Truth is like a prism. Depending on how you look at it, you might see nothing or a rainbow. It can blind you or simply distort your vision. Sometimes you have to look away.

One day during a miserable time in my life, I was wandering around a neighborhood store when I saw a small, gray stone with the word Truth painted on it. I picked it up. The oval fit perfectly in my palm, and something shifted in me. I realized I’d been lying to myself, lying to those closest to me, just to get through each day.

I bought it and carried the stone in my pocket like a talisman, touching it when I recognized a lie in any form, from the ones I told myself to the ones others told me.

It gave me the power to let go of the fictional story I’d created to protect myself and to see through the gaslighting. But the most challenging part was facing the truth within the truth: It was easy to blame everyone else for my unhappiness, but I was also at fault. I had significant changes to make it myself, and if I wanted to be truly happy (I did), I had to leave (I did that, too). The truth was, I had no one to blame but myself for either choice.

Fast forward to the past year, where every day is an exercise in telling truth from fiction, and that becomes harder and harder the longer we live in this odd pandemic half-life. There has been a lot of reality lately. Facing the truth of the world as it is, as it’s been for the past year, is exhausting.

We ask each other, “How are you?” and we say, “Fine.” But really, so many of us are not fine. We are far, far, far from fine.

The New York Times recently opened a ‘Primal Scream’ hotline where it encouraged mothers to call in and tell their stories of pandemic frustration and grief and scream if they were so moved to do so. Many responded with their stories of anxiety and guilt, and yes, more than a few actual screams. I am all of these women at various points of my life nearly every day.

One of the Mom-oriented Facebook groups I belong to has a ‘Shouty Thursday’ where members are encouraged to COMMENT IN ALL CAPS and express their frustration with husbands, kids, families, the dog, whatever is on their minds. It's a cathartic and hilarious place for brutal, beautiful truths: We love our families, and we are sick of them. We love our homes, and we can't wait to go far, far, far away. We are grateful for our lives and privilege and want to flee to ANYWHERE nobody knocks on the locked bathroom door to inform us about hunger or boredom or an annoying sibling. It’s our own primal scream and I’m there for it all.

The NYT and my Lincoln Square Mamas show me that I am not alone.

The truth is that life is hard. Ironically, it's toughest if you're living in reality: Things are getting better, but we are a long way from 'normal.' People have lost friends and family members, businesses, and jobs. Our kids have missed a year of school and suffer from anxiety and depression. We worry about our parents, our neighbors, our essential workers and suffer from isolation and loneliness, even when we are rarely alone.

I heard an interview recently with a young cancer survivor who spoke of fighting the disease for so long that she had to learn how to simply live again when it was over.

We will mourn and heal and get vaccinated, and slowly, we will emerge from the cocoon of this pandemic. Not as butterflies, probably, but certainly there will be transformation. Whatever your version of metamorphosis, change is inevitable.

And what about truth?

Recently, after a particularly tough day, I found the stone in my jewelry box. I remembered how much I relied on it to guide me through the haze of my unhappiness by embracing the truths of my life then, even the difficult ones. It’s easy to retreat into whatever story we need to tell ourselves, true or not, just to survive, as I did so many years ago.

These days I balance on the edge of truth. I tell my kids it will be OK, and I want that to be true more than anything. I tell myself each morning that I'm doing my best (pause and take a breath), and I vow to be patient with myself and others (exhale, now take another breath). My family is making summer travel plans, and while I try to share in their enthusiasm, I'm not confident it will be safe even by then. I’m flooded with guilt and sadness but it’s the reality for us.

Yet somehow, I find myself optimistically browsing a swimwear catalog just this weekend. And when someone asks me, “How are you?” I will answer, “Fine,” because that’s the truth.

Or hopefully, it will be soon.

This essay also appeared in the February 2021 issue of Fete Lifestyle Magazine.