It has been nearly five years since COVID-19 first gripped British Columbia, yet it somehow feels both recent and distant.
On Jan. 28, 2020, B.C. became the second province in Canada to confirm a case of COVID-19. The first reported infection involved a patient who had recently returned from China. The province later recorded the country's first case of community transmission on March 5.
A public health emergency was declared on March 17. Gatherings of more than 50 people were banned, and bars and nightclubs were ordered to close. Soon after, dine-in restaurants and personal service establishments followed. Eventually, even playgrounds and parks were shut down.
For many, it was a frightening time. Our generation had never experienced anything like it. I had lived through SARS in Toronto in the early 2000s, but this felt different—bigger. The uncertainty loomed large. No one really knew how dangerous the virus was or how it was spreading. Some people were washing their groceries; others resisted rules about wearing masks indoors.
My birthday falls in the first week of April, and after weeks of lockdown, my sister-in-law offered to watch my two young kids so I could take a trip to the store. It felt like a treat—rebellious, even—but I needed groceries. I hadn’t seen another adult in weeks. My husband was out of town for work, and I was running low on fresh food. At the time, taking children to the grocery store risked judgement—or worse, having your photo posted on social media with strangers belittling your choices.
After filling my cart and dousing myself in hand sanitizer, I went home and made a huge, fresh salad. It tasted incredible. What a strange time that was.
I had two young children then, and a year later, another baby. By the time my third was born, lockdowns were still in place, and people remained cautious. Businesses were only beginning to reopen, and playdates were still a thing of the past. Sometimes I wonder if my children missed out. We stayed home for more than a year. Swimming lessons, gymnastics, and other activities were put on hold. Travel was out of the question. Some feared children wouldn’t develop social skills or even learn to talk properly, but I think that concern has been debunked. My six-year-old reads just fine, my nine-year-old is a social butterfly, and my four-year-old is oblivious to the fact a pandemic even happened.
Maybe raising young children during the pandemic wasn’t such a bad thing. There was no pressure to host, to travel, to keep up. It was a slow, expectation-free time. Parenting often comes with relentless pressure, and "mom guilt" is ever-present. But in early 2021, I didn’t have to worry about losing baby weight right away—no one saw me. I didn’t have to entertain guests after giving birth. I didn’t have to scroll through social media and see what other families were doing because, for once, no one was doing anything.
Maybe it’s an odd silver lining, but I’d rather find the good in a difficult time than dwell on the worst.
