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"Mom, can you make me breakfast?"

"Mom, can you do my alphabet puzzle with me, please?"

"Mom, can we go for a walk?"

I am working from home. My kids are home, too. I have no daycare or babysitter for them. I have tight deadlines and impossible goals to meet. I am in a pressure cooker. My boss knows this, but on our daily conference call, my boss rallies us to keep giving our all.

I know I am fortunate. In a time when so many have lost so much, my husband and I have been able to keep our jobs, work from home, keep a roof over our family's head and food on our table. I know I am privileged, believe me — so please don't come for me.

But, that I am privileged doesn't change what I have been experiencing.

Like others, my life changed because of COVID-19. Working at home meant that the line between work and home was blurred. Overnight, eight hour days turned into 12-plus hour days. Weekends off became non-existent, blurring right along with the regular work week. Even scheduled days off were filled with work — catching up on overdue assignments and fielding calls on my cell phone — because now everyone has my cell phone number and they don't know if I am off or not.

Work is consuming me. I meet my kids' perfectly normal requests with exasperation.

“Pour yourself some cereal," I tell my six-year-old in response to his request to be fed. "Go on ABC Mouse and follow your learning path," I tell my three-year-old who is trying to learn his ABCs. "We will walk later," I tell both kids. Only, I never go on that walk. It's always dark and I'm always too tired by the time I stop working for the day. I never finish working, because the work is never done.

I have been low-key (or high-key) neglecting my kids. I "joke" with my friends that my three-year-old is gonna be dumb as rocks. I put the word joke in quotations because deep down I know there is some truth to it. During his most formative years, I have been sending him to play on his tablet, or watch TV, instead of engaging with him. But I have to work. At least he has a roof over his head and a tablet. He won't have these things if I don't have a job.

Not only have I been neglecting my kids, I have been neglecting myself, too. I'm not talking about the chipped toenail polish, my bushy eyebrows or my gray roots that desperately need to be touched up. I'm not even talking about the 20-plus pounds that I have gained over the past six months.

I'm talking about the feeling of having a lump in my throat and a heavy weight on my chest. Rounds of the most comprehensive medical exams came back negative, and yet the lump and heaviness remained.

Eventually, my doctor gently suggested that my symptoms were stress or anxiety related. I didn't even know what that meant. Certainly I understand that stress and anxiety is debilitating for many people, just not me.

I've lived through difficult times and never batted an eye. I don't get stressed or get anxious. Stress and anxiety are antithetical to who I am. Yes, I strategize and mitigate risks — I am an attorney, those traits are ingrained in me. But I don't stress or get anxious. Me? I operate from positions of strength. I trust that the universe is unfolding just as it is supposed to. I am powerful beyond measure. Stress? Anxiety? That couldn't be right.

And so I trudged on. Searching for answers to my sudden health issues, while working 12-plus hour days and weekends, simultaneously trying to care for my two kids and falling asleep to thoughts of all my unfinished work.

I know I am not alone. So many of us have been barely holding on.

My husband having to return to work and my six-year-old starting first grade proved to be my breaking point. The past seven months have been untenable — I did it anyway. It has been untenable for the vast majority of us — we did it anyway. But we can only do but so much, and no more.

I recently requested a leave of absence from work. Again, I am fortunate to be able to do so. The Families First Coronavirus Response Act (FFCRA) makes it possible for me to receive partial salary while on leave for coronavirus related reasons. My six-year-old attending school remotely means that I am eligible. So I will have some money coming in.

Hopefully, I will also have a job when my leave is over. I will cross that bridge when I get there though. Me choosing to stay home is part of the larger discussion about women, who, due to COVID-19, are leaving the workforce in higher proportions than men. But that too will have to be handled at a later date.

For now, I am going to focus on caring for myself and family. For so many of us, this year has been filled with tremendous trauma. We have held it together and forged ahead. But at some point, if we aren't careful, even the strongest amongst us will break.

I hate using the word strong, especially when it relates to Black women. I hate the burdens that we, as Black women have to bear, and the meaningless "strong" badge that we receive in return. But that's what we have been during this time: strong. Stronger than we have ever been before, perhaps. That thought alone is gut wrenching, knowing how strong we have had to be in our pre-COVID lives.

Seven months is far too long to sustain this heavy load. I had to find a way to ease this burden. For me, that meant taking a leave from work and completely removing myself from that environment. For you, it may mean something else. Whatever it means for you, if at all possible, please, do it. And if you know someone who has been struggling, and you are able to help, please reach out to that person.

As for me, the lump in my throat is gone, and the heaviness on my chest has eased. And, after months of putting it off, I finally went and took that walk with my kids.

Alexi Laine

Writing since February 2022 · 2 stories contributed