A reflection on returning to work in a world that isn’t the same
Just as suddenly as we were whisked out of the building in mid-March and sent home, we were whisked right back in with hardly a moment’s notice. That’s how this pandemic works — things change in an instant. No one really knows anything. We’re all just guessing. And we’ve all had to learn to go with the flow (which I’m not great at, hello, anxiety girl here).
After exactly two months of working remotely, we reopened on Monday. My region of New York State had finally met 7 out of 7 markers required to begin “unpausing,” and phase one started on Friday. A select few industries could begin opening with restrictions, but we didn’t know what that meant for us — until we were called in for a meeting Friday and told, simply, “come back Monday.” And that was that. My quarantine was officially over.
It’s strange because most places are still closed, waiting for later phases. No thrift stores. No haircuts. No sit-down meals at restaurants — just takeout. The kids are out of school for the rest of the year, and I’m wearing a mask for 8 hours a day. Life is still weird, but parts of my “before” routine are coming back in fits and starts. Jerry’s still not working full time, rotating in and out with coworkers. Our hours at work are adjusted — closed to the public on certain days, closing early on others — and there’s no clear vision for what next week, or even tomorrow, will look like.
So I’m back… but it’s not normal.
I’m at work, but it feels different. I’m working different days and hours. In-house programs are halted. We’re quarantining items, limiting checkouts, adjusting job duties. Everyone’s masked. Everyone’s uncertain. Everyone’s a little afraid.
And I’m glad to be back. I really am. I longed for it. It feels like I’ve re-entered the land of the living. I’m wearing real clothes again. I’m doing my hair again. I’m leaving the house again. I feel productive — a little more useful. But still, things aren’t quite normal.
At the same time, I’m not glad to be back. I also long to be home again — something I struggled with so much at first. I miss my kids after spending two solid months with them, even though there were hard days when I cried in frustration, needing a break. I missed routine so badly. Living in a bubble was hard on my mental health. But now? I miss lounging on the couch every morning, debating the most important decisions of the day: what to watch on Netflix, which book to read, what to feed the kids for lunch.
So yes, I miss being home… but also, not really?
It’s easy to put on rose-colored glasses and forget how hard it was in the moment. Some days it felt fun and freeing. Other days it felt overwhelming. Too many choices. Too much time. Too many rooms to clean and chores to do and shows to pick from. What do I do first?!
I’m not built for endless free time. I need structure. I learned quickly that I was never, ever meant to be a stay-at-home mom. I need to work. I need a career. I need to set goals, climb ladders, do things that make me feel good and capable. I love my boys — deeply — but I won’t lie to myself either. There were many, many days I shouted to Jerry, “they’re being so bad! I can’t wait to go back to work!” And now? Now I miss it. Because that’s how it always goes. I said, back then, that I’d miss it when it was over. So I tried not to take it for granted.
There are things I miss about being home. But there are things I absolutely don’t miss, too. I don’t miss the fear. I don’t miss the uncertainty. I don’t miss the anxiety, or the stress, or that constant state of low-level panic. I don’t miss wondering if our paychecks would stop or how long we’d keep getting paid to work remotely.
But I do miss feeling safe. For two months, I only left the house for essentials — because that’s what we were told. Now I’ve been thrust back into the world, and it feels surreal. It feels scary. It feels like whiplash.
So here we are. Back at work. Trying to go back to “normal” — whatever that even means now. We smile at each other because it’s been so long since we’ve seen one another, but the smiles are hidden under our masks. We don’t hug. We distance. We sit far apart in the break room. Nothing feels the same, and yet some things feel exactly the same.
I adjusted to quarantine life, eventually. I found a rhythm. And now I’m adjusting all over again. A new reality. A new routine. Something familiar, but not quite.
Life keeps changing.
And we keep changing with it — again and again and again.
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