How To Fail With Elizabeth Day - SPECIAL EPISODE! How To Fail: Listeners share their Coronavirus stories

Episode Date: April 15, 2020

For this extra-special listener episode, I asked you to get in touch with your stories. And you did not let me down. I received so many responses that when I printed them out they ran to over 100 pages of typed text. I wished I could read every single one of them out, but that would have taken quite a long time, so I did the best I could and picked a selection of the most moving, most eloquent, most reassuring, most funny, most inspiring, most heroic stories you are ever likely to hear. I burst into tears while reading your emails and messages, and I laughed a lot too. I adore you, you wonderful listeners. You are the most exceptional, thoughtful and brave audience.In this special episode, you will hear from NHS doctors and nurses, from teachers, from vets, from struggling parents and from blended families and from those who desperately want to be parents but aren't, from those who have just broken up with lovers and from those in brand new relationships now in lockdown, from those who have tragically said goodbye to loved ones, from people who live with chronic illness and disordered eating, from those whose school and university terms were cut short without notice, from spoon-carvers and home-bakers and trashy-television-watchers. In every story, there will be a shimmering grain of humanity that I hope makes each and every one of us feel more connected.Thank you for honouring me with your stories. Thank you for trusting me with your insights. Thank you for listening and connecting. Thank you for your acts of courage and quiet heroism. And thank you for giving me the chance to make this episode.We will find our feet again. This too shall pass. Sending love to all of you out there, and I’ll see you soon.*If you really can't get enough How To Fail content and are looking for something to read during lockdown, there is a book! How To Fail: Everything I've Ever Learned From Things Going Wrong is out now and available to order here *How To Fail With Elizabeth Day is hosted by Elizabeth Day, produced by Naomi Mantin and recorded, edited and mixed by Chris Sharp. We love hearing from you! To contact us, email [e-mail]* Social Media:Elizabeth Day @elizabday Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Make your nights unforgettable with American Express. Unmissable show coming up? Good news. We've got access to pre-sale tickets so you don't miss it. Meeting with friends before the show? We can book your reservation. And when you get to the main event, skip to the good bit using the card member entrance.

Let's go seize the night. That's the powerful backing of American Express. Visit amex.ca slash yamex. Benefits vary by card, other conditions apply. Hello and welcome to How to Fail with Elizabeth Day, the podcast that celebrates the things that haven't gone right. This is a podcast about learning from our mistakes and understanding that why we fail ultimately makes us stronger. Because learning how to fail in life actually means learning how to succeed better. I'm your host,

author and journalist Elizabeth Day, and every week I'll be asking a new interviewee what they've learned from failure. Hello and welcome to this lockdown listener special of How to Fail. I took one of my state-sanctioned walks the other day. It was mild and I wore sandals and cut off jeans and sepia-tinted sunglasses, and I kept a safe two-metre distance from everyone else, although that was quite difficult because there's no accounting for the unpredictability of joggers, the narrowness of London pavements, and the fact that I have almost zero spatial awareness and can barely parallel park, let alone assess a moving distance of two metres. But I went for a walk nonetheless,

because I have found in this time of lockdown that fresh air is part of what keeps me feeling sane. It's important to connect with the outside world, even when the outside world feels like a scary place. I exchanged smiles with strangers in a way I never normally would, with the older lady sitting on a bench by the bus stop, with the man standing outside the dry cleaners. I was cheered by the sight of a particularly preposterous oversized black poodle. I noticed the blossom on the trees, the blooms as fat as a baby's arm. I got gravel in my sandals and the grit felt good, as if reminding me that, despite the unreality of the last few weeks, there was no escaping the absolute reality of the stone in my shoe.

I walked around Kennington Park near where I live and as I've often found of late I saw things I had never noticed before. It feels as though my senses are especially heightened grasping for every reminder of life carrying on. I came upon a piece of stone rising vertically out of the ground. It had an inscription on it, and as I got closer, I saw that it was a quote from Maya Angelou, inscribed into the surface in elegant sans-serif font. History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but, if faced with courage, need not be lived again. The notice board a few paces away informed me that this sculpture was, in fact, a memorial erected to mark the spot where, on the 15th of October 1940, a £50 bomb fell on a trench air raid shelter during World War II. Over 100 people died, the majority of them women and children.

The youngest victim was a three-month-old baby. I read that, and because tears come very easily nowadays, I welled up thinking of those people who died on the spot I was now standing in. There was no explanation for why they died, no sense of justice or fairness or rightness, no belief I could project onto such a tragedy that would make it worthwhile. It was something that happened which shouldn't have done. It was a cataclysmic failure, not one that could be easily assimilated or explained. cataclysmic failure, not one that could be easily assimilated or explained.

And it made me think of the times we are now living through. The premise of this podcast has always been that in learning how to fail, we actually learn how to succeed better. But of course, this doesn't take into account that there are some failures which lie outside this neat definition, that sometimes horrible things happen to innocent people and there is no reason to it. We are living through such an era, when a global pandemic is stealing the lives of hundreds of thousands of people around the world and there is no rhyme or reason as to why it's happening. around the world, and there is no rhyme or reason as to why it's happening. So what do we do when the normal rules about failure and success no longer apply? Well, I think it's about understanding the difference between acceptance, control, and response. First, control. The majority of us have very little control over the pandemic. Second, acceptance of that fact. Third, understanding that what we can control is our own response.

That is what Maya Angelou was talking about when she said that history cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again. That could be the lesson we learn, the meaning we give the meaninglessness of tragedy. Let us choose to face this with courage. For me, one of the few things I have felt able to do during this strange time is to make podcasts. Many of you have been kind enough to get in touch saying that my specials with Mo Gowdat and Alain de Botton have helped you, but I want you to know that the act of making them and of connecting with you all over the airwaves has helped me too.

It has given my days a profound shape and texture and I want to thank you all so much for that gift. So given that the normal rules around failure and success no longer apply, I thought about doing a different kind of podcast to reflect this new, if temporary, reality. I wanted to hear from you, your stories about lockdown, your experiences of working on the front line, your inspirational quotes, your funny anecdotes, your take on failure. Because it strikes me that although we all wish it were otherwise, one of the benefits of life under lockdown is that we can step out of our ambitious selves, hanging them up like a winter coat, and we can take this time to reflect on what and who we are. It is probably the first time that many of us have

been able to dial the volume down on the demands of the thrusting outside world, to slow and to be left alone with our internal narratives. Sometimes as you're here, those narratives can be critical and guilt-inducing. Sometimes they can be kind and reassuring. But I would urge each of you to listen as much as you can to the story you are telling yourself. Whether it's positive or negative, I promise you, it will be deeply revealing when you uncover it. I started this podcast in the aftermath of a particularly brutal breakup. In the weeks after that breakup, as I licked my wounds and nurtured my bruised and battered heart, I listened to an interview with a spiritual guru, Eckhart Tolle. Tolle said that, as much as

possible, you should try and treat everything that happens to you as an active choice. Of course, no one in their right mind would actively choose to live through a global pandemic, but what if you had actively chosen to have these weeks in lockdown? What if you had actively chosen to work on the front line? What if you had actively chosen that breakup, that toxic friendship, that job redundancy? What then would you choose to learn from the experience you had gained? Because one of the things I have gained is a greater, deeper connection with all of you. So many of you responded to my call for stories that I was overwhelmed and touched. I have tried as best I can to pick out common themes, and I have tried as much as possible

to honour the experiences you shared with me. Thank you for your honesty and your generosity. Thank you for all the lovely things you said about the podcast and the book. But I have to tell you, in truth, the thanks are all mine. So that's enough from me. Although I confess you're only going to hear my voice during this episode, as getting everyone to call in and record their segments would be a logistical nightmare that I'm afraid outstrips my limited technical ability. But here, without further ado,

are your stories. As ever, people had very different takes on what constitutes failure. There was Amy who wrote that, very early into lockdown, I failed to open a tin of chopped tomatoes and instead opened a tin of soup. Tins of soup were like gold dust at the start of lockdown. Opening the wrong tin was devastating. Then there was Rebecca from Denmark who wrote that she almost started crying the other day because of how bad I am at baking and cooking. It made me feel like a huge failure in these corona times where cooking has almost become a cult. Chloe in Paris wrote about having a meltdown after going to the supermarket to stock up on essential items. I'd felt so rushed being outside

and I didn't give myself a chance to think about what I'd been doing. I was convinced I hadn't disinfected everything thoroughly, then my dog had started to run off with the coat I'd been wearing and I hadn't had time to carefully put it away and as a result I somehow convinced myself I'd brought the virus into my home. I felt completely out of control and just broke down on the kitchen floor. In the end Chloe texted her girlfriends who made her realise it was completely normal to feel this way and she says I took great comfort in the fact that I wasn't the only one. There was Jewel, who said that his failure during this lockdown is to get up at a decent time in the morning and do an exercise class. I feel like everyone on social media is doing their isolated Barry's Boot Camp classes,

but I can't bring myself to do one. And Rob, who listed his lockdown failures as to not smoke while working, to avoid trashy TV, love is blind is to blame, and to not walk around the reservoir every day. Sarah, by contrast, was quite grateful for lockdown, having met a nice man on Hinge in January. That same man, now my boyfriend, is quarantined with me in Sussex, having arrived for a planned couple of days just hours before lockdown came into effect, she writes. The two of us must be in the minority

of genuinely being happy to have to stay home. But not everyone has an upbeat relationship story to tell. A number of you told me that you had just broken up with someone before the lockdown rules came into effect and were feeling isolated, lonely and anxious in the aftermath. Ash says, I've had a really strange year of living back at home with my parents on the back of a breakup of a long distance relationship that I can't seem to get over. I can't seem to get over. In moving home, I've been further away from my closest friends, which, for an introvert like me, has only given me an excuse to further isolate myself. I've been working in a job that I sort of hate, but that pays well, with the view that it's not forever. But just as Ash was trying to make positive changes in her life, she writes, the social isolation I had been practicing for months became government mandated and to be honest I feel personally attacked by the universe. If I was to put a meaning into this

whole situation I would say it has to be like a punishment for being an observer of my own life and failing to actually live it. So now the big move is on hold and I've learned my lesson. It's scary and uncertain and as a healthcare professional I'm constantly reminded of it. But as Seamus Heaney says, if we can winter this one out we can summer anywhere. Steph wrote to me about the unexpected upside of her biggest failure, the failure of her marriage one year ago to the day. But by God, it's prepared me for this, she said. I'm coping with this more than I thought I would. And actually, I'm reassuring others it will be okay. It will end and it will get better. Also, thank

God it wasn't last year and we were still living together during this. Words I never thought I would say. And then a lovely woman, who I will refer to only as Dee, wrote to me about her recent breakup with a narcissist. Believe me, we've all been there, Dee. And when I say we, I mean me. Dee wrote about how the lockdown has left her facing her own torturous questions. She writes, amidst the anxieties that corona brings with it, and I appreciate all the isolation is causing other anxiety, I feel like if you have someone in your life you love that you are isolating with, you are blessed. For me, it's this pre-existing anxiety that I'm still dealing with. How, when two people find a deep connection, can one person

be selfish enough to end it, she asks. How indeed. For what it's worth, I would say that the fact he ended the relationship, Dee, means inevitably that this relationship was not the right one for you. If the breakup took you by surprise, it's either because he was lying to you or you were lying to yourself, projecting an image of who you wanted this person to be rather than who they actually were. We can tell ourselves the most beautiful, forgiving stories about the person we love, but action is character. If someone has acted in a way that is cruel and hurtful to you, then they are not worthy of your love. Being rejected by such a person is not a rejection, it is a gift. I promise you, Dee, there will be love out there that is ready for you,

love out there that is ready for you, that will make you feel safe and understood and heard. If there was one unifying feeling out there, it seemed to be guilt. Guilt at not doing enough, guilt at not being grateful enough. Teachers wrote in saying they felt guilty to be letting their pupils down. There was shame from people whose businesses are going well and who feel what one correspondent described as survivor's guilt. And then the added guilt of not feeling we're doing lockdown well enough. And into this mix came one particularly moving email from Emily, who wrote, I think my failure at present is that I'm disappointed in myself in how I'm dealing with this awful time. I have a three-month-old baby

and have been wrestling with, thankfully mild, postnatal depression, which has been hard to accept, as my daughter is a much-longed-for IVF baby born after a miscarriage last year. I feel guilty that I'm struggling mood-wise when my baby was and is so desperately wanted and took so much to get. Emily, I want to tell you, your body has done something fucking amazing. You're allowed to feel however you want to feel right now. This will not last

forever. You will get back all those longed-for feelings of love for your baby, and you will probably appreciate them so much more because of the journey you've been through to get there. As you say, these are unprecedented times. We are allowed to tread water for a bit. There's no pressure you need to put on yourself. You're already an incredible mother because of the beautiful self-awareness you have. And I've been through IVF. I know the toll it puts on you mentally and physically, having to hold all these competing hopes and fears in the pit of your stomach. That doesn't come without an impact. What you're experiencing right now, Emily, is probably your body's way of realigning

those hopes and fears. Allow it to do its work. Be patient. Be kind. Your daughter is here. There is no way you can fail her if you show her the real love starts with loving your own flaws. Perhaps the most surprising facet of the guilt you all wrote to me about was the amount of guilt felt by frontline workers, those heroes we stand outside our doors to clap every Thursday at 8pm. Those heroes we stand outside our doors to clap every Thursday at 8pm. To us who are sitting out the lockdown in the comparative safety and luxury of our homes, those doctors, nurses, police, supermarket workers, paramedics and teachers are the people who should feel the least guilt out of all of us. They are putting their own lives on the line on a daily basis so that we might stay safe. That is the ultimate act

of human compassion. What could they possibly feel guilty about? But again and again, I heard from these people about their fears that they were not doing enough, that there was always more they could be doing, better, faster, with more impact. There was Roshin, a physiotherapist who is cycling 16 miles to get to and from her work in London instead of commuting on the tube. Although she currently no longer sees patients face to face, there has been an enormous amount of admin in cancelling or postponing appointments, and she's still telephoning those who most need her care. And yet, Roisin says, I feel a fraud for the applause that I get as an NHS worker, as at the moment I'm sitting behind a computer. Many of my wonderful, brilliant colleagues have been redeployed and are working directly with COVID-19 patients, and I feel guilty that they

have gone and I have not. I have volunteered to go to the Nightingale Hospital, so this may all change in the near future. Roisin, you are not a fraud, and forgive me if I continue to clap for you. Roisin was not the only one who wrote to me about the weekly clap for our carers. One anonymous messenger told me that she and her husband were both doctors. I'm a GP and he's an anaesthetist. We both appreciate working for the NHS more than ever before and feel so humbled and proud by everything. The 8pm claps have brought us both to tears each time, though being called heroes is so strange because really we are only doing our jobs what we've been doing for years. In Ireland Anne is working as a doctor and she writes I fail every day to get

through the day without crying. It could be the enormity of the crisis, the job losses, the impending explosion in our hospital, the absolute strangeness of commuting to work with no one on the road, the kindness of strangers, the willingness of co-workers to help, the one coffee place that has stayed open to feed and caffeinate staff. One of these days, I won't cry in my office over lunch. Oh, and I failed to buy sweet peas in the garden centre the weekend before last, and now they're shut and I'm haunted by them. More tears. Oh, Anne, let me send you sweet peas when all this is over. Email me your address. Hi, I'm Matt Lewis, historian and host of a new chapter of Echoes of History, a Ubisoft podcast brought to you by History Hit. Join me and world-leading experts every week as

we explore the incredible real-life history that inspires the locations, the characters, that inspires the locations, the characters and the storylines of Assassin's Creed. Listen and follow Echoes of History, a Ubisoft podcast brought to you by History Hit, wherever you get your podcasts. Will no one rid me of this troublesome priest? This is a time of great foreboding. These words supposedly uttered by a king over 800 years ago. These words supposedly uttered by a king over 800 years ago set in motion a chain of gruesome events and sparked cult-like devotion across the world. I'm Matt Lewis.

Join us as we unwrap the enigma and get to the heart of what really happened to Thomas Beckett by subscribing to Gone Medieval from History Hit. medieval from history hits. And then there is Katie, a senior charge nurse working within a hospital in Glasgow, who says, I have come home most nights and cried into my pillow as I don't feel like I do enough, although I know I couldn't physically do any more. This is my biggest failure. The generosity of others has been amazing. We've been sent food, gifts, toiletries. We've been sent donations of technology for our patients to do virtual visiting with their families. The overwhelming support shown to the NHS has been very humbling. I feel guilty though, as I have a job and I'm still being paid, and if I'm sick,

I will still be paid. Others out there are not in this position. I also have another emotion that I'm not proud of, but this is anger. Anger at those that continue to disobey the lockdown and social distancing rules. This virus kills, and they are helping it too. I wish they could see what I have seen and not the media circus, then they would stay inside. I know it's difficult on lockdown but at least after this they won't need counselling. I truly believe most frontline NHS staff will, including me. Thank you Katie. Thank you for your service. Sophie, a paediatric nurse working for a children's hospice, describes the emotional toll of caring for children who have either life-limiting or life-shortening conditions, which make them highly vulnerable to COVID-19

and its possible implications. As a nurse, I think a sense of guilt is inherent, she writes. Guilt that you are not doing enough. At present, I feel this so strongly. I've offered to be redeployed back to an NHS hospital and have explored all avenues of making this happen, but various red tape is making it challenging. But it may still happen. The thought unnerves me, but I would not be doing my duty if I didn't try to do more. I wanted to share some words a colleague wrote that have helped me over the last few weeks. Remember to breathe. Right now, this is a place in time. It will pass. Right now, it is everything, but it will pass. Here's to it passing and us all emerging the other side, a little wiser and more appreciative of this brilliant gift we've been given. Thank you for those lovely, lovely words, Sophie.

It's difficult for the families of key workers too. A different Sophie wrote to me about her mother, who is a coroner. She says, my mum is my total hero, supporting families through the tricky legal process when their loved ones leave us with such love and compassion as well as legal skill. I worried before the pandemic that she carries too much of their emotional strain. She says it makes her good at her job, which of course it does,

but as her oldest daughter and best friend, I worry that in her late 50s she absorbs hundreds of families' grief every week. In the last week, the corona deaths have started hitting her desk. I've moved out of London for the lockdown to be with her in the countryside so I'm seeing it firsthand. She returns home most days deflated, clearly having cried and exhausted. We're only at the end of week two. I worry about her. I feel utterly useless in supporting her. I'm very lucky that we have such a great relationship and we talk about everything but I've never felt so helpless. She's terrified about how many more deaths she will see, whether the legal system will cope and whether she herself is safe in a courtroom office environment and if she might bring it home to the family. And mostly she continues to take on people's grief as she signs piles of death

certificates each day and talks families through the legal process. She is totally amazing and I'm in awe of her compassion. But if any of your guests or other listeners are similarly supporting family members through the crisis and have advice on how best to support them when they're back home, and have advice on how best to support them when they're back home, I'd be hugely grateful. At the moment, our routine is having bangers in the mornings, great tunes in the kitchen, music is medicine, and a 30-minute walk in the countryside minimum. Nature heals us, I think. And yoga. I'm breathing and settling positive thoughts in my head. Hope those tips help others. If any of you listening do have tips for Sophie and her amazing mother, please email howtofailpod at gmail.com and I'll pass them on.

Beth, an NHS manager in Birmingham responsible for the A&E departments and medical beds in two hospitals, asks if I have any tips for resilience or keeping perspective when the enormity of the task at hand is more than the ability of a single person, and yet you feel solely responsible. I feel very ill-equipped to give advice to people who are working through such an unimaginable trauma with such quiet or inspiring courage, but let me try. Beth, you're right that the task at hand is beyond the ability of a single person to solve. Therefore, it is not your responsibility alone to solve it. All you can do is your best, within the parameters of a situation that is bigger than you. The only way

to get through it is to forge connection with and find strength through and with other people. Talk, share, cry if you need to. Understand that emotional resilience is not about being impervious to feeling, it's about allowing yourself to feel, acknowledging the space your feelings need and finding strength through self-compassion. Try as much as possible not to think of the overwhelming nature of the problem, but rather the task in hand at any given moment on any given day. To give that task and that moment your complete attention is all anyone could ask. And if you're already acknowledging something bigger than you, why not also choose to have faith in something bigger than you? Call it the universe, God, spirituality, or simply call it the community solidarity forged by an entire

country getting out onto their doorsteps to clap you every week at 8pm. You are not alone. We have your back. Every moment you think you can't do this, know that we believe you can, and that this belief is stronger than your doubt. Or you could go a different route and take advice from NHS general surgeon Stella Dilker, who has taken to carving spoons to ease stress and anxiety. She writes, I was given a spoon carving class before this all happened and briefly joined a club in Highgate. Elderly liberal artists and doctors sitting around convivially in an allotment carving spoons and eating lentil stew from wooden bowls.

Idyllic. Now, as we can't assemble, we carve spoons from home. Not cringey ones. Functional, symmetrical, beautiful items. You get six hours of meditation. Works. Well, Stella, you've taught me something there. But thinking about guilt made me wonder if at some level, guilt is the price we pay for an illusory notion of control. In our normal lives, we believe ourselves to be in control.

When things spin beyond our control, we feel uncertain and ashamed, and in some essential way, bad. But our perception of guilt doesn't mean that the reasons we feel it are valid. As the brilliant psychotherapist Julia Samuel says, feelings are not facts. Frequently, our guilt is spoken to us by an old inner voice that's telling us off for being naughty children. Perhaps the biggest gift we can give ourselves is to allow ourselves to be fully realised adults who don't need to be reprimanded and who have outgrown the limitations of childhood guilt. There were certain correspondents who felt the lack of control of a normal structure and routine, particularly acutely. I had emails from a

handful of listeners who live with an eating disorder and are finding it tricky. One correspondent told me how she had lived with anorexia, depression and severe anxiety since she was a young pre-teen. Now 28, she had made real gains in the last year and was socialising more, even going to the work Christmas meal, which, she writes, was the scariest thing for me. I haven't eaten in front of anyone other than my mum and nurses in hospital since I was 13 or 14 maybe. Mind-blowing for me. But, she continues, this whole corona situation has made me take a few steps back, hopefully only temporarily. I can't give in now. I live alone so haven't seen anyone for a few weeks at this point. I've been struggling to find any of my safe foods after people panic buying, which still seems pretty bad around here.

I couldn't afford to stockpile and can't drive, so it's hard to locate the limited variety I'm able to eat currently, as I still have quite a strict plan, or I can't decide, get overwhelmed, and will just go without, which easily spirals, I've learnt. But it's mostly the sheer terror of this uncontrollable situation which is unbearable at times. I feel like I can't breathe. I'm more anxious about being outside and catching something. If I do go out I strip off at the door on returning, wash all my clothes, have a shower and decontaminate everything. I fear my OCD is taking over again too. The behaviours along with the thoughts such such as,

if you don't carry them out, loved ones will die or become ill. Totally irrational, but hard to stop once started. I heard something the other day that said something along the lines of feeling more normal now, as everyone was feeling the high levels of anxiety some of us normally do, which was weirdly reassuring. In fact, it may well have been on your podcast that I heard it, actually. Well, I think it was. Alain de Botton remarked that many of his friends with anxiety told him they were feeling oddly comforted that everyone else was experiencing a tiny insight into what their lives are like. This was a sentiment echoed by a number of you with chronic illnesses or serious health scares who said that they felt they had already been in training for lockdown and were

finding it relatively easy to adapt. Of course one of the most worrying elements of coronavirus aside from the severity of the illness itself is the impact on the economy. A few of you had already lost your jobs or been furloughed and were understandably anxious about an uncertain future. I heard from Rebecca, a vet who had been made redundant via email. Veterinary services, she told me, are not classed as critical, so are not applicable for government grants, but they've also been ordered to stop all routine work, remaining open for emergencies only. Most practices have lost 80 to 90% of their intake. We now do remote phone consults, which makes me feel like an inadequate half-vet, Rebecca says.

Now I will let down all of my patients and clients. The old arthritic dogs I acupuncture every month. The animals I have seen grow from middle age to elderly, who I always assumed I would be there for in their final moments. The dogs who have gotten to know me and run into my consultation room rather than away from it. I feel like I have failed them all. Rebecca, I'm so, so sorry. You sound like such a compassionate vet that I can only hope you will walk back into work once this difficult time has passed. I know that I would want someone like you to treat my cat Huxley.

And I never knew you could get acupuncture for pets. Now there's a thought. Can you fix Huxley's predilection for meowing loudly at 4.30 in the morning to wake me up for a cuddle? If so, I'm employing you as soon as I can. Epi, who is also about to be made redundant, asks, when you're going through a life-changing fail, how do you subside these feelings? I want to let it go and move on, but I feel so resentful and angry at how unfair this is. The first thing I would say, Epi, is of course you feel resentful and angry. That is an entirely appropriate and logical reaction. It means you are a thinking, feeling human being. Don't deny yourself the permission to grieve and be furious because you

wrongly think you should be able to move on. It's only just happened to you. These feelings will go in their own time but there is nothing worse than ignoring them when you're in the middle of processing a necessary emotion. Allow yourself a period of time to mourn what you lost. Be kind to yourself. A job will come again. You will make money again. And yes, it's scary. But the great thing about a blank canvas is that it's also a liberation.

Ask yourself what wasn't serving you or making you happy in your past job and use this time as a way of working out what might be more fulfilling from your next phase of work and good luck. I also heard from students whose final terms at school and university had been disrupted and from teachers who feared the closure of schools would widen the attainment gap and make them feel disconnected from their pupils. Emily wrote that although her school has taken its learning online, none of it feels enough. That is because, as again many of my colleagues will I'm sure agree, teaching is fundamentally about connecting with and understanding other humans, often humans who barely understand themselves. And what you lose when you move out of the classroom, the corridor, the hall, the playground

is the human element. These are unprecedented exceptional times that we live in. I have an unprecedented exceptional amount of respect for all the parents out there who are now doing it all, an unprecedented exceptional amount of respect for all the parents out there who are now doing it all homeschooling working cooking cleaning entertaining everything when this is all over myself and my colleagues will be there again I promise ready to show up to be there for these wonderful humans we are collectively trying to help make sense of the world thank you for being there everything at the moment I can't wait to be able to be there at the classroom door to welcome them in again with my arms and heart wide. Emily, your pupils are lucky to have you. While all of our lives have had to be put on pause,

there are some life moments that have been particularly badly affected. Weddings have been cancelled, funerals postponed, IVF cycles put on hold, midwife visits to pregnant women cancelled, and for every person who feels harassed by the demands of homeschooling their children, I'd like to read you a couple of emails. The first, from Freya, details how she had a termination for medical reasons at 15 weeks. Now, a few weeks later, she writes, I'm working from home. Work is very, very quiet and I just have too much time to think. I just found my 20-week scan in my diary for this Thursday and I just feel like I'm regressing. My thoughts are constantly occupied with what could have, should have been.

Freya, I am so, so sorry for your loss. The second email from Claire describes her lockdown specific failure as the failure to combat resentment. Social media and work Zoom meetings are full of parents talking about how hard, exhausting or infuriating it is to be at home every day with their children. Having lost my baby in October, I want to tell those parents that I would swap places with them a million times over and to realise how lucky they are to be safely ensconced with their little families. I have to work hard to remind myself

that just because they've been blessed with families, they are still allowed to have bad days and find things hard, that being a parent hasn't necessarily transformed them into some higher being for which they must be eternally grateful. I hope that this time confronted by my loneliness will help me learn how to love myself again for the person I am

and to realise I am enough, even if I'm not a mother, a wife, an Instagram model or a girl boss. You are my love. You are more than enough. Your terrible loss has given you a degree of insight into other facets of human experience that is precious and unique. You understand life the better for knowing its darker sides. You are not alone, Claire. I am with you. I see you. I have your back. I also heard from women struggling to be part of a blended family at a time when they found themselves spending far more time than usual with their stepchildren. One anonymous emailer told me about her partner's six-year-old daughter who is staying with her and her partner on a one-week-on, one-week-off basis. She is lovely, she writes, and I'm so fortunate

that she adores me, and yet I found myself resenting her, her needs and needing time to myself to recharge, which I haven't had. It's so hard to articulate this to my partner. It sounds like I'm criticising his daughter, who's the love of his life. I somehow feel like I've failed this trial run at parenting, and I feel like a bad person for feeling these things. failed, this trial run at parenting, and I feel like a bad person for feeling these things. This is such a difficult and rarely discussed issue. I know because I used to be a stepmother and it was truly one of the hardest things I've ever done. I'm very familiar with those feelings of resentment you describe, and I can imagine how hard it is to deal with that at a time you can't

go out and download to friends. I'm so lucky now in that my partner has three brilliant children and an equally brilliant ex which makes everything much easier but I know exactly what it's like when those things aren't in place and the advice I would give you is this. Talk to your partner but preface anything you say with a statement of your love for his child and your love for him and ask him what he thinks. Start with an open-ended question. The chances are he has been feeling some tension too and is feeling guilty for being the cause of it. My second piece of advice is simply to remember that your feelings are valid. Being resentful does not make you a bad person, it makes

you human. It would only be a bad thing if you acted on it and being resentful is not a negative verdict on your parenting. There are biological parents feeling massively resentful towards their children right now too. If anything the fact that you're experiencing this is a very normal parental feeling. Give yourself permission to be resentful and allow it to float past you as an interesting observation on your state of mind, rather than swallowing you up whole. Remember that you are not the parent, and this comes with the added bonus of not having to be. You can quite legitimately be the one who gives her treats and allows her to watch television. It's not your role to be her mother. And for all the pain that fact might cause you, you might as well make the most of it. On a practical level, I'd also suggest building in time

every day where you are on your own, in your own space, doing what makes you happy. Not only will you feel recharged, but you'll be able to give your partner invaluable bonding time with his daughter that will make everyone feel more safe and secure. You're allowed that. One of the most moving emails I received was from Tanya Smith, who described arranging a funeral for her beloved dad, Ron, who had died suddenly on the 5th of March, shortly before lockdown. She writes, Each day that went by, our plans were changing. It started as a 150 people gathering with a well planned afternoon tea with his favourite sandwiches and his favourite puddings. Then gradually guests said that they couldn't come as they were in the at-risk category

of coronavirus. So we reduced numbers to around 80, then 60, then 40, then social distancing happened and warnings about travel, then 15. Then the people doing the readings couldn't come. The vicar couldn't even come as he had diabetes. I felt it responsible to call the remaining few to tell them that they shouldn't travel. It was to keep them safe, even my dad's sister. I just sat and cried. I'd failed my dad at not organising the funeral he deserved. He was so very loved by so many people and we couldn't do anything about this awful situation. was so very loved by so many people and we couldn't do anything about this awful situation. Then lockdown happened. As I cried, my husband said, what would make this better? I sat and thought and shifted my perspective. People always say I'm all unicorns and rainbows, so it helped me

find my inner unicorn. So Tanya and her family worked out a way to live stream the funeral so that people could watch it from the safety of their homes. She says, we were going to record it, but now being able to live stream it suddenly meant that we weren't alone. All those amazing people would be with us. All people who were due to read tributes at the service recorded them instead in whatever quality they could, that wasn't important, and then they sent them to the venue. And people attending the funeral had the chance to record a short video about a favourite memory of dad or how he's impacted on them. We didn't look at these before the day so that it could be something to

look forward to. There were three of us at the funeral. The service began with me, mum and my husband, sitting strangely with chairs, socially distanced apart, with the music my dad had wanted. What a wonderful world. At home, a friend of mine watching on the live feed said that at this point in the service, she turned the music up loud and danced around her lounge with her little boy to celebrate Dad. Such a fantastic image. I could really feel everyone watching with us. The video readings were wonderful. I'd written a poem for Dad last summer when he'd worried about dying and what legacy he might leave behind, called What is a Legacy, which dad's best friend read out on video. Dad had called the poem a pot of gold at the time.

My husband wrote and read the most perfect tribute of my dad's life. It was incredible and meant the world to us. Then the video messages, faces we hadn't seen for ages talking about dad and what he meant. It was honestly incredible. It meant so much to have people speak about Dad. We felt the love they had for him, more than I think we would have done if the funeral had been a normal service. Having them as a surprise for us on the day meant that we could sit and enjoy that part. The feedback after the service was overwhelming. The amount of people that said it was a beautiful and moving service,

that it was so personal, the best funeral they'd been to, that they were hanging off every word, and that it felt like they were in the room with us. My sister and her family were watching from Australia, and she could watch it at the same time as us, which was so comforting. We then have those memories and videos to keep, which we wouldn't have had otherwise. At the end, I felt so relieved. Relieved that mum had found it bearable and even smiled and laughed in parts. Relieved that the response had been so good that

lots of people asked me for copies of dad's speech and address as it was so beautiful and inspirational. Relieved that people watching were proud of us for putting together such a beautiful funeral despite everything. So, a failure that then turned into a moment of bringing so many people together for one special man, my dad. I was so moved by Tanya's email when I read it that I asked her for permission to quote her poem, the final few verses of which I read here. A legacy is being known as a good man, a confidant,

an advisor, a lifelong football fan. A legacy is your voice echoing in ears. What would Ron say, gently guiding future years? A legacy is showing how it's done. Grandpa, husband, brother, friend, uncle, dad and son. A legacy is letting your light shine. Within all of us here your essence is entwined. The ultimate legacy is above all, a family and friends love come sunshine or rainfall. Rest in peace, Ron. The way Tanya and her family organised that funeral to be uplifting, inclusive, profound and respectful in the midst of their grief is, I think, a lesson to us all. in the midst of their grief is, I think, a lesson to us all. There were other lessons among your messages too, in particular this one from Jamie, who told me about what the lockdown has taught him. I think my greatest failure in life, which to be quite frank continues to this day,

is a failure to be proud, he writes. I am a gay man and have known this, well, for the best part of my life. I came out to friends when I was 14 or 15 and to my family a few years later. Throughout university, I never made any attempt to hide my sexuality and dated numerous men during my time there. Indeed, superficially, it appears as though I am out and proud. But the story is more complicated. For example, when I pick up the phone, I automatically lower my voice an octave to muffle what can only be described as the camp undertones, overtones and everything in between tones of my voice. When I'm heading home after a night out, I'll tug down my short shorts so they

cover as much as my thigh as possible. On a date, I'll glance to see who is watching as we lean in closer and then glance twice before holding his hand when we leave. Then, after the date, I'm wary of who I discuss it with so as not to offend anyone who may not approve. Call it what you want. Internalised homophobia, irrationality, or just being cautious for my safety. Either way, I feel like I am failing those members of the LGBT community who fought so hard for my existence to be valid. Don't get me wrong, I love being gay and honestly wouldn't have it any other way.

But I just can't help but feel like a failure when trailblazers like Marsha P. Johnson and Harvey Milk gave their lives while I think twice about even giving my hand. I think this is quite topical in the time of COVID-19. Thousands of doctors, nurses, pharmacists and caregivers are out there on the front, bravely putting their life on the line to help others. If there is one positive that I can glean from this terrible epidemic, I hope that I learn a bit about bravery from these heroes. While they proudly wear their NHS uniforms out each morning to fight this horrific virus, I should learn to wear my rainbow colours out and about with more pride too. Well,

rainbow colours out and about with more pride too. Well, when we're finally allowed out. Jamie, you are such a beautiful writer. Thank you. Be proud of who you are, because who you are is magnificent. I also asked you to send me your favourite inspirational quotes for tough times. Juliet introduced me to this one by Marianne Madrika. Courage doesn't always rule. Sometimes it is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, I'll try again tomorrow. Lara wrote to me with a fascinating insight into Epicureanism. She says, there's a lot of talk about Stoicism currently, which has become all the rage, staying calm and adversity, etc. Back in the day, the Epicureans and Stoics were at philosophical war. And when I studied ancient Hellenistic philosophy at university,

I was firmly in team Epicurus and still am. This philosophy is particularly good at helping someone cope with the fear of death for both themselves and others, but so much in Epicurean philosophy helps deal with life, such as recommending the joys of friendship and the dangers of ambition. It was life-changing for me when I studied it over 25 years ago, almost like falling in love. I remember it vividlyly like everything falling into place as I wrote a late night ink-stained essay on Epicurean theory of pleasure. Anyway, at the moment I'm finding it at the forefront of my mind. The element that really helps is the idea that in addition to simple attainable pleasures being the key to happiness,

even if you can't do them at any particular time, the memory alone of them can see you through a difficult time. For example, when you're tortured in prison, this was 3rd century BC Athens. For Epicureans, that might be remembering the lovely philosophical debate you had with your pals sat by the river with a crust of bread. This memory can help you even when you are unable to actually enjoy it in the flesh. I'm oversimplifying but that's the basic principle. I find it so much more helpful than the gloomy old Stoics suffering away fatalistically. Isn't that a lovely idea that the memory of good times with friends can see us through bleaker times without? Thank you Lara.

see us through bleaker times without. Thank you, Lara. And finally, Tessie sent me a poem, which I'd like to read here to bring this very special episode to a close. This is the time to be slow by John O'Donoghue. This is the time to be slow. Lie low to the wall until the bitter weather passes. Try as best you can not to let the wire brush of doubt scrape from your heart or sense of yourself and your hesitant light. If you remain generous, time will come good and you will find your feet again on fresh pastures of promise where the air will be kind and blushed with beginning.

We will find our feet again. This too shall pass. Sending love to all of you out there and I'll see you soon. If you enjoyed this episode of How to Fail with Elizabeth Day, I would so appreciate it if you could rate, review and subscribe. Apparently it helps other people know that we exist.