Spring is officially here! I am rejoicing in our beautiful weather of clear blue skies, moderately cooler temperatures, soft breezes and the smell of blooming flowers. It’s a season for blossoming new beginnings and fresh starts. Open your windows, clean your house and let’s get “back to normal”!
“Normal”— a flexible term that has had many different faces throughout the last year. Thankfully, we evolved as a society and stopped frantically hoarding toilet paper. Now, in our new normal, we proudly post selfies on social media showing off our vaccines, cheer each other on when we’ve hit our two-week mark and exchange battle stories on our side effects.
Is there a light at the end of this COVID tunnel? Are we heading “back to normal”? What happens if I’m not ready?
On International Transgender Day of Visibility, my wife and I attended the press conference announcing the sensational news that the National Trans Visibility March will be kicking off the Come Out With Pride parade this year. This was our first social, public gathering in over a year. It felt wonderful and weird. I’ve been anticipating this moment for weeks, visualizing how it would feel to be amongst people in public. I eagerly looked forward to seeing friends and colleagues. I dressed up in real clothes, put on my face and even did my hair! Since we haven’t been downtown in over a year, we drove around wide-eyed, pointing out all the changes, as if visiting a new city for the first time.
When entering the venue, I underestimated how incredibly socially awkward I have become while in quarantine, hiding behind a Zoom screen. I was a mixed bag of nerves, excitement and a lot of self-consciousness. Admittedly, I hugged too many people, forced small talk and told stupid jokes. Despite it all, I felt happy and anxious. As we listened to the speakers, I sipped my water and put my mask quickly back on. I brought my own hand sanitizer and kept reapplying. I felt hyper-vigilant of my surroundings and particularly germ aware. I was hungry and the food smelled delicious, but I was hesitant to fully remove my mask and eat. As if having a cartoon angel on one shoulder and the devil on my other, my internal dialogue kept wrestling back and forth.
I know the CDC recommendations and I’m aware of the risk factors. Where is that balance? As my anxiety crept up, my contentment for being in that moment would quiet her back down. Looking around the room, everyone was smiling, laughing and appeared to be enjoying themselves. I grinned and nodded along, as if being fully engaged, but internally, I wasn’t. My brain was a battleground, questioning germs, masks, hand sanitizer and safety. Could I be the only one struggling with this?
On our home front, my wife and I have kept our two kiddos home and have been managing distance learning. Our goal is for them to return to in-person classrooms in the fall. However, within the last few days, Seminole County started questioning the school mask mandate. This triggered many more conversations in our house. I’m at the point that I can’t imagine sending them to school without masks, but I can’t imagine not sending them to school either. It’s been over a year! Before, I took solace in our reclusion and felt safe. However, like many other parents, we’ve turned the corner and recognize how hungry for socialization and peer interaction our kiddos are. In my head, I play scenarios, trying to figure what’s the best decision for our family with our children’s safety as the top priority. Swirling around in a cyclone of self-talk, I have to intentionally ground myself with the realization that we are doing our best, just like everyone else.
Since this is our first experience with a global pandemic, we — collectively as citizens of the world — have NO idea what we are doing or what will happen. The thought of having to let go, hope for the best and trust my decision to return “back to normal” is terrifying but rapidly hurtling towards me and I can’t dodge fast enough. I take a deep breath. As if in a teen, coming-of-age movie full of drama, angst and turmoil, I envision myself holding my breath, closing my eyes and slowly falling back into a pool. I let go, anticipating my body hitting the cold water, feeling the impact against my skin and listening to the splash in the fleeting distance as I go under. During this emotional climax, I release everything— my fears, my worries, my what-ifs, my worst-case scenarios.
Throughout my melodramatic mental imagery, time is slowed down, giving me the opportunity to feel the moment and savor in every silent second underwater. As I gently float to the surface, I am present and at peace knowing that I will be fine. I will be fine. My family will be fine. My children will be fine. Everything is temporary and will be fine.
The uncertainty of the times weighs on all of us in different ways, but we are all doing our best and must trust that we will be fine. And, for me, I take a deep breath, let go and remind myself that I’m returning “back to my normal.”
Tatiana Quiroga is the Director of Family Equity and Diversity for Family Equality. She is a proud mother, wife and LGBTQ advocate in Central Florida.
