just one year of love

By Krystal Olsen

It has been one year. Three hundred and sixty-five days. One year of the lockdown that was supposed to just be two weeks but lasted the entirety of my twenty-fifh year. It lasted this long for me, at least. I am one of the few people in this country who actually stayed home to stop the spread. Maybe it just feels like I am one of the few because I saw so many people on social media continuing to live normal lives. While all of my other friends have been lackadaisical, I have been still. In 2016, I was diagnosed with celiac disease, which is an autoimmune disease that doesn’t allow my body to digest gluten. Instead, gluten attacks my body. This I’ve learned to avoid afer years of practice, but during the pandemic, I had to be extra cautious about catching COVID, or worse, giving it to someone I know. During the pandemic, I became a full-time nanny who had to navigate keeping children present during online learning while still trying to remain a sane 20-something. The last thing I wanted to do was put the family I worked for at risk by being irresponsible, but my god has it been so mentally draining to be responsible. While I sat in my room

The person I was looking for all along was me. It was just me.

watching a record amount of television, I also watched people vacation all over the country, vacation out of the country, attend illegal house parties, go to bars packed with people, and even go on dates with strangers unmasked. Most of the year, I got angry. I was annoyed at people for being careless, but I was also jealous. Why did I just waste a year of my twenties while these people selfishly lived on? What did they gain? What did I gain? Was it worth it? I now know that I do not have to live with contributing

to the guilt of hundreds of thousands of deaths. But I look back on my journal entries from March of 2020 and realize I was in a horrible place mentally. Some of my entries discussed feeling trapped in my apartment and having anxiety any time I lef. But most of them had a similar theme—most of them addressed my loneliness. I have been single for four years now. You can imagine how being single for four years can make you feel like something is wrong with you. I wrote in April: I just don’t understand. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I find someone? My biggest takeaway from my first month in isolation was: I will not survive this alone. I was so sure that I needed someone’s help. I wanted a savior to scoop me up and plop me on a cloud away from the nightmares. I survived the year, of course, but ultimately, the person I was looking for all along was me. It was just me. But it was a different version of me: a new and improved me. *** I spent all of March and April of 2020 in my apartment. I wasn’t seeing much of anyone, yet I was battling the crowded spaces of my mind. I could no longer keep busy with trivial plans, work, or activities. The best I could do was the occasional Zoom call, which ofen lef me feeling worse as I hit the Leave Meeting button. I reconnected with old friends over hour-long Facetime calls, but once those people began defrosting their normal lives, mine stayed frozen. New York was hit hard at the beginning of the pandemic, but once spring was ending, they saw some light while California remained dark. I spent the better part of my year watching New York, the place I called home for the first 18 years of my life, outshine Los Angeles, the place I hope to call home for the rest of my life. I’m having trouble forgiving my friends who acted irresponsibly during the pandemic. In my isolation, I learned how to be okay with my loneliness; as a result, I no longer sacrifice my beliefs and boundaries to spend time with people

who don’t align with me just to stay busy, just to fill whatever hole I feel inside me. I decided I would rather continue my existence as a loner than feel the need to live up to others’ superficial expectations. This was a hard feat to come by. I went to Arizona State University and was in a sorority while I worked in the bar industry. I was constantly surrounded by people. I was also surrounded by judgement and standards that I felt pressured to meet. For years, I didn’t feel good enough. At lightspeed, harsh thoughts ran through my mind: Am I skinny enough? Am I pretty enough? Do these people like me? Can I fit in? Why did I say that? They must think I’m stupid. One of the few benefits to being on social media during this time was discovering Therapy TikTok. I watched videos filled with coping tactics and ways of processing grief and trauma. When I moved to Los Angeles in the fall of 2019, my mother had just passed away. I immersed myself into a new city and a different world while still trying to adjust to a life without my biggest supporter. I’d joke and tell people I was an orphan, as my dad isn’t in my life, but I truly felt abandoned. Losing your mother at a young age is hard enough, but combine that with no other parental figures, plus a global pandemic, and you will find a recipe for complete isolation. Therapy TikTok taught me that my not feeling good enough and not feeling whole comes from my not receiving sufficient praise or unconditional love as a child. (Ironically, if you asked my siblings, they would argue I received all the praise.) I’ve reflected on how even I, the golden child who seemingly got all the attention, did not ever feel complete love and support from both my parents. I don’t blame them; I know they tried their best. That’s the thing with broken families—they are run by broken adults who do not love themselves enough to function at their full potential. It’s the main reason I work so hard on myself: because I hope one day I will be able to break that generational

curse of parents who aren’t fully committed to raising children properly. I never want my children to have to question their worth because of my inadequacies. So I learned why I am the way that I am. I learned about children who come from unhealthy backgrounds. I understood why my siblings and I were more likely to adopt alcoholism and addiction. I processed that some of the “normal” things that occurred in my childhood were indeed not normal. I continued to analyze past relationships, and I recognized that they were all toxic because I didn’t know any different. I then moved on to coping and fully processing my trauma and triggers. Why was I quick to become defensive in an argument? Was it because I was raised by a narcissist who constantly manipulated situations to make me think I was always wrong? Was it because I felt the need to prove myself constantly for validation? Was it a result of being gaslighted by the ones I loved? I never learned redemption; I thought the mistakes I had made would define me for life. Naturally, I thought I was a bad person, which made me believe I didn’t deserve anything good. I developed patterns of selfsabotage and self-loathing. I’d never been taught that it was okay to make mistakes and move forward. These revelations I had would have never been possible during a normal, busy life. I ignored my trauma for years by working multiple jobs, going to school, and keeping my social calendar packed to the brim. The days I did try to unwind and relax, all these thoughts would flood my mind. I would lie in bed depressed, not understanding what was happening to me, then try again the next day to avoid those thoughts. So, while this past year was obviously the most difficult for everyone to persevere

I forgave my parents. I missed my parents. I recognized that the love I have for them, despite their flaws, doesn’t go anywhere. It sits with me.

through, I have much to be thankful for as well. For the first time in my life, I was able to watch my own story through the television in my brain and forgive myself. I forgave others, too. I forgave my parents. I missed my parents. I recognized that the love I have for them, despite their flaws, doesn’t go anywhere. It sits with me. The reason I was constantly craving someone to love was because I had so much love to give without realizing I could just give that love to myself. I deserved that love just as much as a partner would deserve my love. I realized I was able to forgive myself for my mistakes and accept that I am better than those who were angry with me thought I was. I could barely fathom that it was possible my father was wrong about me—I truly could amount to something and be successful in my own way. I did not have to live up to the disappointment he bestowed upon me from birth. I could want better for myself and do it. I could survive on my own without parents to guide me or aid me financially. I could move to a new city where I only knew a handful of people and feel content. I spent the past few years of being single consistently trying to find someone to make me better, but now that I have found a better self on my own, one day I will be ready for a normal, healthy, adult relationship. The kind of relationship where you communicate clearly about everything and listen to each other, which I now understand how to do from listening clearly to myself. Last summer, I thought I was ready for this new kind of relationship. I met someone who was everything I’d ever wanted in a partner. I tried to force my healing to be complete so we could be together. I thought if I was all better, then I could be ready for this relationship. But as we know, healing doesn’t work like that. I started to revert to my old patterns of accepting a relationship on someone else’s terms, not my own, of doing things for others but never for myself. Eventually though—afer a painful rejection from this person—I realized my standards for a

partner and for myself are higher than that now. The universe had to break my heart for me to fully grasp this concept, but I’m grateful for the lesson. It was the starting point of a never-ending game. Since I was forced to face my fear of being alone, I realized that even when isolated, I am lucky to not really be alone. I had many people, although virtually, who supported me nonstop. Even online strangers who validated my feelings and contributed to my growth. I learned more this year than any prior, mostly

because of the new things I did: I started having picnics alone in the park (don’t worry, I kept a knife and pepper spray on me). I began reading books again. I (horribly) cut myself curtain bangs. I laughed about it and rocked them. I spoke to my sister more than I have in the last fifeen years. I called my relatives more. I started a 401(k). I had no idea what I was going to do with myself day to day but learned to just accept that. (I know I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.) I stopped comparing myself to others, and I finally understood that social media is never an accurate depiction of someone’s life. I got into skincare. I spent a lot of money on it but finally found a routine that works for me. I accepted my body for all its squishiness, despite being proud of my muscles and hard work for years prior. I slowed down when driving. (I wasn’t in a rush to get anywhere anymore.) I collected a list of all the places I want to visit post-pandemic. I connected with friends online whom I now consider the people closest to me. I started a Clubhouse chatroom on Thursdays, and anyone was welcome to check in to discuss mental health. I moved in with a normal family and understood how a household is supposed to function. I had the love of two little boys who