Finding My Identity in Social Isolation

Name tags are a way to identify bodies, but they don’t always represent what’s within. Photo by Carlos Martinez.

By Carlos Martinez, Web Editor

Editor's Note: Story republished from CSUDH The Bulletin.

It was a cold, dark afternoon when I walked through the security checkpoint at my job with my knapsack stuffed with textbooks and a plastic bag full of leftovers from the night before.

All of my coworkers were grouped together with concern, trying to make sense of the announcement that was released a few hours before our shift. My managers, with calm and firm demeanors, restated the announcement as they called the leaders, trainers, and myself over to relay the plans for the next 48 hours.

“Think of it as a break before the food and wine,” one of my managers said. “After two weeks, we’ll be back on track and busier than ever.”

Now it’s been a year and counting.

On March 14, 2020, Disneyland and Disney California Adventure closed its parks in response to the Covid-19 pandemic.

With a schedule that consisted of changing into my costume in the Loker Student Union (LSU) bathrooms in between classes, studying for exams while training new hires at my restaurant, and napping in my car on campus, I was excited to finally take some time off for myself. I quickly realized that there wasn’t much of “myself” to begin with.

For the past five years, my entire life focused on working hard at Disney and finishing school. Spending typically 19 hours between school and work each day, I rarely spent any time at home and spent little time with friends and family. My goal was to dedicate as much time as possible to finish school while earning enough money so I did not have to take out student loans.

As my one week break from work became two and so forth, a vile emptiness began to manifest inside of me. My nights grew restless, anxiety attacks began to boil inside me, and I felt like a blank slate whenever I looked at myself in the mirror.

In a socially distant world where I’m furloughed from Disney and learning remotely, I felt vulnerable in my own home. I didn’t spend a lot of time with my family, except for the holidays that I got off from work, and I never really had the opportunity to have conversations longer than five minutes.

In short, I was a stray cat that only came around for food and shelter.

In the initial months of the pandemic, I quickly realized how disconnected I was from myself. I couldn’t remember my hobbies, my favorite outfit, or my go-to person for chisme or nerding out.

Who is Carlos? A hypothetical; no longer flesh and blood.

The pandemic wrecked my mind as I tried to get used to the new normal. As my anxiety continued to dominate me, I was pushed to reach out to my family and friends and seek help in my mental struggle.

I was able to rekindle relationships with friends and family through hour-long conversations of just speaking our minds, learning more about each other in the process. With impromptu therapy sessions, I was able to rediscover my love to sketch while appreciating the little things I see every day.

As the one-year anniversary of the pandemic approaches, my crippling anxiety has waned as I no longer take my family, friends and self for granted.

With Bob Chapek, Disneyland CEO, announcing Disneyland’s planned reopening for late April, I feel relieved there’s some level of normalcy returning in my life. At the same time, I also feel conflicted about diving headfirst as if the turmoil never happened.

I was blinded by my obsession to succeed in my job and my academics, that I almost lost sight of my identity.

As I wait for The Mouse to call me back to the happiest place on Earth, I am motivated to put myself first this time around. That way I can look at myself in the mirror and know that I exist.