Back off the singles: we need each other during coronavirus crisis

When I made a candid confession on Sky News that I was single and living alone through the virus crisis, my phone lit up.

Sky News reporter Annelise Nielsen at her 30th birthday party a few weeks ago.

Last year, my biggest concern was that my cat kept flinging himself off the balcony of my apartment. More than once I looked down on the verge two storeys below to see him staring back at me. Balcony time became a strictly controlled event, where I’d watch his bottom for signs of a twitch and a wiggle that might signal another attempt to leap to freedom.

Little did I know that just a few months later I’d so completely understand the compulsion to jump off a balcony.

I don’t make that joke lightly. These are dark times.

Last year, when my boyfriend and I parted ways, was tinged with sadness and regret. Weepy Sunday mornings followed. My lungs were tighter and limbs heavier for a while, but it passed.

What followed then was balance. A sense of control brought back the rhythm of a happy life. Friends checked in, and plans were made without having to consider anyone but ourselves. The dying days of my 20s came alive. Drinks regularly turned into dinner and dancing. Weekends evaporated in champagne bubbles and the salty rims of margaritas.

My beloved cat made the journey to my parents’ home in Perth, where he would have a garden to conquer, and I could follow whatever whim I wanted for all those weekends away.

Big mistake.

Like everyone, my world has gotten very small, very fast. A few weeks ago, my 30th birthday party went ahead, in line with government and medical advice that the gathering was safe. It seemed embarrassing to even ask. Now it seems like a miracle it happened at all.

Then events started to be cancelled. I wasn’t going to watch the Australian Chamber Orchestra any more. That house party was canned. Then a dinner party. And there goes a wedding!

Seemingly without warning, my support networks were fractured by distances that didn’t exist before. There will be no last-minute dashes home to my family out west, without risking weeks away from a job that has a new precariousness.

And more time at home. A home I love. But it’s just me. It will be just me if I get sick and I have to be OK with that.

Nielsen’s cat, which is now on the other side of the country with her parents.

The cries come out: “Stay the f..k at home!’’ People have become increasingly desperate and scared, lashing out at those gallivanting at Bondi or hitting the pub after a long week working from home. As the world shrinks and the pressure builds, our survival is increasingly pegged on how others are behaving. Carelessness becomes culpability in the eyes of terrified observers.

So just like that, even a socially distanced drinks with two girlfriends is now off the cards, or online. It’s hard not to feel every metre of the four walls of your home as you wait this out alone.

I know I’m not alone in my loneliness. One in four households in Australia are people who live alone. When I made my candid confession on Sky News that I’m single and living alone, my phone lit up with messages from people feeling the same pain.

It could always be worse. There are those who will find themselves trapped in a house with someone abusive. Cooped-up kids will overwhelm even the calmest of parents, locked away together for months on end.

I also have a job I love. The newsroom has thundered on despite the chaos. My office has changed and my hours have too, but I have somewhere to go each morning and people to see. Others are not as lucky.

My friends have swung into action. The messages come regularly. We talk often, downloading a flurry of apps to help with group chats and video calls. There’s still wine and food and gossip but it’s broken up by bad Wi-Fi instead of loud music.

There is zero chance of romance, and that’s OK. The indications are that this is not the year to be establishing anything that lasts. We’re all hoping every part of this passes quickly.

This is not as a cry for pity. But do consider it a call for kindness. We’re all doing our best in the most extraordinary of circumstances. No one is getting it right all the time.

But you can stop telling my friends and me to “stay the f..k at home”. We get it. We’re doing everything we can to survive this, just like your families. We’ll follow the government and medical advice, but we will be there for each other too. For now, that might look like two of us going for a walk together a metre and a half apart, because soon it might not.

Spare a thought for those weathering this storm alone. They deserve your love and care just as much as your family members do. And for goodness sake, never, ever, let a good cat go.