WE WERE meant to be in Cyprus, but our flights had been cancelled, so we were on the Isle of Wight instead having booked a last-minute break when Boris announced the lockdown measures.

Although I knew it was coming, I was still unprepared for the shock and fear I felt. It had all suddenly become very real.

The holiday was strange, as cafes, restaurants and attractions were beginning to close. But we made the most of it.

Returning from our break we were immediately thrust into our new life at home, with my husband working from the living room table as I entertained our three-year-old son Freddie either in the garden or in the same room my husband was attempting to work. We have no spare space, so this was the only option. It seemed inconceivable initially, but we managed.

At the weekends and evenings, I did what work I still had, although that had dwindled.

The hardest part was trying to explain to Freddie what was happening and why his whole world had changed. He always asks lots of questions, and it was tough to create a balance between telling him enough to satisfy his curiosity and terrifying him. Sometimes I didn’t get it quite right. The second week he said he didn’t want to go out for a walk because of the germs. No amount of reassurance could persuade him otherwise so we spent that day at home.

Some conversations I had with him were heart-breaking. As I put him to bed one evening, he said: “Mummy, when all these germs have gone, can go close to Grandma and Grandad again?”

“Yes darling, of course you can,” I replied.

“When will that be, on Monday?” he asked.

“No, not Monday, we don’t know when, but one day. Hopefully soon,” I responded.

“But I can’t wait any more Mummy, I just can’t wait any more to go close to them.”

Worried that my voice would betray my emotion, I didn’t speak but instead gave him a cuddle in the dark, as tears stung my eyes.

The anxiety and panic I’ve felt during lockdown have been hard to manage at times. On occasion, it’s overwhelming. Initially I thought my husband and I would be fighting over who did the weekly shop, desperate to get out of the house. I was wrong. Trips to the supermarket became stressful as I found myself tense and angry trying to dodge people ignoring social distancing rules. I wanted to scream at them to get out of the way, and returned home feeling harassed. My fear wasn’t related to catching Covid myself, but passing it on to someone vulnerable. I couldn’t bear the thought that someone else might die because I hadn’t been careful enough.

With time, I’ve been able to gain perspective, and I no longer feel anxious and stressed as much. But I still have late night panics that someone I love will catch it and the worst happens.

I’ve also realised with true clarity what is important in my life: human interaction and sharing experiences with people I love.

Singing with my friends in choir; having a family BBQ; watching my nieces and nephews play with Freddie. I don’t think I took this for granted before, but I will definitely have a new appreciation when we are able to do all those things again.

There have been numerous events cancelled that I should have been enjoying - a concert, festival, theatre show, singing performance and - the most disappointing - plans to celebrate my Dad’s 70th birthday.

But my disappointment hasn’t been missing the actual events, it’s seeing the people I would have shared them with.

Sunshine, a weekly zoom quiz with my family, chats with friends and neighbours, online yoga, books and Freddie making me laugh have all lifted my spirits.

We’ve still had fun and made memories together. From making a ‘friend’ for Freddie out of large cardboard boxes and newspapers which he then demanded join us for a walk, to sleeping in a tent in the garden. There are many times I can look back on and smile. But there was often an underlying sadness, a type of grief at missing my normal life and not being able to spend time with those closest to me.

When Boris announced we could go for a walk with another person, my relief that we were over the worst was still tinged with sadness.

Nothing had changed for Freddie, who still couldn’t see his cousins and grandparents. I couldn’t celebrate with him. I couldn’t tell him it was all over, as I long to do.

The same applied to another very close family member who has an underlying health condition. I can’t breathe that sigh of relief and let my shoulders finally relax, until the risk is gone for everyone.