When I attend masked events in my city, I feel a little more at ease than usual. Even when precautions aren’t “perfect,” I feel safer in a space with people who are willing to be a little bit uncomfortable to protect each other from the spread of illness. The part of my brain that is constantly in cognitive overdrive about the risk of getting sick when I go out gets to be quiet(er) for a short time.
I know this isn’t the case for everyone. I’ve heard folks share that having to wear a mask (especially one that has a good seal around their face and fits closely), can feel claustrophobic. There’s a layer of physical discomfort, and also all of the emotions that lay underneath the discomfort: reminders of early pandemic times when we were living with a lot more uncertainty and fear. When getting sick felt inevitable and deadly – and it was for some. When we lost friends or family members, or saw others disappear when they became chronically ill from long COVID. When being stuck inside meant losing a job or being in close quarters with an abuser who used this isolation against us.
I often wonder what comes up when someone sees me continuing to mask in 2026, when people are still (increasingly, even) getting sick with COVID-19.
The anger and frustration of feeling “abandoned” by people who dropped COVID precautions is close to the surface for me, especially when I’m around people who I expect to share certain values with (community care, advocacy, disability justice, etc.) but who draw the line at wearing an N95 while sick.
I can also empathize with the desire to “move on” as quickly as possible. COVID was traumatic. I often hear people say they could “never go back.” We have all seen a pretty widespread push to “go back to normal,” and it doesn’t surprise me that so many people are eager to leave that period of uncertainty and fear behind.
At the same time, this rapid “return to normal” doesn’t leave much room for the continued impacts of COVID on all of us. The trauma of losing loved ones, livelihoods, and facing isolation and abuse often go unacknowledged in the rush to celebrate a life free from mandatory COVID precautions.
Conversations about the impacts of this trauma are often difficult and painful, especially when we’re personally activated by someone else’s experiences. Even within COVID cautious communities (a very broad term), we may have drastically different ideas from others about what precautions do or should look like. Feelings of abandonment by others may lead us to be even more vigilant and reactive with people who are taking some level of precaution, but precautions that are different from our own.
AND, connection and empathy help us to move out of isolation. We all deserve spaces where we can express the frustration, fear, and pain we have experienced. We deserve to feel heard and understood.
I’d like to offer some questions for reflection that you might do in writing, privately, in conversation with someone you trust, or shared back with us.
- What lasting impacts of COVID do you see on your life today?
- How have you processed the emotions and experiences you had early on in the pandemic?
- How does it feel now, when you hear people talking about COVID (increased rates of illness, long COVID, or in general)?
- Who do you/can you talk about COVID with?
- What fears/questions/experiences do you wish you had support around?
- What makes you feel supported?
How does it feel to reflect on these questions? Reflection is one piece of the puzzle, and often a first step that leaves emotions more open than resolved.