I have to admit, when our local schools closed down to encourage social distancing, at first, I thought—okay, that’s serious. But I also thought, meh, that’s as far as it’ll go. Then it went an inch further, with small businesses voluntarily closing their doors. And then the stores were being cleaned out of…well, everything, really. And I thought, yeah, this is getting more serious.
But I work in a counseling office, where we see clients who need their therapists to help them get through daily life, not to mention times of crisis (and, I feel like this qualifies as one of those times, don’t you?). So, I thought that while most of the world was closing down, we would continue moving forward as usual, with a few minor adjustments.
To be honest, I’m pretty sure we all thought that.
Then, one morning, about a week into the pandemic, I was awakened by an earthquake. In Utah. We don’t often have earthquakes here, especially ones that can be felt in the southern end of the metropolitan area, over the point of the Draper mountain, and at my house, 45 minutes away. Yet this one shook things off my walls, which was disconcerting. And in my already heightened state of awareness, I realized that the not-so-serious-thing had just become increasingly more complicated. During the days since then (nearly two weeks) our valley has been treated to 658 aftershocks, the last time I checked. Some nearly as strong as the original quake.
Later that evening, after having gone to work for half the day, then come back home again, I was watching the news and realized that the office where I work is located only about 5 miles from the epicenter of the quake. It’s a tall, glass building, and our office is on the top floor. You do the math. Also, the parking structure is concrete, and two levels high.
That was the week we made a lightning-like transition to telehealth, and then buttoned up whatever details we could, so that by the end of the week, we’d closed that location, and jumped into working remotely.
Whether or not you have ever seen an in-person therapist, I’m not sure I can fully explain the magnitude of what this required, or the painful adjusting that has followed. But we did it, therapists and office staff alike, like rock stars.
Now, I’m writing this blog from the comfort of my bedroom recliner, with a computer on my lap, a slice of bundt-cake near my elbow, and a seemingly endless supply of green tea in my kitchen. Sounds awesome, right? And in a lot of ways, it is. But I’m coming to realize that there are serious downsides to working from home.
Even though I love being able to wake up and start working while still in my pajamas, that got old after about two days. A week later, I haven’t left my house for anything, but to pull the garbage to the curb, and I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever leave my house again. I miss driving my car, and seeing my work friends, and having intelligent conversations in person (as opposed to via phone or video chat).
Also, I’m less inclined to shower when I first wake up. I find myself staying in bed until only moments before work begins, working in my pajamas for the first half of the day, and then not showering until evening. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, except that it’s nowhere even close to my normal routine, and changes like this have a tendency to cause anxiety and depression to surge forward.
My favorite remedy for depression happens to be driving. The very thing I’m not doing much of at all these days. So, while I’m saving a significant amount on gas, and time, and sleep, well. I’m not necessarily completely better off for it.
But I’ll get by, and so will you. We all will. Until then, I’m enormously grateful that I can see the people I’ve been missing via FaceTime, Google Hangouts, and Zoom.
Nichole
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