The pandemic has finally physically caught up with me. Not in the most obvious sense – I did not catch the coronavirus. However, for the past seven days I felt like I was in hell. All of my regular PMS symptoms had multiplied tenfold, finally giving way to one of the worst periods I have experienced in the past twenty years of menstruating. You know, with cramps that wake you up at night, leaving you squirming and whimpering until you literally crawl to the bathroom. For four days.
Bad luck? Just one of those months? Or maybe another fun feature of the Covid-pandemic? I prefer to go with the latter, because I do appreciate a scientific explanation of my misery. And because it makes sense. During the first months of the pandemic, a fair share of articles were written about the phenomenon of unusually heavy periods brought on by stress caused by the coronavirus. The gist: When we are stressed, we produce more cortisol, which tampers with our reproductive hormones, causing all kinds of changes in our periods and also increasing PMS symptoms. Like you didn’t have enough to worry about already.
Am I stressed by the coronavirus situation? Sure. More so than in March? Obviously. I’m not only exhausted from six months of corona-life. I now feel like I have to go in for a second shock wave treatment (I got one round of shock waves for Achilles tendonitis in the spring), knowing too well what to expect. Before my first treatment, I was wary, knowing that “it may sting a little” is doctor speak for “this will f*cking hurt”. But I was not scared. I was even a little bit excited, because it’s the most promising treatment for an inflamed Achilles tendon. Now, knowing that shock wave treatment is ten minutes of pure agony and torture, I will do anything in my power to avoid another round – although it did help. Yeah, so this is how I feel about another tightening of Covid-restrictions. Please, I’ll do ANYTHING, just don’t force me into social isolation again.
I mean, we are staring down the barrel of another lockdown. Of social isolation during the darkest months, of not being able to travel, of restrictions of so many things that bring me joy. I’m aware that, especially in Germany, we have no way of telling yet how bad the next months will be. Maybe we get away with fewer restrictions. However, my mind’s most beloved party trick is catastrophizing, so I have been completely stressed out by my personal worst case scenario – which is not too unrealistic to be fair.
Last night I came across a Guardian article in which it is recommended to use Kari Leibowitz’ research on “positive wintertime mindset” for the next phase of lockdown. Her research describes how people living above or near the Arctic Circle get through the darkest months by adopting a positive attitude towards winter. As the article completely ignores all statistics on alcoholism and suicides in those regions, it frankly feels a bit like telling a depressed person to just think happy thoughts and be merry.
However, the author of the article also writes, and this much is true:
“This time, we do at least have the advantage of knowing what did and didn’t work during the first lockdown, so we can be more realistic in our expectations of what we can and can’t achieve (…)”
I have changed quite a few things since March. I have learned that working 60 hours a week without anything fun to balance it with isn’t ideal for my mental health. Neither is living in a shared flat in an area that just never fully felt like home. Being injured and unable to properly work out? Also not great.
I have turned all of these things around, so maybe another bout of self isolation won’t be as dreadful. Yet, I just cannot bring myself to look forward to “curling up under a blanket in front of a box set” if that’s all I’m going to be doing for the rest of the year. First of all, I don’t know what to watch anymore. Second, I need people!
Also, can we talk about dating? I have yet to go on my first date this year, for various reasons – most of them pandemic-related, but also because I just couldn’t be bothered. So far I have not missed it. It has given me great peace of mind, actually. BUT: Can I do another celibate-y six months? And if I can’t, can I cope with adding the stress of online dating on top of my current baseline pandemic stress? As Katherine Ryan said: “Don’t go food shopping when you’re hungry, and don’t go man shopping when you’re thirsty.” But aren’t you also supposed to eat when you’re hungry and drink when thirsty? Oh, the dilemma!
What’s your approach, my single friends? Does anyone actually recommend dating right now? What’s your secret? And my coupled-up friends: Could you send any eligible bachelors, who would call themselves a feminist, have read at least one book since high school and have impeccable taste in TV shows, my way? (Yes, the bar is that low.)
I don’t really know where I’m going with this incoherent, bleak rambling. But if you are feeling the same, or recognize some of these thoughts, just know you’re not alone.
This too, will pass. Hopefully soon. Until it has, I will be walking down to the river bank, watching the sunset over the harbor and keep reminding myself that I have created a home in a city I love. And stick to one of my two non-negotiable rules in life: Don’t believe everything you think while bleeding from your uterus. (The other rule is to floss daily.)
pop culture pleasures
I have finally tackled my stack of unread books. First one up was “Petropolis” by Anya Ulinich, a Russian coming-of-age story. The book follows Sasha, a chubby, biracial Jewish girl from a dreary Siberian town all the way to Brooklyn. What I found remarkable was that the story is devoid of all sentimentality (it feels very “Russian”) – and that it’s full of incredibly tough women. No feel-good novel, but great to get you out of your own head.
Rachel Connolly urges you to find yourself a tailor and I couldn’t agree more. I started having clothes altered to fit exactly right only last year – and it’s such a revelation.
“The Last Word” (German title: Das letzte Wort) is a German Netflix mini series of which I have only seen one and a half episodes, but I’d whole-heartedly recommend it. It’s a show about a woman who becomes an eulogist after the sudden death of her husband. It tackles the subject of death and everything that surrounds it in a funny yet sincere way – plus it’s starring Anke Engelke, one of the very few German comics of my childhood and this is truly the role of her life. Cathartic cries plus plenty of comic relief, what’s not to love? (It’s available in English as well).
If you haven’t yet listened to Alanis Morissette on Table Manners, you definitely should. She’s such an icon, and so unapologetically herself. One thing she said has stayed with me since the episode first came out: “I was so tired of the idea of having to clip my wings in order to make a romantic relationship work.”
🇩🇪 Für ihre SZ-Reportage “Druckbetankung” hat Fabienne Hurst letzte Woche den Marlies-Hesse-Nachwuchspreis des Journalistinnenbundes gewonnen. Eine absolut lesenswerte, investigative Recherche über grenzüberschreitende und erniedrigende Aufnahmerituale an der Elite-Flugschule der Lufthansa. Es geht um Männerbünde, Gruppendruck und das Bild des “starken Mannes”, das auch viele Frauen weitertragen.
One more word on Donald Trump and the Supreme Court: Trump has now nominated Amy Coney Barrett to the Supreme Court. Barrett is an ultra conservative anti-abortionist, member of a secretive Catholic cult and all kinds of bad news for women, members of the LGBTQ+ community and ultimately, the planet.
Until next time,
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