For most people, physical isolation is a challenge. For some it’s a real mental health bomb- leaving pieces in its wake. I’m in the latter group.

People who know me know I’m a “touchy-feely person”. For those who don’t know me, hugs are my love language. I hug people hello. I hug them goodbye. I hug them to say thank you, you’re welcome, or you’re awesome. Sometimes all three. I go for a hug rather than a handshake- of course I ask if I can hug them first. (Consent is important!) And I don’t shy away from long hugs. 30 seconds? Please. Try five minutes. Yeah. You heard me.

Oh, and the whole Free Hugs thing? I’m a veteran.

In short: I like hugs. A lot.

And I need my daily fix.

So, as you can imagine, this whole “physical distance” thing was… difficult.

Some people were better off for having roommates or family, others were trapped in a terrible situation made worse by lockdown. I live alone, so my company was me, myself and I. You’d think that would mean there was no bickering. You would be wrong. Let’s just say there’s a reason isolation is a form of torture. People go crazy. I was no exception.

Add in the need for physical contact- a.k.a. touch starvation, and you have a crazy ball of depression. My ambition disappeared. My butt took root on the couch. My life became a dark haze of numbness weighing down every second. It was all I could do to stay awake for an entire day.

Enter Bunny-Bear.

One day I got a text from my dad saying “I have something for you.” He asked when I was available. Being stuck at home with no motivation to do literally anything, I said that I was available anytime.

He shot back a response. He’d be over in 30 minutes.

I had not moved from my spot on the couch when my phone lit up again. He was here.

Somehow I managed to pry myself from the cushion and head to the door.

What I saw stopped me in my tracks. There, standing with smiling eyes, was my dad holding the biggest teddy bear I had ever seen. It’s bright teal fur shone like a sun amidst the grey that my life had become.

“Since I can’t hug you,” he said, “Imagine my arms around you every time you hug this.”

I proceeded to react in my usual manner: dissolving into a blubbering mess of tears.

I mean, come on. Is that not the sweetest thing?

Only when he held it out did I realize it was, in fact, a giant bunny. It’s floppy ears had been hidden by it’s round head. Thus, I deemed it a Bunny-Bear. And into my arms it went.

Now, I’m a small person, but I had never held a stuffed animal that was over half my height. As I squeezed the stuffing out of that Bunny-Bear, I was filled with joy; gratitude; and something else that was a rare commodity at that time, comfort.

I felt like a little kid again, wrapping my arms around my favorite stuffed animal (which, as it turns out, was also a bunny.) Yes I still have it.

In that moment, hugging my new Bunny-Bear, I had hope that everything was going to be okay. And that, my friends, is a priceless feeling to hold on to.

By trade, I am an illustrator and aspiring YA author; but all of the arts speak through me. I have taught and directed with Piven Theatre Workshop and the Elgin Fringe Fest, I facilitate art workshops at the Open Studio Project, and I spread my love of partner dancing through private lessons. Whether through art, writing, theater, dance, music, or a combination thereof, ultimately I tell stories. So it’s not surprising that 2020 inspired me to turn to art and writing as a means of processing the struggles of this pandemic year, including coming out as genderfluid. I hope that my work helps people feel heard, understood, and validated.