Corona Diaries

Ophelia

“Anyone who comes out of this lockdown pregnant clearly didn’t have children already.”

Background Information

Female, aged 25-34, Postgraduate Researcher, Northeast England, White, Co-Habiting, Bisexual,

one child aged 13.

April 2020

This has been the longest month, longer than January.

I’ve lost time; it’s fallen down the rabbit hole. I put a post on the Work Teams channel and no-one

responded. I left it up a week and still, no-one responded. In my frustration I returned to the post to see the

time stamp. 17.45 on Friday evening, it was now 11am on Sunday. It had not been a week.

I felt ill this week. Very ill. I made myself a blanket fort in bed to keep out the world. The blanket fort was

like my house now; keeping out the world. Keeping out the fear. Keeping out the virus. It didn’t make me

feel better. The blanket fort or the locked door. There’s only so long you can stay in a fort of blankets before

you need to emerge, for water or for light. It feels the same with the locked front door. Only, it isn’t my

locked door, it’s the door locked from the outside that can’t be opened until a white man behind a wooden

block says I can be let out. I feel caged, lethargic and tearful.

Anyone who comes out of this lockdown pregnant clearly didn’t have children already.

The plan for Easter was camping lakeside, with kayaking and barbecues. Now we have a tent in the

garden, and marshmallows on the gas hob. It’s a shift, but I hope that when we look back at this time, we

are proud of ourselves for the sense of normality we managed to maintain.

Today we got a delivery… four industrial tubs of flying sauces and two tubs of Haribo strawbs. Lockdown is

either going terribly, or incredibly well… it’s very much dependent on your perspective.

May 2020

The novelty of it all has now gone, absolutely… Initially I embraced my need for routine, systematically

structuring the day in order of importance. Embraced my organisational skills; of lists; of team work. It

worked well initially but the structure of my day is now so stifling… it’s stuffocating.

I want to home-school my way. I see the teachers flailing or flying as I watch my son on his Teams chats.

But he can’t face another Bitesize classroom and the routine isn’t enough. It’s the connection he craves.

This week he sits on a 1:1 video chat making a sculpture with his art teacher and it’s the most animated

he’s been in a month. Connecting with another human that wasn’t me. Children need more than their

mother, and I realise that I am fallible and needed, but not needed as a teacher.

My role is not teacher, therapist, counsellor, and parent… being a Mum is a pretty big job all on its own and

I think I’m releasing the responsibility of being everything to everyone. My adapting to this situation is

now… not everything has to be perfect. I’ve always been kind to myself… do what you can, when you can,

however you can… Now it’s just get it done… it doesn’t have to be any good (as you can tell from this

reflection).

Oh how I ache for Sundays…

Pyjama days, and lazy days

Days where the dog snoozes the day away

And he may, or may not be walked…

Walked a thousand miles or sleep the day away

That’s Sunday.

Wake up,

Eat up

Walk the dog

Park your bum

Work the screen

Eat your tea

Watch tv

Walk the dog

Sleep.

But not on Sundays.

Sunday avoids the monotony of every other day

Of lesson plans

Of working side by side on a blue light screen

Connected to the world but separate from each other

My Working Class roots

Betrayed by Middle Class values

As I order online

…another microscope

…another lesson plan

To escape the media narratives of

“vulnerable poor students less educated at home”

Sundays are the days just like before.

I could see my Mum for Sunday lunch

But now whatsapp is our face-to-face

We do crafts and laugh

We forget the time, and the day

And dread the coming working week

The working week which makes me work

Lethargy from Zoom, and Teams

Blue Jeans

The emotion as blank as the screens that I see

But not Sundays

^I think this is about the lack of opportunity due to regimented timetables and overly prescriptive meetings.

The lack of freedom and lack of random opportunity.