Folding laundry.

How folding clothing into squares keeps me sane.

It’s been difficult to find the mental space and physical energy to sit down and write during the past month. I have all these posts I want to write, but the words don’t come easily. They are heavy in my mind and on my heart. So heavy that my fingers feel liked lead when I try to type them.

So, I fold laundry.

The mindless task of the endless folding, and turning tiny shirts inside out keeps my brain focused so I don’t have to think too hard about all of the things weighing on me.

When I’m folding laundry, I don’t have to think about my son going to kindergarten in a few weeks. About how I am so proud of and in awe of him. About how sad I am for him that his first entrance to elementary school will be from a masked distance, learning remotely, instead of in a classroom making new friends. About the impossible decision we have yet to make about where and how that remote learning will take place.

I don’t have to think about how burnt out I am from sitting at my kitchen table every day, staring at a computer in back to back to back Teams meetings. I don’t have to think about my answer when my husband asks, “How do they expect you to get work done when you’re in meetings all day?”

I don’t have to think about my mom, and how worried I am about her. How much I miss her.

I don’t have to think about how I haven’t been taking care of myself or how I’ve yet to get back to my workout routine, which I was so good about before we went on vacation in July. How I am not making the time or space in my life for basic needs like eating three meals a day or taking a break from work to get outside for fresh air or drinking enough water.

I don’t have to think about how guilty I feel for being privileged enough to have my kids back at daycare, and how, even though we aren’t spending every hour of every day together anymore, I still find myself snapping and yelling at them.

I don’t have to think about how much I miss my family and my friends. About a social life that once was. About how I would kill for a hug from my best friend.

I don’t have to think about my to-do list, and how it includes looking for a therapist.

When I’m folding laundry, I can keep my hands occupied, so I don’t scroll the Internet and social media, and in turn, find myself enraged by ignorant and selfish people, many of whom I consider friends and many of whom are family, posting confirmation bias and ignorant and racist remarks. When my hands are busy, I can’t sit and read arguments on other people’s feeds or in my “mom groups”, and it helps stop me from engaging in such arguments with people I don’t know.

I don’t have to think about how my 5-year old rubbed his finger under my eye tonight and told me, “You have black lines.” Or how my 2-year-old sighed deeply when I was asking him something and responded, “I don’t care.” As though he’s 15.

I don’t have think about Agent Orange, and how anxious I feel about the upcoming election. About how hard I will cry if he gets another four years. About the damage he leaves in his wake, every single day.

I don’t have to think about how 2020 just won’t quit.

I don’t have to think about how cities around the world, including mine, are being ravaged by opportunists and those opportunists are now synonymous with protestors.

I don’t have to think about how unfair, racist and unjust the country is in which we live. Or the reality that every single human doesn’t have the same basic human rights.

I don’t have to think about how, even though I believe in science and doctors, and I follow the mandates, I don’t know what the end-game is with COVID-19. And how even though I believe in science and doctors, and I follow the mandates, I find myself questioning everything anyway.

I don’t have to think about moving from Chicago, to somewhere less expensive, now that our jobs can theoretically be done from anywhere and the city that we love so much is slowly, but surely, shrinking to a smaller, less familiar version of itself.

So. Instead of thinking about all of these things, or even just one of them…I’ll be here, folding laundry.