Marking Time In Photos
Four years ago today, despite an inner sense of despair, I snapped a photo of myself smiling.
The photo above is on March 17, 2020 — St. Patrick’s Day.
Four days before that, on Friday, March 13, 2020, the COVID-19 lockdown took effect.
At that time, I was still recovering from major surgery. I’d had a bowel resection on February 27th and was looking forward to my post-surgical appointment (it would end up being a quick phone check-in).
On the morning of St. Patrick’s Day, I took a much-needed walk around the block to help me rebuild my stamina, to work off the lingering effects of anesthesia, and to just get myself out of my own damn head.
The photo above is a selfie, just after I’d gone for that walk. I’d thrown on some beads and pulled on a goofy skirt, then propped my phone on my fireplace mantel and set the automatic timer. Then, I pressed the button and climbed up on a chair so the skirt was fully visible in the morning sun. I was determined to smile despite the despair I felt.
When I’m overwhelmed, my instinct is to document the feeling
(either by writing or taking a photo)
so I can look back someday in the future from an evolved, healed place
and know that I survived.
What does this make me? A documentarian? A biographer? A journalist?
A masochist?
I’ve always been this way, scribbling in my journals and (when phones came around) snapping selfies documenting sorrowful and steady times. Maybe it’s twisted to record the struggles, but to my mind, it’s a survival technique, a coping approach, and a way to look forward — toward better times.
On St. Patrick’s Day 2020, I knew in my heart (as so many of us did) that something seismic was happening…that our lives were changing and likely at risk.
My inner cheerleader came out that day, rooting for something. Was it survival? Perseverance? Optimism? Courage? All I know is that I desperately wanted to feel safe and secure about the future, especially as I recovered from that major operation, but I didn’t feel that way inside at all.
And so, on that day, I swept my sweaty hair into a ponytail and raised my arms in a way that suggested what else can I do right now but try to smile?
At the time, I was writing a book about a woman who, like me, had ancestors who’d come to America from Ireland, so I was immersed in the details of the Great Famine. I reminded myself that many people had been through hard times before — and that struggle is always a part of the human condition.
After I stepped off the chair, I looked at the photo of myself smiling, then cried. I was so, SO fucking tired and scared.
I’d spent so much time and energy in the years leading up to St. Patrick’s Day 2020 faking it ‘til I made it. I’d become a single mom in November 2017, lost a sibling in January 2018, then almost lost another loved one a month later. And then, just as my nervous system began leveling out, my large intestine ruptured in December 2019, throwing me into medical crisis.
I was so very fortunate, though. I had insurance, savings, and access to medical and mental health resources. Most important, I had (and continue to turn to) a solid and loving support system.
Looking back, I realize now that the smile on my face on St. Patrick’s Day 2020 was not me faking it til I made it; it was a clear and present signal to my future self — evidence that, no matter the challenge, I refuse to give up hope — even (and especially) when I’m not clear about the path ahead.
When I look at photos of myself today, I can see that I’ve aged significantly. In the last four years, I’ve lost more loved ones and acquired Long Covid. I’ve also watched racism and insurrection and climate change and wars shredding the beautiful fabric that is this one and only life we have.
And yet, I refuse — REFUSE — to give up hope. I will never, ever give it up. The worse things get, the stronger my urge is to hold on to hope. Is that how hope is supposed to work? Is that how faith works?
On some days, the only thing I can do to keep my hope alive is to write from my heart. These days, writing is often the only thing I feel I can offer in this upside-down world.
On my toughest days, I hope that’s enough.
Christine Wolf is a memoir coach and the author of Politics, Partnerships, & Power: The Lives of Ralph E. and Marguerite Stitt Church. She’s the founder of Writers’ Haven, a cooperative workspace for women writers near Chicago.
This is a beautiful piece. Thanks for sharing
Adorable St. Pat's outfit! What a time to have surgery and what a horrible time in general. Our beloved Celtic Knot restaurant basically was shut down just days before their biggest money-making day of the year and they were stuck with probably hundreds of pound of corned beef, cabbage, and potatoes. Somehow they survived and it was great the following three years, but now I think it's relocating. Happy St. Pat's Day!