A couple weeks into quarantine, when we still had the emotional bandwidth to joke about it, I recall seeing someone’s husband enjoying his new life in sweatpants, vowing never to wear “hard pants” (jeans) again.

Approaching my fifth month sans hard pants, I’ve been trying to reflect on what I’m going to
take with me from this chapter.

• Will I ever wear jeans again?
• How many more holes can I possibly poke into my ears?
• Will the existential dread that reared its head in March ever go away?
• Will I ever feel safe in public without a mask on?
• What’s the point of having my nose pierced if nobody can see it?

When the social constraint of hard pants left, so did my ability to really check in with myself. I have a million thoughts in my brain, but once I actually sit down and try to work through them, I can’t even name one. I know I’m not alone in this which is taking the pressure off attempting to figure that out, but that doesn’t make it any less scary. I’ve always been the person to remind others to take time to themselves, to allow space for whatever emotions they’re feeling, to move their bodies and breathe, and I used to be a good model of that for others.

Now, instead of spending my first two hours awake each day going for a run, stretching, meditating and reading, I sleep in (even though I fall asleep before 10 every night), scroll on Tik Tok for an hour until my eyes start to hurt, eat whatever baked good is on the counter and start my internship.

I’m not alone in feeling like I’ve lost myself a little bit. I’ve worked so hard these past 3 years to establish a routine and good habits, prioritize my mental health and be a good, transparent example. I’ll be honest and say I feel a little bit like I’ve failed myself these past four months.

But then the part of my brain that encourages others says to me, “You’re alive in a pandemic, that’s your only job. Stay alive, and keep others alive by being responsible. That’s literally it.” That gives me a new perspective for a few minutes, and then my attention span fails me again and I’m back on frog Tik Tok.

So what does a post-hard pants society even look like? Are we all going to finally accept wearing leggings in the workplace? Do we all go to therapy? Does anyone have any ideas? Because for someone who has a lot of opinions and thinks she knows everything, I have absolutely none.