The Month That Changed The World

“Do people really eat bats?” my 8 year old asked me, eyes wide as we all clambered into the car after a day at school. As I tossed the backpacks, kit bags and lunch boxes in the back of the car a discussion broke out between the children. My 11-year-old daughter and two 8-year-old sons seemed to have a plethora of information about this deadly virus that had reportedly originated in China. Half listening, half pondering if I could take another route home to skip the school run traffic, I was admittedly entertained by how they debated the alleged facts they had gathered in the playground. As the volume escalated I decided to diffuse the topic and took it as the perfect opportunity to reinforce my daily begging for them to wash their hands, for which I received 3 almost rehearsed eye rolls and groans. This was at the beginning of February and I must confess current affairs were not at the top of my daily things to keep up with. I was in the process of finalizing a collection for Ramadan and preparing to return to London in a few weeks for surgery. I dismissed the Corona Virus as media frenzy and simply didn’t have the headspace to even attempt to process it. Before I left, family and friends urged me to wear a mask in the airport. I had just read an article, which of course was later found to be false, that masks provide no benefit and I didn’t want to buy into what appeared to me to be simply scaremongering.

At the beginning of March I had surgery and suddenly everything changed. With a heavy combination of post anesthesia haze and the painkiller induced fogginess I was desperately trying to process all the news from Dubai flooding my phone. The spring holidays were being brought forward 2 weeks, schools were being closed, and people returning from abroad were being quarantined. My heart broke. Leaving Dubai I looked forward to the children joining me in London for their school holiday. Panic set in. How will they navigate distance learning without me there? Everything was incredibly surreal. In London life appeared to continue as normal. Yet back home, life was about to become very different and I wasn’t there to guide them through it. On the work front, assignments were being cancelled due to budget constraints and the factory struggled to find usually readily available materials jeopardizing the completion of the whole collection.

Less than two weeks later I learned that I would need more surgery but would have to wait for the pandemic to be over. Yes, it was now a pandemic. Surgeries were being cancelled, oncology appointments being conducted over the phone… and flights were being cancelled. My instinct was to run to the airport. In any other circumstance I would have, but I was still too weak to travel let alone be isolated in a room by myself for 2 weeks as per the law that was being imposed. Guilt consumed me. Other mothers were navigating the pressures of being a mother AND a teacher on top of everything else that lockdown and isolation brings. I felt that I should have been there dealing with the same but I had major surgery and for the first time in my adult life, I had to unapologetically put myself first. Panic consumed me. I couldn’t sleep wondering how my children were going to manage without me there and if their father would be able to handle it all. General weekend homework was always an arduous task, often requiring a Sergeant Major Mummy approach. Tears were often shed (by me) just in getting them to practice their 10 weekly spelling words!

A little over 2 weeks later I received a call to tell me to fly now or risk there being no flights at all indefinitely, therefore not seeing my little ones for 4 months if not more. I took the flight and now write and reflect from the confines of a hotel room, where I will ride out the Government imposed 14-day quarantine alone.

It has been an emotional and anxiety fuelled few months without a doubt. In our fast paced world, especially as mothers, we rarely get the opportunity to truly reflect; to allow the metaphoric dust to settle and really process. In my situation I am very aware that my experience has been strikingly different to others. I recognize that my experience has almost been one of a reverse empty nest syndrome. My life that I have dedicated the last 11 years of myself to kept ticking along without me. We raise our children to be independent and setup our businesses to be able eventually to operate without us. The mark of success is when that is achieved. Daily distance learning commenced with nothing more than a few expected technical glitches. Orders were processed and deliveries dispatched without error. It is a bitter sweet moment of realization - the feelings of guilt for being away during this time mixed with the pride at the children’s independence, gratitude for family support as well as the regret that it took so much and so long to allow myself to truly put myself first. I am aware of the emotional heaviness that hangs over me. In the confines of this room the silence is heavy and almost crippling but even the quietest music is too much to endure. I cannot wait to feel those arms around me and yet I sit here anxiously aware that my homecoming is likely to be incredibly overwhelming.

Coming out of this, as I sincerely hope we are, I carry some lessons with me. Firstly, that I need to have more faith in the incredible resilience my children have at such tender ages. They have powered through and adapted to the changes with so much positivity and maturity, and I couldn’t be prouder. Secondly, this crisis has forced us all to the strip down our daily lives; to simplify things and focus on what we need. For me this has forced me to delegate, to relinquish control and provided me with the headspace to focus on ideas I never made time for and get inspired again. Finally, most importantly, this time has reminded me be kinder to myself. I am human; this myriad of emotions of normal and this too shall pass.