Baby Steps
It’s almost Father’s Day, I reminded myself as I stepped into Target for the first time in months. I needed a card, and that was a good enough excuse to be brave.
I’ve been talking with my mom on our evening walks, and when I expressed that I’m amazed she can go to newly-opened stores like Target to get necessary things, she encouraged me to take baby steps. I’m coming back to Chicago at some point, after all, and when I’m living alone again, I won’t have someone to go into stores for me.
I decided to give it a try early in the week, during the afternoon so hopefully it wouldn’t be crowded. There were a lot more cars than I would have liked to see in the parking lot, but I pulled up my mask so high that I almost couldn’t see and stepped inside.
It felt like returning to a world I hadn’t visited in forever, and a place that never felt strange to visit suddenly felt dangerous to me. I couldn’t help but notice that only some people were wearing face masks, some of them were touching their faces, and many weren’t staying six feet apart from each other. I felt the nervousness enter me as easily as my breath, which could have been contaminating me even as I stood in the doorway.
I made my way to the middle of the store, telling myself that I couldn’t control what other people were doing, just me. I could stay six feet away from people with masks and farther from the people who weren’t wearing them; I could read the cards without touching them and choose only a couple to look at instead of taking my time and reading all the cards in the row. I found one I liked and took it, touching it even though I don’t have gloves.
Turning to the other side of the aisle, I noticed I was near my favorite part of the store - the tech and games section, which has Pokemon cards. I remember coming to this particular Target five years ago when I felt hopeless, and the cards were the only things that could - at least temporarily - alleviate my anxiety. For a first trip, I said I could reward myself with exactly one thing - not going on a binge like before - and only a thing I could open with a friend on Zoom later, making myself accountable. Another step there, in recognizing that I can treat myself without going off the deep end, and that the cards wouldn’t fix the stress, they would just help me have a good time with a friend.
As I made my way to the back of the store, where I knew the cards were kept, I felt my breath come faster, hitting me in the face as it bounced back at me from the mask. Somehow, it helped - I could imagine that the barrier was so thick that no germs could get through, and that bolstered me when I realized that the cards I was looking for were behind a glass case - I’d need to find an associate and talk to them. And since it’s not polite to yell at someone from across the store, I realized I’d need to stand at least somewhat close.
I soon found a store associate wearing a mask with the Target logo printed on it. Just like in normal times, I asked her to accompany me over to the case and take the cards out, but unlike normal times, it felt weird to take the product from her hands. She offered to check me out in the back so I wouldn’t have to wait on the regular line, but I did still have to take out my credit card, meaning I had to touch my purse’s zippers.
She recognized my hesitation - I’m sure I’m far from the only person worried about going inside stores, even if many people seem okay - and she offered me a tube of Clorox wipes. I confessed it was my first time coming back to Target as I wiped my hands and the credit card before and after touching the machine, and even though I usually have to sign receipts at Target, she didn’t make me sign. I got to leave shortly after, and by the time I got to my car and pulled down my mask, I felt like I’d done a great job.
It still makes me nervous to think of what I may have touched or breathed in while I was in the store, but I do feel that taking baby steps is an important thing for me to do. Now that I know I can do this and feel relatively safe, I can hopefully expand what I’m able to do, like shop for groceries for my family. I know there are a lot more steps to go, especially thinking about moving back to Chicago, but I think if I treat exposures to the “real world” like exposures to other things I’m afraid of, I’ll be able to do it.
Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.