Germany just announced a second full lockdown. For the second time this year, businesses, stores, schools, and daycares have to shut down for a mandatory four weeks.

When the first lockdown happened, our lives stopped completely. My daily routine was usurped by vague apocalyptic fears, and I became unable to think about anything further away than the next few hours.

I’d started the year getting my son settled into a new preschool, hunting for full-time jobs after too many years of freelancing, and generally planning to kick 2020’s ass. …

Until a few years ago, Thanksgiving was my favorite holiday.

As a kid, I spent the weeks of November getting excited for the pumpkin pie my mom would make when the day finally came. Her pie always had a premade Pillsbury crust, and the recipe came from the back of the Libby pumpkin can. I used to eat each piece methodically, slicing into the pumpkin filling with the side of my fork and scraping it off the crust, which I’d leave to eat until the end. …

It’s a strange feeling to have an essay you’ve written be seen by 13,000 people. Especially when the essay you wrote before that was only seen by 34. It’s exciting, yes. And also a little terrifying.

A couple of days before the election, I sat down to write something about living in Germany, experiencing a robust social safety net for the first time in my life, and begrudgingly voting for Biden. This is what came out. And I guess because of the timing (and perhaps an overly dramatic title), it was read by a lot of people. 13,000ish people.

And hey, this is what we want, right? This is what we’re all on here to do — to have a bunch of people see something we’ve written and share it on the internet, so that we can experience the sheer joy of not having our writing put us in the red for the first time ever. Right? …

Like most Americans, I am deep in the throes of election anxiety. Unlike most Americans, I don’t live in the US. But even from over here, across the Atlantic, I know that Biden has to win for the US to survive. I also know that if he does, it’s not going to fix everything. For a lot of people, it probably won’t fix much at all.

Almost exactly two years ago, just days after voting in the 2018 midterm elections, my husband and toddler and I moved from Portland, Oregon, to Berlin. We moved here for a job, like so many families do. My husband works in tech and spent months looking for a job; this is where he found one. The job promised to help with relocation. I was a freelance content writer, and we had an 18 month old. …

Recently, I’ve decided to give up. I’m giving up on searching for something that’s going to make any of this better. Instead of wasting my energy trying to find the right book, or the right method, or the right play setup — that one magical thing that will make it easier to mother my son in the midst of a global pandemic — I’m letting go.

This isn’t a place I’ve gotten to easily. Back in March, I decided, like so many of us, that I’d use this time “wisely”. We potty trained. I attempted to teach my kid the alphabet. I filled our hours with carefully curated activities. …

When I moved from Portland to Berlin two years ago, I brought with me only the books I couldn’t bear to part with. I wavered back and forth on my Harry Potter hardbacks for weeks.

I’d bought the fourth through seventh books the day they were released — usually at midnight and to much fanfare. When the seventh book came out, a friend and I stayed up all night reading it and eating chunks of a gingerbread Hogwarts that I’d won at the bookstore’s release party. On our fifth anniversary, my husband and I went to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter. …

As writers, we all have our go-to themes. Topics from our lived experiences that are both unique enough and universal enough to resonate with readers. For example, I write a lot about mothering. And birth. And loss. A few years ago, I wrote a whole Master’s thesis about them. Now I’m here on Medium, writing about them again.

I write about them to connect with others who may need to read that they’re not alone. I write about them to remind myself that I, too, am not alone.

I write to remind myself that I, too, am not alone.

But can I still write about motherhood when the world is on fire? Literally. The West Coast of the US is burning. Before that, Australia was burning. Riots are raging across the US. There’s a would-be dictator in the most powerful office on the planet. Over a million people have died because of COVID, and the rest of the world is either holed up at home or screaming about not wearing a mask. …

This morning my three year old woke up at 4:23, determined to start his day but also unable to keep his eyes open. In between him trying to turn on all the lights in the apartment and insisting that it was time for breakfast, I coaxed him back into his room and eventually into his bed.

He needed his egg-shaped night light! He needed his water! He needed me to sing the Winne-the-Pooh song!

After fifteen minutes of rubbing his back, I finally heard the change in his breathing that tells me he’s asleep. I pulled my hand back. Sat. Crouched. Stood. Tip-toed to the door. Held my breath. Opened it. Escaped. Closed it. …