and purged it. Slowly, I constructed a new way of being out in the world. I bought new clothes with wash-worn fabric from thrift stores, prioritizing how they felt over how I thought it would make others perceive me. I never started wearing makeup again. In isolation, I relearned how to hold myself, how to speak, and how to move in a way that felt comfortable.

Just as you locate fear and grief in your body, you can locate ease, neutrality, and comfort. Focusing on these sensations, when they arise, and what I can do to bring them about has helped me navigate my transition in an incredibly hostile political environment and through a turbulent few years. The same ideas can be applied to any life transition. I like to use my morning pages to explore where I have felt at ease and what I can do to invite that feeling in more often. Loving-kindness or metta meditation has also been helpful, especially in times when comfort feels hard to come by. Noticing where unease and discomfort show up and setting boundaries with myself about how and when I will endure those feelings have been essential for me to remain connected to myself outside of isolation. As Limón put it, “All these months, tucked away in the intense privacy of lockdown, I have begun to witness my body as a personal intimate lover. I do not always have to offer it to the world.”

May we offer ourselves to the world well and with discernment.

May the small voice of compassion be heard over fear.

May we love what we have lost well.