When my alarm goes off at 7:30 on a weekday morning, I take a deep breath and get myself mentally ready for my 30-second commute to my living room to start work. Making my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth and change into a fresh pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, I take my antidepressant and decide if I want a cinnamon brown sugar Pop-Tart or a S’mores One bar. Once the coffee maker is running and the Pop-Tart of the day is warming in the toaster, I open my laptop and schedule out my day.

Transitioning to working from home full time was not as simple as I had anticipated, although it has certainly afforded me many benefits. As a lifelong Midwesterner, I had always dreamed of moving literally anywhere that wasn’t cornfields and cows as far as the eye can see. Going 100% remote for work meant I could actualize this goal. In May, I came out to Oregon to visit a friend, and four months later I moved here.

Waking up to the pine trees in the Pacific Northwest is cool and all, but I’m still in an apartment. But it’s not just an apartment. Since COVID-19 turned all our worlds upside down, I have come to realize my apartment is so much more. It is a home, a doctor’s office, my workplace, a food delivery window, a movie theater, a gathering place for friends, and at times it feels a lot like a jail cell. I am more than appreciative that I can work and provide a roof over my head, but some days, I feel so confined that I worry I will lose my mind if I must stare at these same walls for even one more second.

Over the past few years, out of necessity, I have found new ways to cope with the seclusion. It has been a trial-and-error process (a LOT of error, if I am honest), but I have a routine that works for me now. It keeps me from getting too sidetracked by the daily tasks of living, like laundry, dishes and cleaning the toothpaste-covered bathroom sink. I really need to get that taken care of, but if I start, I will have to clean the rest of the bathroom and doing that could take the rest of my day if I want to do it right. And the floors need to be swept and mopped … I could probably move the couch myself. I probably shouldn’t, but I am going to try because I am certain I need to mop under it — oh, wait, let’s bring it back! My days are full of moments like this. In the beginning they weren’t just moments: They felt like a massive crisis every day, until I became so frazzled and out-of-sync that I needed to reach out for help.

In October 2021, anxiety and depression got the best of me. I ended up checking myself into a psych hospital. I was at the end of my rope, and I knew I needed professional help. I was at a complete loss for what I should do. I couldn’t take the seclusion anymore, but the thought of going out into the world where a virus was trying to kill me sounded even worse. I felt like an exposed nerve.

Today, I can tell you it was the best decision I could have made for myself. While I was in the hospital, I met with a psychologist, and I admitted to him I didn’t know what checking myself into this place was going to change for me. He explained to me that I should treat this week as a reset button for my brain, a chance to unplug from the chaos of the world outside and focus solely on what I need to do to get to a better place mentally.

Asking for help is far from being my forte, but I believe that if I hadn’t taken that action, I wouldn’t be here writing this today. I never would have had the opportunity to find a new job that I love or move halfway across the country, and while I would never wish for anyone to go through the mental torment that I put myself through, I can honestly say I wouldn’t change a thing.

At first, I saw my mental health issues as something I should feel shameful about, but after working closely with my therapist and joining a therapy group, I met people who had the same feelings that I did, and I started to feel a little less, well, just less. I learned how to assess my needs, plan for stressful events, and take care of myself in ways I didn’t know existed. Until I had to spend an inordinate amount of time with myself, I thought I had everything under control. Turns out I was just keeping myself distracted enough to ignore my problems.

The pandemic has brought so many aspects of my life to a screeching halt, while allowing me to start new journeys and find new interests. Don’t get me wrong, I am not here to say things like, “Wow, I am so grateful for the pandemic and all the lessons it has taught me.” Let’s be real: It is the worst. What I am saying is that as I sat down to write this, I was prepared to complain about confinement and fear, and what I realized is that I am tired of complaining and looking at everything through such a negative lens. I hope that if anyone chooses to read this, they might find comfort in knowing they aren’t alone in some of these thoughts — and maybe even find a laugh in my disjointed babbling.

United Spinal Association is committed to supporting the mental health of members with personalized assistance, online resources and support groups. Please reach out directly or learn more at unitedspinal.org.