Surviving the Storm: My Journey Through COVID-19

During the relentless grip of the COVID-19 pandemic, the world seemed to crumble around us. In the midst of it all, our tiny home became a sanctuary, a place where I found myself constantly fighting to survive and protect those I loved.

The Struggle

Home was in your arms, our cramped space filled with echoes of reassurance. “It’s for you, it’s for us, everything I do.” Despite the constant ache in my chest, I knew I’d face another day of it just to pay your rent.

“We’ll get through it,” you’d say as the world crumbled outside. No income, no reprieve, living on coffee and instant noodles. “We’ll make it work,” you promised. But promises are easy to make when you’re not the one walking barefoot over hot coals.

Sacrifice

To make ends meet, I invited strangers into our bed, letting them leave me empty-hearted but heavy-walleted. I made it work, got through it, and you loved it—until the chef refused to cook dinner. “The shoemaker’s husband wears no shoes,” you’d joke. But the shoemaker was burning out, desperately needing a cooling touch, not burning ice.

My sensuality drained away, and you never asked for it anyway. “I can’t handle a no,” you’d say, so I became your whore too. I’d look in your eyes, engage, tease, simulate spasms in my hands and feet like some book described. Played the part but never truly joined you.

Transformation

You’d wipe yourself off, roll over, whoring over, and I was your wife once more. Not empty-hearted, utterly broken. Too tired to face another day of it, just to pay your rent.

Throughout this period, I felt like a welcome mat—trampled over, used, and discarded. Yet, through the pain and exhaustion, I discovered a core of resilience I never knew I had. As the pandemic raged on, I transformed. No longer a soft, pliable mat, I became a spiked ball—sharp, protective, and unyielding.

Art as Healing

This transformation wasn’t just internal; it manifested in my art. On art-by.jadeannbyrne.com, I began to channel my experiences into my creations. Each piece became a testament to my journey, a visual representation of my struggle and resilience. Art became my refuge, a place where I could process the pain and emerge stronger.

Through my art, I found a voice, a way to tell my story. It was no longer about being walked over but about standing tall and fighting back. Every brushstroke, every color choice was deliberate, reflecting my newfound strength and determination.

Conclusion

Surviving the COVID-19 pandemic was one of the most challenging periods of my life. It tested my limits and forced me to confront my deepest fears. But it also taught me the true meaning of resilience and the power of transformation.

Today, as I look back on those dark days, I see not just the pain but also the strength that emerged from it. My journey is far from over, but I face each day with a newfound sense of purpose and determination. Through my art, I continue to tell my story, a story of survival, transformation, and unyielding strength.

For anyone struggling, know that you are not alone. There is light beyond the darkness, and there is strength within you that you have yet to discover. Keep fighting, keep creating, and never lose hope.

Home was in your arms,

Our cramped space filled with echoes,

“It’s for you, it’s for us,

Everything I do.”

And I knew, I knew,

Despite the ache in my chest,

I’d face another day of it,

Just to pay your rent.

“We’ll get through it,”

You’d say as the world crumbled outside,

No income,

No reprieve,

Living on coffee and instant noodles.

“We’ll make it work,”

An empty promise.

I invited them into my bed,

Let them leave me empty-hearted,

But heavy-walleted.

I made it work,

Got through it,

And you loved it,

Until the chef refused to cook dinner.

“The shoemaker’s husband

Wears no shoes,”

You’d joke,

While the shoemaker walked barefoot over hot coals.

I burned, burned, burned out,

All I needed was a cooling touch,

Not burning ice.

Sensuality drained,

You never asked for it anyway.

“I can’t handle a no,”

So I became your whore too.

I’d look in your eyes,

Engage, tease,

Simulate spasms

In hands and feet,

Like some book described.

Played the part, but never joined you.

You’d wipe yourself off,

Roll over,

Whoring over,

And I was

Your wife

Once more.

Not empty-hearted,

Utterly broken.

Too tired to face another day of it,

Just to pay your rent.

Visit art-by.jadeannbyrne.com to explore my journey through art and resilience.