“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” I asked my seven-year-old daughter, Mia.
“Yes!” she replied with determination.
In the early days of the pandemic, she finally learned how to ride a bike. After several afternoons of practice, her persistence paid off. One Tuesday, following her second day of virtual schooling, it all clicked into place.
Now, as we find ourselves in May, Mia felt confident enough to tackle a steep hill on her bike.
“Remember to brake!” I reminded her, anxious about the prospect of a trip to the emergency room.
“I know, Dad,” she assured me.
Reflecting on my life, I’ve battled depression since my early twenties, relying on therapy and medication to manage it. While there are undoubtedly chemical factors at play, I’ve found that my mental health often hinges on my sense of purpose. My career as a lawyer didn’t fulfill me, which contributed to my struggles well into my thirties.
The loss of my first child during pregnancy was devastating, marking a low point in my life and exacerbating my depression. However, when Mia was born, followed by her brother, Jake, I found new purpose. I spent countless hours at home during their early years, which greatly improved my mental well-being. Those days were truly the happiest of my life.
Fast forward to six months ago, and my depression resurfaced. It was a challenge to get out of bed each day, and my job felt more precarious than ever. As my children grew older and became more independent, I often found myself alone while they engaged with friends or lost themselves in their devices.
Then came the pandemic. Both my partner, Sarah, and I were deemed non-essential workers in New Jersey, and we followed the state’s stay-at-home orders. School was indefinitely canceled, and homeschooling began. Each day, we would work on assignments together. I usually assisted Mia while Sarah focused on Jake.
Amid the anxiety about the state of the world outside, I found an unexpected silver lining: my depression began to lift. Through phone sessions with my therapist, we discovered that this unusual situation had rekindled my feeling of purpose as I educated my children and engaged with them in ways I hadn’t in years.
Alongside teaching Mia to ride a bike, Jake was also making strides. We took long family walks, enjoyed movie nights, and played games together. It wasn’t without its challenges; we certainly got on each other’s nerves. Homeschooling posed its own set of difficulties both academically and behaviorally, but I felt present and engaged for the first time in a long while.
This raises a profound question: Should I feel guilty for experiencing joy during such a terrible time? The bike rides, the homeschooling, and this renewed sense of purpose all stem from the pandemic, which has wrought devastation on a global scale. Living near New York City, I am painfully aware of the suffering around us; my cousin is on the front lines, intubating patients in a city hospital.
Yet within the walls of our home, life feels different. I’m uncertain how I will adjust when life returns to normal. I want that to happen because it signifies the end of this crisis, but I also worry about how my mental health will fare when my children return to their usual routines.
For now, I am choosing to appreciate the time I have with them.
As Mia began her descent down the hill, she started cautiously but quickly gained confidence, completing the ride safely. My heart swelled with pride. This marked the sixteenth time in eighteen days we’ve gone riding together (not that I’m counting).
She looked back at me, beaming. “I did it, Dad!”
I began to clap.
“Dad, can I try my skateboard on this hill tomorrow?” she asked eagerly.
I never said it would be easy.
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Summary
In the midst of the pandemic, I found a renewed sense of purpose in homeschooling my children and spending quality time with them. Despite the global turmoil, this unusual period has led to an unexpected improvement in my mental health, prompting reflection on the complex emotions that arise from feeling better during such a difficult time.