Starting with my shift tomorrow, I’ll come home from work and I’ll strip naked and put everything straight into the washing machine on sanitize mode. I’ll use a Clorox wipe to clean anything I touched in the process. I’ll then take the towel that my husband has left for me and use it to walk to my master bedroom covered up. In there, a room that nobody else is allowed to enter after today, I’ll shower on hot. After my shower I’ll sanitize everything I touched again, then hand sanitize and get dressed.

I’ll have been using the same single disposable face mask for a minimum of an entire shift and I can’t be sure that the moisture from my breath didn’t render the mask ineffective. So I must treat myself as though I have it and am contagious.

I’ll get to talk to my kids via phone, but I won’t get to touch anyone I love. It’s the only way I can protect them. I’ll probably have to assure Evan for the millionth time, that mommy will stay safe. I’ll have to pry to get Cody to talk about his feelings. I’ll worry constantly that Tyler will act out his feelings, he internalized so much! And Brenna, she’s lucky that she’s too little to understand what’s going on. When that’s done, I’ll give the kids air hugs and wish them goodnight. I know their safe and loved where they’re going!

This will be my life, every day. Even my days off (until those are no more) because I could be contagious before showing symptoms. So until this thing is gone, my reality will look a lot different. I’ll probably hug my co-workers because they are just as dirty as me, but at a time of heaviness, I won’t be able to receive the human touch of love from the people who I love the most. For weeks, for months, who knows- that part is in the hands of the American public.

So my ask of you is this, as you sit at home with your children on your laps snuggled up watching a movie- please end this thing quickly by not going out unless absolutely necessary. My arms stay empty every day that you don’t. I go to bed alone every day that community spread is still a thing. Stay home. Hug your children, sleep with your spouse, sip wine from a long-stemmed glass and give thanks for the things that you can still do that some of us can’t. I’m doing my part.

Please do yours.