Here it is, another fall in masks; another season of uncertainty. I am beyond sick and tired of this horrid virus. But there is another equally concerning virus going around: It piggybacked in on Covid, opportunistically coming in the door that the physical virus opened. It is the virus called Fear.

When I was giving birth to my daughter, there came a point—about twelve hours into my unmedicated, at-home, every-90-seconds-a-contraction back-labor odyssey—where I was done. I looked up at my midwife, bleary and exhausted, and said, “I don’t want to do this anymore.” She smiled, beatifically, and said, “Okay. Let’s do something else.”