Roisin Markham

A conversation on a Monday morning some time ago, the mention of a slide “stay in the mess” has me thinking.

During the last five years that is what I have learnt. Embrace the blank page. Stand in the unknown. Hold space for others to find their feet.

The calm stillness amidst fear, uncertainty and the unknown is familiar now.

But the lockdown brought further learning, it required me to stretch further into stillness. To stop being busy. The doing disappeared, the busy and every reason for busy stopped. As five of us milled around the house and although we all had our own spaces I bucked and bolted within my confines of domesticity.

My feminist self resisted the required role of mother, wife, cleaner, chef, shopper, solver of mundane, guardian of health and hygiene. With work evaporated my brain meandered in a sort of crisis search, to find some meaning other then domestic bliss. As the mother to three sons 22, 18 and 16 years old, our kidults were in their own rollercoaster ride that did not include any sort of responsibility to cook, feed or clean up after themselves. I have failed in recent years to engage our sons in the reality of domestic chores and it annoys me. That I have not been able to charm, teach or cajole them into sharing the domestic chores in our home is a bother, the truth is I can’t even do that for myself! But hands up as a mother and in particular an Irish mother of sons I am not just required to teach them life skills but it is my duty to their future and all their housemates, partners and companions.

As a wife to a full time WFH husband I felt in the initial stages that my life was cheaper and disposable. The fear of illness, of catching Covid19 every time I left the house. Food shopping became this onerous task. I had to have a frank talk with myself and really try to understand better what were the risks, how to keep safe and dial back my own anxiety and frustrations.

I found solace in the soil, gardening and planting. I sought out meditations with friends and associates who walk spiritual paths as healers, shamans and interfaith ministers. I dipped in and out of apps like Insight Timer and Sounds True. I wrote my morning pages. I tried to be honest with myself and lean into being present.

My skin broke apart. The gardening shredded my hands. The constant washing of hands with soap, the hand sanitiser they all activated my eczema. My skin on both hands became broken open and septic. Even with gloves and a good technique of antifungal cream, steroid cream, moisturiser, barrier cream and gloves my hands suffered. I called our GP practice, a weird process of booking and paying for an appointment. I waited all day for a call, it never happened. I waited the following day still no call. My hands started to heal. I called them the third day and asked for a refund. They made a big fuss and a doctor did call me. I found it weird, but maybe triage like this should always be done. A prescription was dropped to the pharmacy for me – I wondered why that was not electronic and automatic. I went in collected it. The pills are still downstairs. I got left with wondering what the point of it always.

My hands had driven me to so much pain and frustration I’d called the doctors but by 3 days later the support and healing I needed had sorted itself out and I wondered about it all. A friend pointed out I received the healing I needed in the waiting. I just hopped that people needing urgent care were getting a good service and the timely support they needed. I sent a silent hope that those not getting the care they needed would find other ways to connect to healing, love and kindness.