Quarantine Thoughts from A (High Risk/Chronically Ill) Woman Living Alone

Today started out like most other days. I woke up, started a pot of coffee, took my two dogs, Teddy and Benji, out for a walk and then made the very long 8ft commute from my living room to my guest bedroom to start (tele)working. A few Zoom calls later, a familiar bing came from the news app on my iPhone. I needed a fresh cup of coffee anyway, so as I stood up to walk to the kitchen, I picked up the phone to check, wondering what depressing and/or highly politically tinged headline would show up on my screen. To my surprise, the words that lit up had nothing to do with Trump, stimulus payments, or the CDC. The headline didn't remind me of the incredible sacrifices our medical professionals are making right now or the growing case numbers/death rates. 

Instead, a banner that read "The Washington Post: A Woman Living Alone" stopped me in my tracks.

I was intrigued and clicked to read more. The text that followed was a column that featured seven women living alone during the coronavirus pandemic. Being a single, 28 year old woman, currently living alone during the coronavirus pandemic, I found myself immersed in the stories of women experiencing many of the same emotions I've battled with over the last month and a half.

The column started by explaining that the last time the U.S. faced something like coronavirus — the 1918 flu pandemic — the majority of women were married by age 21 and went straight from living with their parents, to with their husbands. A few spent time in boardinghouses with other women, but they never lived alone. Today, 23.5 million American women live alone. Most, however, are far from lonely. Women without partners or roommates "have triumphed by developing strong social networks,” and they "invest in their hobbies and maintain friendships; building connections with other people more effectively than men." A fact I wholeheartedly agreed with as I reflected on my own life.

Post COVID-19, the networks these women have built for themselves appear very different. The author compares it to a cold water bath that "removes almost all the advantages of living alone and amplifies all the hard parts." As I read the stories of these women, I found many similarities between my own life and theirs.


I could sympathize with the 24 year old whose depression had her falling asleep on her couch on a regular basis. I think I spend the entire first week of quarantine sleeping on the couch, so I could sleep with my dogs and not an empty bed.

I saw myself in the 30 something who didn't always enjoy the zoom calls when her friends, because nearly all of them were in relationships or had families, and their significant others/kids often came on and off the screen. "At my age, everybody is coupled up, like Noah’s Ark,” she says. “Here we are at the end of the world, and I am in my apartment for one."

I won't lie and say I don't also relate to the woman who misses hooking up with her "25-year-old surf-instructor-turned-love-interest." Not because I have (ever) had one of those, but I mean... I am a single women in her late 20s and dating isn't exactly easy is kind of impossible when I'm not allowed to leave my apartment and physical touch is basically forbidden.

Like the 61-year-old lawyer that is working from home for 10-12 hours a day, I'm extremely grateful to have a job through this challenging time. I work for an economic development office and we are working in overdrive in our efforts to support local businesses being impacted by closures. Being busy at work keeps me more focused on what I can do to help others, and less on what I can't control about my own situation.

As I read these stories, I found myself having to come to terms with a lot of feelings I have been trying very hard to not feel over the last month. Fear, anger, sadness, jealousy, and more than anything, loneliness. It also forced me to reflect on how I came to be in the position that I am... living alone and also in strict self-isolation during this very uncertain time.

Just shy of two years ago, I made the decision to live independently and signed a lease on my very own apartment. It was both my first time living alone, and my first time living away from family. 

A little back story if you're new to my blog... I have cystic fibrosis, a genetic condition that causes the mucus in my lungs to be thick and sticky. This leads to clogged airways and recurring lung infections. Over time, these infections cause irreversible scar tissue and a progressive decline in overall lung function and capacity. The disease also affects the pancreas, and prohibits my body from properly digesting food, along with with a whole kitchen sink full of other complications from time to time.  There is no cure for CF and it takes an average of 15-20 medications per day to manage. When I was born, the life expectancy was around 20 years old. It has increased substantially since to early/mid 40s now and is still rising! But unfortunately, the disease has already taken a toll on my body over the years. I've been hospitalized more than 30 times in the last 13 years, and my daily lung function right now, at age 28, is just 31% of expected. I also have asthma, and cystic-fibrosis related diabetes (because of pancreatic scarring/damage)

Throughout college, my health was very unstable.  I was constantly in and out of the hospital. My treatment regimen was overwhelming and I could barely keep up with it and my classes, much less a steady job that would allow me to afford an apartment, or the ability to keep up with household responsibilities.  I never felt comfortable with the idea of living in a dorm or even off campus housing with roommates. Instead, I choose to live at home with my mom and brothers, and commuted to a local university. This continued after I graduated. I was working full time, but I still felt so "behind" my peers. There's a lot of things about living with a chronic illness that make you feel abnormal, but one of the hardest for me personally was the lack of independence. I was 23 years old and had never left home. 

A few years later, my health started to stabilize because of some revolutionary new medications (more on that, here). These new meds treated the underlying cause of my cystic fibrosis and significantly changed my life. I went from being hospitalized 3-5 times a year, to once every 18 months or so. I had an entirely new lease on life. My mom and brother who I was living with at the time were relocating to Portland, OR and I had to make a decision between moving with them, or trying to make it work here on my own in Virginia. Because of how my much health had improved and how stable I was, I was finally at a point that I felt like I could do it! I could move out on my own and start the next chapter of my life, in my very own space. This was a huge step and something I had dreamed about for nearly a decade. I spend months searching for the perfect apartment, carefully picked out furniture and began hunting for household goods and decor at the local thrift stores. I made a digital room diagram and spend weeks virtually arranging my furniture until it was juuuuuuuust right. I signed my lease in May 2018 and bribed a few friends with pizza and beer to help me moved in a few weeks later. 

What I didn't anticipated at that time, of course, was a global pandemic that would quickly turn one of my greatest personal achievements into the most lonely situation I have ever experienced.

Ever since I was born, I've been fighting for my life, but I've also been fighting for the chance to experience the same milestones in life as everyone else. One of the many things that having a chronic illness can teach you is that there's a difference between just being alive, and living a life that makes you feel alive. A life filled with moments that let you know that despite everything, you really are okay, sometimes even more than okay. Moments that make up for all the frustrating, upsetting and scary experiences that come with being sick. Two years ago, moving into my own apartment was one of those moments. It was a milestone in my life, and I felt proud. I felt empowered. I felt normal.

Two years and one novel coronavirus later, and it's still just me inside my prized little apartment. No family, no roommates, no significant other and no kids. I have two dogs, but otherwise it's just me, waiting for the world outside these four walls to stop basically going to hell in a hand-basket, so ironically enough, I can leave my prized little apartment, and go back to living the life I have fought so hard to build. It doesn't feel like an accomplishment anymore and it sure as hell doesn't feel normal. 

Having two chronic respiratory conditions, and diabetes, I am taking the coronavirus pandemic very seriously. I am part of the high risk population. I don't have the luxury of doubting whether or not this virus really is that bad or wondering if it's "just like the flu." If I were to contract COVID-19, the chances of me surviving are slim to none. End of story. 

I made the decision very early to completely self-isolate in my apartment. My boss approved me to work remotely and I am doing all of my shopping through delivery services or through friends. I take my dogs out for walks, but otherwise I haven't gone out in public in over 5 weeks. No stores, no restaurants, no bars, no entertainment, nothing. No going out also means no one comes in because until this virus is better contained in the community, I don't know if someone visiting may already have the virus but are symptomless. My closest family is 4 hours away, and the only friends that have stopped by to drop off items have been very brief and stayed outside my apartment door.

It's been 35 days since I touched another human being. 

35 days since I walked into any kind of building and said good morning to another person. 35 days since I've heard a cashier say "have a nice day" as I checked out of a store. 35 days of being feeling helpless and so vulnerable that I can't even get in my car, drive to Harris Teeter and buy a gallon of milk for my coffee. 35 days of virtual conversations. 35 days of living alone, and 35 days of feeling very lonely.

I love my dogs dearly and I would definitely have lost my mind by now if not been for their company and snuggles. But there's a difference between getting puppy kisses and getting a hug from an actual person.

Most days, I try not to think about how lonely this situation is, probably cause I don't even know what to think about it. I am physically alone, and I am lonely, but I also feel very loved and supported. I can talk to many friends and family on the phone or online. I do video conferences with my colleagues daily. And in a weird way, I feel like my social life has actually been busier this last month because so many people are trying to connect right now. There was one night that I had three virtual social events to attend. I literally had to leave one zoom happy hour, to sign into another! 

So the emotional support is definitely not lacking. Nor is the logistical support. I've had friends help in countless ways — getting groceries, bringing me paints/tools/supplies so I can paint my apartment, taking my dog to vet, sending me gift certificates for a laundry service so I didn't have to go to my apartment complex's communal laundry room — you name it, people have offered and I am so thankful. 

But groceries and freshly folded clothes can't compare to the joy of sitting across the table from your coworkers at lunch, laughing as you both recap your weekend adventures. It can't compare to the energy you feel when you're out for the night dancing with your girlfriends, or even with the cute guy at the bar that just bought you all a round of drinks. It can't compare to connection you make as you shake hands with a business contact after a really successful meeting. It can't compare to the quiet comfort of watching a movie on the couch with a family member. It can't compare to the excitement and anxiety you feel about a first date, wondering if you'll feel that spark or if you'll be back on Hinge.. swiping mindlessly a few days later (yes, I said Hinge. It's 2020 ya'll, where else am I supposed to meet the love of my life... the produce aisle at the grocery store? 😏).  And it most definitely can't compare to the warmth of a hug.... from literally anyone.. that doesn't have four legs and whose favorite words are "outside" and "cookie" (aka dog treats). 

At this point, per usual, I think I've rambled for about 14 paragraphs too long, so I'll try to wrap it up. 

Today is day 35 of this woman living alone. I take solace in the fact that I am healthy, safe and employed. I know that in the grand scheme of things, I am very fortunate. There are hundreds of thousands of people around the world dealing with so much more than I am as a result of coronavirus and I don't write this to say that my experience trumps anyone else. Far from it. But it is my experience and it has be unlike anything I've ever felt before.

Most days, I think I do a pretty good job of focusing on the positive. But some days, the truth creeps in. This is hard. And it hurts. Living with a chronic illness, I'm not a stranger to pain. Both physical and emotional. But this? This is a different kind of pain. This is a deep, mind-numbing ache in the pit of my stomach. It's an overwhelmingly dark cloud that I have no control over and I have literally no. idea. when it will end. It's a paralyzing anxiety that I have to actively force myself to not focus on it.

Although I feel connected and so very loved in nontraditional ways, I also feel trapped and isolated, and I miss people. 

I am a textbook extrovert, and one of my love languages is physical touch, so this is brutal, y'all. I miss my independence. I miss going to my office and smiling at the security guard as I walk inside. I miss being able to waste time in a thrift store, searching that yet another dress that I don't need but will definitely buy because it's only $3. I miss volunteering with the Junior League of Norfolk-Virginia Beach. And although I was a big fan of grocery delivery before this even started, I do miss being allowed to go to the grocery store. And I most definitely miss the cashiers at Target and TJMaxx that kindly ask if I "found everything I was looking for", knowing full well I was definitely not looking for most of the items I'm about to purchase... 😂

As much as I don't want to admit it, I think this is only just the beginning. It's very possible that I will be alone for quite a while. The news this week has focused on how going back to normal for our society will probably happen in stages. A little here, a little there. But only for the people who are healthy and could fight off lingering incidences of coronavirus. Because of my health, I could be one of the last people who is able to reintegrate into society. Best case, it might be safe for me to venture back out into the world, in limited and controlled/cautious amounts, in 2-3 months. Worst case? God help me...  let's just say there's only so much of my inner Joanna Gaines I can channel into decorating this apartment that I love so much and I will run out of #pandemicprojects eventually. 

All this to say, at the end of the day, I don't regret my choice to live alone. It was, is and will always be one of the best decisions I ever made for myself. But I'll be damned if this virus isn't determined to make me think otherwise, haha! Seriously though, I know that the frustration and isolation I feel right now is temporary. And more importantly, (I apologize in advance for how cheesy this is going to sounds) I know that while I am physically alone in this apartment right now, we are all in this together. The Washington Post column reminded me that I am not even an alone in my living situation. An outlier, maybe. But not alone. We are all trying to figure this out, in our own way, one day at a time.

Until next time friends, stay safe, stay well, and for the love of all that is holy, please stay home so that I can leave mine, sometime, idk, this year? 😐