I sat in my car, frozen, as a masked figure approached and knocked on my trunk. With a quick press of a button, I watched him toss a plastic bag inside before he hurried away without a word. It all felt like some surreal dream. “Is this really life?” I wondered aloud while driving home from the store.
My surroundings felt eerily similar to a horror film. Though nothing disastrous had happened to me, a strange discomfort had seeped into my everyday life. For the past two months, an unsettling feeling hovered over my family’s routine, leaving an emptiness in my thoughts that was hard to shake.
Initially, I thought the outside world felt so strange because I was seeing fewer faces. Sure, I’m not alone like Will Smith in I Am Legend. People are still around — or at least, their presence is felt through the cardboard boxes of groceries left on our porch by unseen delivery drivers. A wayward soccer ball rests in our yard, abandoned by our young neighbor, too fearful to retrieve it. Even when we order takeout, it’s a faceless transaction; I’m left pondering the identity of the person who scribbled my surname on the receipt. Was I so bored that I scrutinized the handwriting? Perhaps. Was I yearning for a connection? Definitely.
After my surreal shopping trip, I returned to the familiar chaos of home. My two sons were loudly debating the fate of a broken green light saber in the family room. The noise felt comforting, a stark contrast to the silence outside. Yes, our home has become louder since the pandemic began, but it’s a different kind of noise. My husband and I are constantly navigating conversations amidst the delightful chaos of our boys. Yet, outside our home, I’ve lost those everyday interactions — the brief chats with the barista, the friendly exchanges with other parents at activities, and the quick hellos at school drop-off. Those little moments once recharged my extroverted spirit and connected me to my community.
Now, even my rare face-to-face encounters seem drained of joy, tainted by an underlying sense of risk. At the grocery store, a plastic shield separates me from the cashier, while neighbors cross the street to avoid close contact during walks. It was only a few months ago that my boys and I felt lucky to live in a safe neighborhood; now, everyone feels like a potential threat, including myself.
Virtual interactions have been a poor substitute. My six-year-old chats with friends on Google Classroom, their faces reduced to pixelated squares. My eight-year-old struggles to converse amid the noise of classmates, while Zoom dinners, though appreciated, only highlight the limitations of online gatherings. During one such virtual game night, a friend stepped away, leaving me staring wistfully at her empty chair — a reminder of how much I longed for real-life connections.
The root of my anxiety became clear during a recent Zoom call with former students from my teaching days. As we wrapped up, one former student pressed his palm against the screen in a gesture of farewell. It struck me: touch is fundamental to my relationships. We hug hello and goodbye, hold hands in moments of sorrow, and share comforting gestures of support. In my classroom, touch was a constant — from handshakes on the first day to high fives for accomplishments.
We know that touch is a vital sense we develop early in life. It promotes growth in children and can soothe emotional and physical struggles in adults. While everyone has different comfort levels, I realize that more than faces or voices, I truly miss the simple act of touching. I yearn to embrace my mom, to share a handshake with my kids’ teachers, to hold my dad’s hand as he shares his wisdom, and to watch my boys run hand-in-hand with their cousin.
As the world contemplates “when this will all be over,” I find myself unsure of when I’ll feel safe traveling or sending my children back to school. Much of my peace will rely on expert guidance. However, I do know that my feelings of unease will fade once I can replace touchscreens and touchpads with genuine, unrestrained human contact.
For more insights on navigating these challenging times, check out our other blog posts at Home Insemination Kit, or visit Make a Mom for authoritative information on home insemination. If you’re curious about pregnancy options, the NHS offers excellent resources at NHS IVF.