“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness.”
This week is Mental Health Week, and as my writing journey started from a panic and anxiety attack, I thought I’d reflect on what is the worst of times and the best of times during lock-down.
Well-being and mental health during the lock-down is challenging, people like company, the lunch dates, the little conversations, the sessions run by mental health professionals. I know of one charitable trust who has started a telephone consultation this week and many mental health professionals have offered help through social media. But many people will slip through the cracks—the backlog of cases that require processing. The lack of physical access to GPs and support centres for those who have an increase in anxiety due to the lock-down. I have been up and down; April was incredibly tricky. A dear friend of ours lost his father. It must be difficult for those people who have lost a loved one in this pandemic, the loss of the final farewell, the rituals we all observe. I’ve learnt that goodbyes are essential not just for the dead, but for those of us left behind, we mourn the loss of our loved ones. We miss their voice, their hugs, their smells, the annoying way they always criticised us, the little things that made us want to yell. For humans, grieving is about the life lost.
It is an age of Darkness for the people who live in poverty; this time has stretched them beyond capacity. The people who live in the gig economy, the zero-hour contractors and all the small businesses who manage from one month to the next. Mostly I’ve been thinking of my friends who work in the film and television industry as freelancers, those that work from one contract to the next. The people who work behind the scene to bring you entertainment, the camera operators, the lighting experts, the film crews, editors, producers, VFX designers, art directors, costume designers, the list is endless. Once upon a time, film studios and television companies employed everyone, but all that changed in the early nineties. A recent report by BFI shows that 90% of the workforce in film production are freelancers. That’s a lot of people who are living with financial anxiety and uncertainty hanging over their heads.
Mental Health Week also highlights the plight of women and children who live in abusive families. The worst part of the lock-down is staying at home and as the men use force to abuse. I know there are women, especially when it comes to children. But let’s not kid ourselves, the majority who inflict the abuse are men—no respite for the women and children. Before lock-down, the men were at work, out of the home, the women had an escape, and the children went to school. I worry for the well-being of the children who witness and experience the abuse from day to day. Through my work with the Circle I know that this isn’t just happening here, it happens all over the world and all I can do is help those who are working in tough times to support vulnerable women and families. I have first-hand experience of how this support can make a big difference.
I am privileged to live in a country that provides free healthcare, and I’m proud of the staff who work for the NHS. All the care professionals who go beyond, the stories of the people who have set-up charities, sewing groups, schools who’ve made protective shields. For people like Captain Tom Moore, the skipping Sikh, the volunteers who distribute and provide food for the homeless and less well off. For Frank, an 84-year-old who has been picking up food parcels from Harrow Community Kitchen for elderly and vulnerable neighbours. This is what humanity means. We had lost it recently, too much narcissism, too much me me.
It is a season for Light, and this pandemic has made me appreciate the key workers in our society; the doctors, the nurses, the care workers, the bus and train drivers, the bin men, the supermarket workers, the teachers who found new ways to teach. I hope that beyond the lock-down we reassess who we value the most. Some of these professions have long been ignored and neglected; we have allowed governments to take advantage of their vocation. Restricting funding, decreasing grants for too long, we’ve allowed big business to give people minimum wages to line the pockets of their MD or shareholders. We must learn from this, understand that the people who care for us as a society are more valuable and deserve the monetary rewards.
It’s incredible how people have managed to keep in touch with loved ones across the globe, through Facetime, What’s App, Zoom, Google Hangouts. Let’s hope the systems we’ve begun to use will continue and don’t become overpriced and inaccessible to all. We should learn from this and understand that anything that helps us live better should be a priority, more flexible working, more working from home to help families with caring for children or elderly relatives, equal access to technology for everyone.
It has been the best of time, for those of us who have been lucky to have our grown-up children move back in with us, and I class myself as one of those. More cooking, more washing, more of all the daily chores, but the usual commute is non-existent. Everyone has used the slowdown from the rat race to recuperate, to reflect on making us better human beings. This pandemic has given us time back. The little conversations over lunch breaks. A bit more time to connect with neighbours. More time for a walk to appreciate nature, more time to discover new worlds.
On that note, I share with you an excerpt from Where Have We Come, the second book in my University - Nikesh & Reena series. It was the worst of time for my family and me, but it was also the best of time to cherish the friendships and love offered to us.
Faint music can be heard as we turn into our road, and as we get closer to our house, it becomes louder, the lights are off in the lobby. Nik turns to me and smiles. “Anne-Marie’s brought her CDs.”
Rick Astley is warbling at full volume, Never gonna give you up, we take off our coats and walk into Umi, Peter, Dick and Anne-Marie. Dick has Amar in his sling and is dancing the only way he knows how sliding and jiggling rhythmically to the music. The lights are dimmed, the music is loud. The sight of our friends dancing with our son makes me happy, it’s one thing we hadn’t even thought about. I begin to laugh and take my husband’s hand and dance, joyfully, enjoying the moment, vowing that I’ll use more of our time in the joy of living instead of the sadness we’ve been carrying.
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