Life

A few years ago, I noticed my mental health falling apart. Social media, while being my favourite place with my favourite people, was making it worse. That’s not an indictment on what everyone else was posting, it was solely a symptom of how *I* was using social media. Swim in the mud for long enough and everything gets muddy and awful, y’know?

So I made a conscious decision to change how I used social media, solely for my mental health. Instead of being publicly angry about politics, I started posting photos of chickens, and kittens, and telling stories again.

Don’t get me wrong, I still follow politics closely – as a disabled autistic woman, I cannot afford to NOT follow politics closely, when their decisions affect my daily living. I still shout at the TV a lot, and obsess over things.

But I didn’t talk about it online so much. I had no spoons for being furious on the internet anymore, and I didn’t have the mental capacity for balancing other people’s fury either. So, I rejigged things.

It’s a balancing act, for sure, because objectively, the world is terrible, people in positions of power suck, inequalities make my head want to explode, there aren’t enough vaccines because our government fucked up, the NSW number of Covid cases are making me incredibly stressed, and disability politics make me so furiously exhausted I can’t function.

So instead I post photos of Marigold’s babies, and talk about Spark, our new rescue kitten. I take photos of Theo (our other new kitten) and his perpetual naughtiness. (WHY DOES HE LIKE EGG SHELLS SO MUCH?!! WHYYYYY DOES HE STEAL THEM FROM THE BIN!!!) I talk about the hen who WASN’T MINE, who showed up with fifteen babies, clearly fathered by my roosters. (WHYYYY)

Focusing on the small things doesn’t make the big shit easier, but it does make my coping strategies work better.

I cannot make the world better, but I can make my corner of it a small safe haven for frivolous things. For anecdotes, and stories, for kittens and comfort. I can’t fix covid, or disability, or how fucked the NDIS is and the ways in which the governments are failing the people.

But I can look after myself, and my friends, in a very small way.

And being frivolous in the face of all the very big and awful things feels subversive, in a way. The internet doesn’t need me adding another hot take on vaccinations to the mix (but y’know, please get jabbed once your local area has supply for you), but maybe I can make a tiny part of people’s day better.

Plus, these kittens of mine are ADORABLE and I love them to bits and so yes, you’re getting photos of them all day every day, thank you.

So post the frivolous things, even in the face of so much awful. You’re not failing the world when you need a moment to stop and breathe, or when you find a patch of peace and want to share it.

You’re allowed.

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Stay home, save lives. That’s the key message our government is sending over Easter, and I’m interested to see how many people think this doesn’t apply to them. I live on a main(ish) road, heading towards a known holiday/shack destination, and I’m interested to see how much traffic we get today as people still try to sneak away to their shacks. I hope none, but you know. People.

While 95% of us are sitting at home, or only going out to work/get groceries, there’s always someone who thinks the rules don’t apply to them. “I’ll just sneak out for this thing I absolutely need (want), I’m careful, I will be fine.” Only everyone is having the same response to being asked to stay inside, and here we are.

We managed to get toilet paper yesterday, which was nice. We weren’t quite running out yet, but having known allergies which upset my stomach badly, I get a bit twitchy when we’re under 10 rolls of toilet paper in the house. Sugar is my next thing to hunt down – we’re not super low yet, but I’d prefer to not have to sacrifice my white and brown baking sugars for Nathan’s coffee (we use raw sugar for coffee and tea predominately). But again, it’s not a need yet.

Isaac is learning to bake packet cakes, and once his cake is out of the oven, I’ll go make some soap. Probably. I’ve been super exhausted the last few days, and I can’t work out if I’ve been sick (possible – EDS + stress = sick), or if it’s a trauma response (also possible), or if it’s the adjustment now Daylight Saving ended. Probably all three tbh.

(Lots of cars going past as I type. I cannot see them from here, but more than the last few days of standard workers/farm utes/trucks/residents)

Tassie has 107 cases today, and I know you know this, but when I look back on things in 12 months, it will be nice to know where we were at. 107 cases. It’s a lot, and also not many, and also way too many.

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Amy’s school sent out her school work packets last week and hers arrived today. It’s the second packet of work to arrive for her since we pulled them out of school three weeks ago. It came with a letter, basically asking us not to fight with our kids if they’re struggling with hard copy work, and reminding parents it’s more important our children and teenagers feel loved and supported during a pandemic.

Basically, here’s some school work to help, but at the end of the day, everyone is missing work and we will catch up when we’re able to return to a semblance of normality. Do not fight over this.

I like this mentality. It’s a pandemic. If I’m feeling anxious, my kids are too, and we all need to be gentle with each other as we live through this. It’s baby days yet, and likely to get worse.

But it’s also technically school holidays now, so we’ve got three weeks until anyone even needs to think about schoolwork properly.

I’m reminding myself that adding to my own workload (mental, or physical) is not sensible right now, so trying to do a whole colour-coded learning system is probably not my best use of energy.

I hope this information helps you too.

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I cut a chunk out of my finger/nail. In hindsight, I may not have been awake enough to be chopping veggies for the cockatiels with my newly sharpened knife, and here we are. Typing incredibly awkwardly. I tried taking the dressing off but it hurt too much, so now my finger just gets to sit in the air while I type like a useless sausage.

It will remain to be seen if I can still make soap (probably) although packaging cured soaps might be out for a day or two. Probably no pumpkin soup for dinner either.

In other news, my baby quail are almost ready to move out of the brooder (hurrah) and I just now need to decide whether I’m going to sell them, or fill my own freezer. I’m paranoid about other people right now, so they may end up in my freezer. Pandemics, not so great for the economy.

We’ve still got a few chickens laying, which is a huge relief, and enough roosters I can fill my freezer if I need to. It doesn’t take much to return to poverty planning, counting the extra roosters, working out the best use of freezer and garden space, dialling back and hunkering down.

I’m grateful to have these options, but chickens have never been a frivolity for me, they’re a back up plan, an emergency ration. Just because they’re also pretty and funny does not change why I got them in the first place.

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“Mum, I’d really like to go back to school now.”

I feel her. I feel her deep in my bones. We’ve had the kids home from school since the 17th of March, for everyone’s safety, and it’s starting to bite. We will ignore the fact it’s Saturday, and school holidays, and no one is going to school at all.

I like staying at home usually. I like it a lot. But it’s a lot harder when there’s a pandemic on and you absolutely cannot go anywhere except the supermarket and the chemist. Maybe it’s the backdrop of anxiety; of waiting for the tsunami to hit; of counting the ways we can keep ourselves safe.

(Wash your hands, wash your hands, wash your hands…)

I stocked up on soap ingredients before the major supermarkets put their limits in place, and picked up tallow and coconut oil from the big wholesalers. Of course I’ve been making soap like mad, because we all need to retain our sanity in this environment, and now I’ve only got one box of tallow left. I’m sure that’s going to go down a treat when I need to cross the river (something we’re trying to avoid).

Because what else is there to do but bake bread and make soap? It might sound like privilege, but I have flour and yeast, I have a business, I have a brain which is likely to go all squirrelly if I don’t keep my hands busy.

My bones might fall apart, but they can be patched up with tape and braces. We’re all in a lot more trouble if my brain starts to misbehave the way my collagen does.

So I bake bread, and apple pies, and make soap, and tell the Internet that it’s okay to be doing whatever gets you through the day right now. (Probably don’t kill anyone though, if murder is getting you through the day you’ve got bigger problems than I can help with.)

There’s a lot of one-upmanship happening out there right now. Who has it worst, who is struggling hardest, who can sit at home and read books, who is literally putting their lives on the line. And FFS people, it’s a pandemic, can’t we just support each other? No one is doing okay, I suspect we’re all refreshing the news feeds and twitter as best we can, trying to keep our shit together. Stop with the culture wars, and pitting people against each other.

Pandemics are rough. It’s a traumatic event, unfolding so slowly we don’t quite know what to do with it.

Give yourself permission to bake bread, or sleep, or scream into a pillow. Whatever works. Honestly.

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