Last week two friends and I got together for supper.  As we haven’t seen each other for a while, I started the conversation with ‘so, how have you been’ and one friend’s response was not what I expected.  

 “Well, to be honest” she said “I’m finding things a bit hard.  My new workshop is perfect and from next week I’ll be able to see clients.”  (My friend runs her own business and has recently had a beautiful home office built in her garden).  

“My children coped really well with home learning” she continued “so I’m not concerned about their exam results.  And yet, although I’m not sure why, I keep having moments where I suddenly burst into tears.”

My surprise wasn’t that she’s been having a tough time.  Over the years I’ve realised that, often despite appearances to the contrary, everyone’s dealing with something.  It wasn’t even that this very capable friend was struggling with her emotions – in recent weeks I’ve experienced similar spontaneous waterfalls and I suspect that the psychological effects of the pandemic will affect more people than the coronavirus itself.  

What caught me off guard was that she’d been brave enough to open up and share how she was really feeling; one well known quirk of being British is that we tend to gloss over life’s discomforts or make light of them.  In fact, as I write this I realise that I’ve done (and continue to do) the same. On January 1st 2020 my husband left England for Doha, intending to be home again for the children’s half term at the end of Febuary.  He was asked to delay his return by a week, for a meeting which was then pushed back by ten days.  Then on March 17th Qatar closed its airport in response to the Covid pandemic.  While I encourage my children to talk openly about their feelings or wipe the tears of my youngest when a conversation with Daddy via videocall reminds her how far away he still is, I usually claim it’s ‘just an eyelash’ when my eldest asks me what’s wrong.  When friends and family compliment me on how well I’m coping with his extended absence I dismiss them with a reply like “other people have to cope with worse” - and truly I think many do.  While I’m a single-parent for now, other single parents have to cope alone full-time, without the (albeit distant) support of a loving partner.  But the reality is everyone’s struggle is unique and there are days when I can’t even claim to be holding it together.

Last week, as my friends and I sat there talking about how we’re feeling, I wondered if perhaps there is one good thing that the pandemic will bring about.   Parenting is tough enough in normal times, when the gleaming smiles and apparently shiny lives of others on social media can set our expectations beyond the reach of reality. But in post-Covid times, when everyone (parent or not) is in the same uncomfortable boat and none of us knows when or where the journey will end, people are finally being more honest about their experiences.

Not only is it OK not to feel OK, it’s normal. And it’s OK to talk about it!