When I was little, I had a safety blanket named Bee-kon. I carried it with me until it was threadbare, and when my mom took it away under the guise of putting it in the wash, Bee-kon was never to be seen again. Surely, Bee-kon didn’t end up in a trash heap; I suspect it went to live on a farm with all the other tattered blankets of childhoods past. There, the weathered and torn remnants could stitch themselves together into giant memory quilts; the stronger castaways would fashion themselves into forts and cozy beds for tiny creatures seeking shelter and warmth. Bee-kon would bring happiness to new companions in a far off land, and I would seek comfort with my stuffed panda, Snowball.

Needless to say, I never took the bait with Snowball. Between the Bee-kon betrayal and the somewhat new idea that my birthday is possibly one day later than I was led to believe, it is crystal clear that the woman I call mom — if that even is her name — cannot be trusted. I would give Snowball my own baths, thankyouverymuch, because there is no farm that is suitable for a panda and even now, at 35, I’m completely uninterested in giving her up. She and Bunny, Miku’s favorite stuffed animal, will live with me forever.

Escaping in a good book from the safety of a blanket fort.

While I traded my safety blanket for a stuffed panda, I have always felt most comfortable swathed in blankets. When I’m on the sofa, I’m wrapped in one. I sleep with my covers fully over my head. I lie in my hammock completely covered by a knit throw. Letting the the sun filter through and spill onto the pages of my books. I fashion forts out of pillows and sheets for a cozy, isolated retreat. I breathe easier when under the weight of a gravity blanket. Give me a book and a blanket and I am as good as on vacation.

That’s not to say that staying inside for months hasn’t been a bit of an intermittent challenge for my mental health. It’s less about being isolated — I have Bobby and our cats — and more about the weight and uncertainty of the world, and not being near my family. I’m always worrying about their health and safety and wishing we were all sheltering in one place. I’m the only one in my immediate family who is states away. And while NYC was initially the epicenter, South Florida has now taken its place. I am able to stay inside indefinitely; I can work from home, and Bobby gets the groceries so we limit contact. Most of my family and much of our country does not have that luxury. And so I worry about all the things I cannot control. I know so many of you can relate!

We’re all in this together.

In an effort to keep myself busy and out of the dark hole of worry that I often find myself in, I’ve found an escape in two things already familiar: reading and photography. I took these shots a couple months ago, marrying those two passions together with another comfort: my pink knit blanket. These days, I’ve traded heavier reads with fluffier, summer reads and old Hollywood biographies, to balance out my hyper-consumption of current events. And though this one was purchased just a few years ago at a local HomeGoods, it’s fair to say it’s basically my new Bee-kon. I wash it frequently, but my mom is still not allowed anywhere near it. I am certain there are no blanket farms in NYC, and SHE CANNOT BE TRUSTED.

Outfit and photo details: Wearing a Pendleton short sleeve knit sweater, Lirika Matoshi skirt, and my favorite Miku ring (from Epcot, thanks to my baby sister Tessa). Pink blanket from Homegoods. Bokeh effect is from using fairy lights close to the camera. Faux peony bouquet, and the book is Screwball (about Carole Lombard).