With coronavirus in full swing, a lockdown in full effect, and a little one due any day, people keep asking me how I’m feeling.

This is a good question to be asking yourself right now. Identifying your feelings is a good way to loosen their grip and take away some of their power. When you have no name for what you’re feeling, it’s easy to get overwhelmed, to feel confused and out of control, powerless and distraught.

With everything so up in the air and so much happening all at once, naming what you’re feeling has gotten a little harder of late, and that’s a dangerous place to be.

One thing I thought I could do to help would be to list out a few of the things I’ve been feeling. You can see how many happen to be on your own list, and maybe we can both walk away feeling a bit less confused and a bit more in control.

First off, I’m scared. Scared of dying. Scared of losing a loved one. Scared because it’s so hard to know where the real danger lies.

I’m anxious. Anxious about touching shopping carts, door knobs and my face. Anxious about going outside. Anxious about not washing my hands often or thoroughly enough. Anxious about somehow getting through the birth of my first child. Anxious to once again see and hold and cherish the ones I love. Anxious for this to be over.

I’m angry as hell. Angry at fate. Angry that this had to happen now. Angry that I can’t do more to stop it or change it or make it go any other way than the way it’s going.

I’m frustrated that I can’t do more to fight this thing head on, that I’m sitting on the sidelines while others are in the trenches.

I’m sad that so many are being forced to the frontlines, even though that’s not really what they signed up for and never imagined that’s what they would be doing.

I’m mad that family and friends and millions of others have lost jobs they did not deserve to lose. I’m mad that so many have lost loved ones they did not deserve to lose. I’m mad that my mom won’t be there to see my newborn child in the flesh. That is a moment she did not deserve to lose.

I’m worried. Worried about my immunocompromised sister out west. Worried about my mom who works at a hospice every day and who is not nearly as young as she looks. Worried about my wife who could give birth any day. Worried about the healthcare workers, the grocery store clerks, the truck drivers, and everyone else who is working tirelessly to provide essential services. Worried about their families, who must be worried sick. Worried about those who can’t make rent, those who are hungry, those who have no place to call home. Worried about every other new mom who has to go through this alone, or at least, with a whole lot less support than she otherwise would have had. Worried about those who are suffering alone, those who are grieving alone, those who must feel so unbearably alone.

I’m glad I’ve dodged the bullets so far. I’m guilt-ridden for having dodged them.

I’m exhausted, despite not doing much. I’m overwhelmed, despite everything being cancelled. I’m unsure, because the spectrum of possible futures still seems so wide and so much remains to be seen.

I’m grateful. Grateful to have a job. Grateful to be able to work from home. Grateful that I have a strong woman by my side and a cute dog at my feet. Grateful for a fridge full of food, for a bank account with enough money for rent, for running water to wash my hands. Grateful that my family and my friends are still in good health. Grateful to every soul who has put the collective needs of the many above their own immediate individual safety. And yet I know gratitude is not enough.

I’m heartbroken because every day I read another story of loss, I see more photos of bruised and tired faces, I hear more cries for help. Heartbroken because the devastating effects of COVID-19 have been so extremely uneven and terribly unfair. Heartbroken because we’ve all been affected in small ways and large, in ways we could have never expected and had no choice in.

I feel so incredibly lucky, yet unlucky at the same time. So blessed, yet cursed. So full of hope, yet teetering on the edge of despair.

I’m grieving over everything that’s been lost. Moments we’ll never get back. Futures we’ll never know. Parts of who we were, who we are and who we planned to be.

Throw in some brief moments of joy and laughter, six episodes of Tiger King, and a few fleeting bits of normalcy, and you have what can be called nothing other than a mixed bag.

Yet, the one thing I don’t feel is confused. There’s a lot going on. It’s hard to make sense of it all, but it’s not impossible. Take one feeling at a time. Try to name it. Try to feel it. Then, try to leave it be.

I’m sure you likely feel a lot like me. And, at the same time, not like me at all. I have spent days trying to imagine what you must be going through, yet I can’t possibly imagine what you must be going through.

I hope this list helped. I’ve been trying to write this for the past two weeks. I’ve been trying to make sense of how I’ve been feeling for the past two weeks. It’s helped me.

Because, right now, I can honestly say that I feel like a captain of a ship in the middle of a storm. I’m sure it will pass — I’m just not sure how much damage it will do before it does. I’m battening down the hatches, preparing for the worst, but know that much of my fate is in the storm’s hands now.

With my eyes on the horizon and my hands on the helm, I’m steering for clear skies, hoping for better days, wishing the fucking timing was better.

Steele