EMBRACING MY INNER LAWN GNOME

Embracing My Inner Lawn Gnome

I pulled into Nana’s neighborhood as stealthily as I could in a bright red car, parking across the street and then hopping out into the sunshine. I crept up to her windows, where her blinds were closed, and called her on the phone.

“I heard you requested the granddaughter lawn gnome?”

She asked me what I was talking about, confusion clear in her voice.

“The granddaughter lawn gnome has been delivered,” I continued, and finally, she opened the blinds.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on her face when she saw me standing in the bushes in her yard, dodging large bees as I waved enthusiastically.

It was even happier, I think, than she was when I called to tell her I’d be coming home for Passover, back before “coronavirus” sounded more like something out of a sci-fi novel than real life.

And, surprisingly, I found that my visit made me happy, too, even though it wasn’t at all the reunion I’d hoped for. I stayed on the phone with her for almost half an hour standing on her lawn like a very oversized gnome, and the distance between us felt so small once I could see her face smiling so widely at me.

I didn’t think I’d be sad, exactly, to see her that way, but it’s been extremely hard for the both of us to accept that we can’t see each other, even after the two weeks of self-quarantining I’ve been doing in my parents’ house. It’s still too dangerous, she told me, and unlike most of the negative thoughts in my head, the thought that I could infect and potentially even kill her if I see her too soon is all too real.

The lawn gnome maneuver was my solution to hating the fact that she was alone, 20 minutes away, and accepting no visitors for her own health. It was my way of doing a little bit of what we both needed, especially because we couldn’t do what we actually need: a proper Seder, a warm hug, everything we’ve been missing since we last saw each other in December.

When I first heard that she was afraid of seeing me, it felt like another blow in a long string of everything getting taken away - everything from simple trips to the grocery store to conventions months away are getting messed up, and even being at home, it’s hard to stop myself from being scared. I’ve read enough disease-based apocalypse novels that my imagination has plenty of fodder, and the fact that I always think ten (if not more) steps down the line means I can already see how some of these scenarios might look.

This week has been an important balance of talking things out - airing out my thoughts and seeing what my family and friends think of them, and helping them in return - and coming up with things I can do right now, without waiting for the crisis to be over. Some sort of distraction even beyond work and video games, and hopefully, a way to help out along the way.

This mindset is how the lawn gnome idea came about, but it hasn’t been easy. I’m sure I’m far from the only person struggling with disappointment, fear, anger, and sadness during this time. It’s even harder without a deadline or an end in sight. But as my friends and family have counselled me, I’m trying to live one day at a time and find something that makes me - and hopefully others - smile, even if just for a short time. It might be silly, and it might involve hanging out in bushes for longer than I’ve ever done in my life, but this adventure - and the resulting smiles on both ends - was definitely worth it.

Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.

FINDING THE "NEW NORMAL" THIS PASSOVER

Finding The “New Normal” This Passover

As Passover approaches, I can’t help but feel like, how it says in the Four Questions, this year is different from all other years.

The differences scare me. Friends are cancelling their weddings, losing their jobs, or finding it increasingly hard to stay afloat as they are trapped alone in their apartments. I’m thankful every day that I managed to make it home, but even home isn’t like it usually is, considering it’s now a bulwark from the world instead of a vacation.

I’ve written and rewritten this post what feels like a million times. I know I’m luckier than many people, including my aforementioned friends. I’m healthy, as of today; I’m quarantining myself from Nana for only a few more days to make 2 full weeks; I’m safe in a home that has an adequate supply of toilet paper. But that still doesn’t make it easy to see so many people falling into the thought patterns and behaviors I fought so hard to get rid of, and to struggle with them myself at one of my favorite times of the year.

Passover has always been my favorite Jewish holiday, and all I wanted this year was to have a  “normal” Passover. By that, I mean the small Seder I’m used to with my parents and Nana, with everyone doing the parts they love best and just being happy together.

I’ve seen a lot of people using the phrase “the new normal” as the coronavirus pandemic drags on, and may continue for what seems like months. When I first saw this phrase, I scoffed. How was any of this supposed to be “normal?”

I’ve moved back home - something I haven’t done since college - with my laptop, some video games, and a few stuffed animals. I’m working from my childhood bedroom, and yet, nothing is as it was when I lived here for real. I still have a few more days until I can see Nana, who at 91 years old is high-risk. None of this is “normal,” and nothing is likely to be normal for a while, if the cancellations many months out are any indication.

I’m trying to tell myself that, although I have an idealized version of Passover in my head, real life never quite hits every point of that fantasy. My family celebrates at home now, instead of at Nana’s old apartment that she moved away from years ago. We have the dog with us now, because we’re at my parents’ house. And technically, I’ve never actually kept Passover kashrut laws, even during the Seder itself.

I’ve celebrated Passover over video chat from the middle of an anime convention, over the phone in college, and in the hospital. I’ve made it work, no matter how shitty it feels. And it’s what I - and everyone - am working towards now: a new normal.

Normal has to mean seeing my friends and going on dates virtually, as opposed to in real life. Normal has to mean shifting everything in my routine from my diet and exercise habits to the hours that I work, considering I’m in a different time zone now.

Normal has to mean that instead of using my work planner, I’m using a “Quarantine Quest” journal from The Hero’s Journal to help me feel gratitude for what I still have and look forward to what may come in the future.

But normal also has to mean giving up on some things I was dreaming of, and trying to find my way from anger and frustration to accepting that I can’t, in fact, change this situation.

Long story short, I’m trying to move forward like it shows in this graph my dad sent me this morning. I’m not in the “growth zone,” not yet. I’m taking things day by day, sometimes minute by minute, and trying to let go of the iron grip of control I hold over as much of my life as possible. I’ve got a system for which news I read, and what I discuss with friends and family. If I see people panicking, I’m not yet in a good enough spot to help them work through their negative thoughts, but I am able to help distract them to put their mind in a happier place.

I’m trying to see this Passover as a chance to move from a bad situation to a better one. It’s usually glossed over, at least at my family’s Seder, that the Israelites spent 40 years in the desert before reaching the land of Israel. There was no instant new, perfect world even in a story about going from a bad place to a good place. There’s a middle ground, better than what was, but not the place of dreams coming true or even a normal life.

This Passover, I hope all of us can find a better place each day than we were in the day before, as we seek out both our “new normal” and a meaningful holiday.

Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.

A SAFE PLACE

A Safe Place

Last week, I was writing from a safe haven among the incredibly stressful times that have befallen the world - my friend’s house, where her dog sat by my side as I worked, happily showing me every toy in his toybox and nudging up against me if I dared to type for too long.

This week, I’ve got another dog here - specifically, my family’s dog. Thanks to over twelve hours of driving (including some incredibly stressful driving to get out of Chicago right before Gov. Pritzker sent out the order to close things down), I made it back to my family’s house several states away.

I can’t see my Nana, who I wrote about a while back for her 91st birthday, but I have been hunkered down in my childhood home with my parents and dog by my side. In two weeks, if I remain symptom-free, I’ll drive over to see Nana, and with luck, we might all be able to spend Passover together.

I may have felt like a failure last week for failing to stay in Chicago amidst the tough times, but now that I’ve gotten here and realized how good I can feel just from having other people around me and enough things to do to properly distract myself, I would do it again a hundred times over.

It reminds me of when, several years ago, I had a very hard time mental-health-wise and wound up having to leave college for a short while and come back home. Then, like last week, I felt like a total failure for not being able to cope on my own. But the second I even knew I was going - in both cases - my resting anxiety plummeted, and has remained low ever since.

I never really thought about how important it is to have a safe space, somewhere I feel so comfortable that my fears dissipate almost effortlessly. Any worries about running out of food or toilet paper or just living in a big building with other people who could be taking the restrictions lightly are completely gone, and having my family and my dog here means that I don’t have to do everything alone. If I start to feel my thoughts going somewhere I don’t want them to, it’s so easy to find someone to talk to or hug (well, air-hug, except for the dog).

In the car on the way out of Chicago, when I heard many rumors that I wouldn’t make it out of the city in time before the governor would shut it down, I started breathing fast and my heart rate got fast. It wasn’t quite a full-fledged panic attack, but it was far closer to one of those than anything I’ve had in the years since I’ve done cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT). I was terrified. The only thing that helped me was the knowledge that every time I pressed my foot on the accelerator of the rental car, it was getting me a little bit closer to home.

I haven’t felt that way since, thankfully. I’ve been getting control of other things that have gotten out of control thanks to worry, like my eating and sleeping habits. I’m not showing up to virtual events in a bad mood, needing to be cheered up - my friends have noticed that I’m back to the ray of sunshine they know me as, and I can help others feel cheerful too.

My coworkers have also noticed that I’m happier, and the pace of my work has increased as I find it easier to concentrate. I’ve also made great progress in a strategic video game I was struggling with before because I simply didn’t have the brainpower to get through the puzzles after dealing with everything else going on.

I know it might be impossible, but I hope as many of you as possible can find a safe place, somewhere that feels just a little less terrifying as we weather this storm. The uncertainty of what will happen next is scaring me and many of my friends, and many of us have fled home or to other places where we feel more comfortable. Nothing will quite be normal, but I hope you find a place where things feel better enough that any fear or panic doesn’t have a chance to fully set in.

Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.

LITTLE THINGS AND HARD CHOICES

Little Things and Hard Choices

I’m writing this post from a friend’s couch as we sit a carefully-measured six feet apart, her large dog nosing his way into my lap, shoving the keyboard aside until I make room for him.

It’s the happiest I’ve felt in days - I can actually smile without thinking about it, because I have a hard time not to when this dog is doing his darndest to shove his face in my face and cover me with kisses. It’s not the most sanitary thing in the world, even though my friend and I are both currently healthy. But it’s also completely necessary.

In the week since my last post, it feels like the world I’ve known for so long has completely collapsed. Some people say it’s the end of the world, while others continue to go out and live their lives like nothing’s wrong. I’m somewhere in the middle, and I’m having a very hard time staying positive.

The constant change of the situation, including cancellations of events, closing of restaurants and bars, is terrifying. I hate the way it’s impossible to go about my day without seeing the terrifying headlines and hearing horror stories about everything from illness and death to how many stores it’s taking my friends to find toilet paper.

Earlier in the week, I tried isolating myself as best as I could, but I soon realized that this felt like the situation when I was in the hospital, when physical health was prioritized 100% over mental health. I’ve learned since then that I can’t live like that, but in this completely unprecedented situation, it’s hard to figure out what I can do to alleviate loneliness and boredom.

I’m working from home now (or from a friend’s house, today, as the dog has started to snore by my side), so it can be easy to get through a whole day without seeing a human face. It sounded almost like a vacation at first, lots of time to play video games and catch up on books and TV shows, but it’s already started to feel like prison.

And so, I’ve decided to rent a car tomorrow and try to make it home to my family’s house. They’re many states away, but their state isn’t quite as bad as Illinois is right now, plus I can have company of people I love (and my sweet dog, who I think about as I stroke my friend’s dog) to keep my head out of its worst places.

This wasn’t a decision I made lightly. I do hope to come back in a few weeks when - hopefully - everything will be heading back to the way it was before, but as someone who can get sucked into the worrying-about-germs (and the fate of the world) spiral all too easily, it’s so much easier to not have to fight this war alone.

The decision has made me feel weak (for not being able to do what so many people around the city, country, and world are doing) and strong (for knowing my limits and doing something to help myself that won’t harm others). I’ll quarantine when I get home, especially from Nana, who I won’t see for a minimum of 14 days just to be sure. And I’ll try to be kind to myself, even when I feel like an utter failure for not being able to deal as well as my friends.

I tried to shove my mental well-being aside in the face of this crisis, but just like years ago, I can’t. Mental health has to matter, even when it feels like it should be way, way down the list. It might mean that my considerations and plans look different from my friends’, and that I have to make some hard choices about how to get through this.

To everyone out there reading this, I hope that you’re practicing self-care in a variety of ways. Try to find ways to move, even if it’s just pacing around your apartment or house. Try to do little things like watching a funny movie to get you out of a slump. Every victory matters, from the biggest to the smallest, and when we get through this, I hope we can all see how much stronger we are after the physical and mental challenges ahead.

Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.

OCD IN THE AGE OF CORONAVIRUS

OCD In The Age Of Coronavirus

When I was little, every cough or sneeze was enough to set me off on a frenzied panic in which I wondered what was wrong with me and how bad it was going to get. It fed directly into my compulsions of the time, and without a doubt, getting sick was my biggest fear.

It always felt so isolating to worry so much about something that wasn’t on other people’s minds, at least not in the way I was panicking about it. I felt like I was the only one who ever worried about getting sick, who ever toted around hand sanitizer by the bottle and held my breath around anyone who’d been sick in the last while.

Nowadays, it feels like that time again - only in reverse.

Coronavirus felt distant at first - something happening in other parts of the world, something that wouldn’t become a huge deal. And then, it started to spread. As part of my job, I track headlines from around the world, and I’ve watched the panic intensify on a global scale. Locally, my friends and coworkers can talk about almost nothing else. Events I’ve scheduled are getting canceled. The prices of items I’ve used in the past to protect myself against germs both real and imaginary are skyrocketing. And in the back of my mind, familiar thoughts lurk.

Of course, there is a large difference between an actual outbreak (or pandemic, or epidemic, or whatever it’s being called nowadays) and the thoughts of often-imagined illness that infested most of my childhood. But it’s been difficult for me to process everything that’s going on with a clear head and think of logical next steps to take. I feel those old impulses beginning to rise again, especially since there is a legitimate reason to worry.

The two major ways I got past my obsessive thoughts about illness were comparing the thoughts to reality and working to get past my fears of individual symptoms. It’s a process that’s worked out well for me over the years, but it seems completely ineffective against this new threat.

If I compare the negative thoughts that have been popping up in my head lately to reality, they don’t seem too far off. While something like “someone across the room sneezed, therefore I am going to catch a terrible disease” seems far-fetched in most circumstances, it could actually happen now. And the more I see people around me acting with extreme caution, the harder it is to justify keeping my normal routine.

Not to mention, coronavirus isn’t something I’ve encountered before. I’ve had enough fevers and chills, coughs and sneezes to figure out my best response. But with coronavirus, there’s the possibility of a hospital stay, which still terrifies me even after extensive therapy, and enough people have died that I’m not only worried for myself, but also for my elderly grandmother and the rest of my family and friends.

A resurgence of negative thoughts like this is not a problem I ever expected to face. When I went to college, I thought I had “beaten” OCD. I thought my battles were all over, considering the progress I made on the specific things that bothered me. I was reconciled to the things I thought I couldn’t change, and I thought my hard work and years of therapy meant I’d never have to face any challenges from OCD again.

I’ve since discovered, thanks to both major medical incidents and the flow of everyday life, that I haven’t “beaten” OCD. I live with it still, even though the way I live with it looks very different from how I used to. Sometimes, my old strategies work, and other times, I’m in a place like this where I have to feel things out from day to day and figure out new options.

At times like these, when everything around me is telling me to panic, it’s hard to see the progress that I’ve made. It’s even harder to find a balance between taking the necessary precautions to avoid catching coronavirus and not taking things too far.

Right now, I’m working on this strategy: I’m trying to slow things down in my head by limiting the articles I read and the conversations I get into about the virus. I do the CDC-recommended things to stay safe, like washing my hands before I eat and not touching my face, but I’m not doing anything more than what the CDC has specifically said. And if I do hear someone coughing, I try my best to breathe normally, then work with my usual distractions to move forward.

Some days are better than others. Sometimes, the headlines pile up and the alarmism catches up with me, and I have a hard time focusing on work or even video games. Other times, I do things pretty normally and swat away the near-constant interruptions of the virus. Ignoring the hysteria is possible sometimes; at other times, I need to seek reassurance from loved ones that my family and I are going to be okay.

Part of growing older with OCD means that I need to accept things like this, and see the victories where they come. I need to be proud that I can sometimes go a day without thinking about the virus, or ask for reassurance two or three times instead of a dozen. It means not hating myself for the fact that the thoughts still come, but instead, trying to see how much better I am at handling this now than I would have been as a child.

Celebrating my mental health while worrying about my physical health is always difficult, but I hope to find that happy medium. To all my readers, please stay safe, and know that even if you’re having a harder time staying calm, it’s normal, and it can pass, just like the virus itself.

Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.