When we purchased our home, Fiance’ had one (ok, there were many, but we’re focusing on just one for the sake of brevity) request…

He wanted signs.

Yes, we are that annoying household of Karens with a smattering of inspirational and entertaining signs sprinkled throughout the house. On one wall in the living room, there sits a cluster of said signage, including one emblazoned with, “YOU GOT THIS.”

The Sharpie-esque script on white canvas, with a random but intentional arrangement of gold dots for good measure, sits at eye level each time I walk to through the adjacent door to let our dog out to do his business. “You got this…” It’s usually easy to tune out because really, who gives a shit about the quality of watching my dog take a leak in the yard? Really, it’s fine.

“You got this…” as I flop into the couch to watch Tiger King on Netflix, wishing I had a fraction of Joe Exotic’s confidence and chutzpah.

“You got this…” when I serve up a shitty dinner of hamburgers to my cooped up family of 6, no side dishes, with half buns and half bread.

“You got this…” chasing down the dog, taking himself on a walk up the road to see his pals at the other end of the neighborhood.

Today, the getting started to crack. I began questioning my ability to get this, whatever the fuck this is.

The cadence of “You got this…” fades as I fail miserably to concentrate on work, as another panic attack brews and boils over, as my chest twists and tightens with every ring of the Outlook ding indicating another email arrived, as my thoughts wander down the path of the weeks of quarantine turning into months, as the economy crashes, as supplies dwindle, as my confidence in whether my constant anxious presence in my own home is a boon or bane.

I took a nap. I ate. I got some sun, drank coffee, and by sheer force and some goddamned anger that bubbled up from my feet somewhere, I buckled down, got to work and finished up the day as best I could.

But fuck, y’all.

I need to hear from some other anxious souls because I was grossly, immensely unprepared for just how much I don’t have this. My world changed very little amidst the closings and relocations and such, and I’m grateful for my privileged position of little worry in the roof-over-my-head department. That is not lost on me. My job affords me flexibility to work from home, my family’s health remains good, and I have a few dollars in the bank. And yet, despite the safety of my home base, my feet still feel as if they hang off the edge of the cliff to the point of emotional vertigo. Does that even make sense? It’s maddening and the spiral so strong, I’m helpless to stop it.

My goal over the coming weeks is simple, but immense. Be strong enough to look my family in the eyes, and myself in the mirror, say “We got this”, and believe it.