Five years ago, Ontarians suddenly found themselves staying home as part of a bigger push to “flatten the curve” of the COVID-19 pandemic.
What was initially meant to last two weeks stretched into months of evolving public-health measures.
Ahead of the anniversary of Ontario declaring a state of emergency in response to the novel coronavirus, The Canadian Press spoke to five Ontarians about their experience during the first lockdown.
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Angela Sun in Toronto
The arts community had already been weighing whether to cancel events for weeks before the decision was taken out of its hands. So when the lockdown actually came, it wasn’t entirely surprising, said Angela Sun, a theatre artist and arts administrator.
Still, the sudden closure sparked significant uncertainty about the survival of the industry — and her own role in it, Sun said.
With her 30th birthday looming, Sun had vowed to spend the year leading up to it pursuing her dream of being a full-time performer. Now it seemed her efforts were being thwarted months before her symbolic deadline.
“When the lockdown happened, there was a lot of personal disappointment because … it seemed like the time that I had given myself was cut short,” she said.
At the same time, with government assistance alleviating any urgent financial concerns, Sun said the widespread closures offered something that hadn’t been on the table for some time: a break.
“For once, I was like, OK, I have permission to let go of my FOMO (fear of missing out), let go of these expectations,” she said. “This is something that is sort of out of my control. And so I was able to just let myself be and take a breath for the first time in years.”
She filled her days watching online performances and panels and doing deep dives on social justice issues while her partner, who was able to continue working, took up bread baking and making kombucha.
At night, Sun went on long walks that would have been unthinkable if not for the fact that the streets were deserted, she said.
“For the first time, I also felt safe as a woman, because I was the only one walking. And I don’t think I would be able to walk at the times that I walked during the lockdown now,” she said.
Other fears intensified, however, particularly as rising anti-Asian hate spurred harassment and violence, Sun said. Along with the fear of contracting the virus, there was anxiety around “existing in a Chinese Canadian body, in a city that used to feel safe and suddenly was not.”
In the end, Sun said she doesn’t remember how she spent her 30th birthday that fall. In fact, much of the pandemic feels “a bit like a blur,” she said.
“I still feel a little bit like I’m in my late 20s because I think time just kind of slipped through our fingers during those five years.”
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Bill Hogan in St. Catharines
At first, Bill Hogan looked at the lockdown — and the pandemic itself — as an adventure.
A voracious reader and fan of dystopian fiction, Hogan, 80, said he was excited at the opportunity to cross a unique experience off his bucket list.
“This was something new, living through a zombie apocalypse or something, you know? Who knew what was going to come?”
When travel restrictions caused him to get laid off from his job as a hotel valet driver, Hogan said he was full of energy and eager to chronicle the changes around him.
He sent journal-like updates to a few friends by email and was surprised by the positive response, he said. Over time, the list of recipients grew to about 35.
His private missives were eventually made public as part of Brock University’s archive of the pandemic in the Niagara Region.
A few weeks into the lockdown, he noted the shutdown of construction sites and parks, as well as the cordoning off of cemeteries. The latter didn’t sit right with him, Hogan wrote, calling it “cruel.”
“It’s just coincidence, but our son Edward’s birth date is April 20 and we usually visited his grave and gave the plot a good spring cleanup, adding new flowers,” he wrote. “I guess not, this year.”
Hogan, who has since returned to work at the hotel, said the pandemic also led him to make an important discovery about his marriage.
“We’ve been married 54 years, and I quite delightedly found out that Pauline and I have no trouble living completely together without any outside contact for months and months and months and months at a time,” he said in a recent interview.
As for the adventure, Hogan said, once was enough.
“I’m sure glad I lived through it,” he said. “Do I hope it comes again? Nope.”
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Heather Breadner in the Kawartha Lakes region
Heather Breadner remembers locking the doors of her yarn store, knowing she wouldn’t be back for at least two weeks.
Back at home, Breadner and her husband were at a loss, she said, since both were abruptly unable to work.
“That first week … we were just sort of bewildered, I guess.”
Still, they took comfort in knowing they were on a farm “in the middle of nowhere,” which meant they were already fairly isolated from the virus, she said.
The daily routine of farm work also proved to be a lifeline, said Breadner. Regardless of what was going on in the world, their animals — about 100 sheep, as well as chickens, cows and goats — needed to be fed and cared for, she said.
It was lambing season at the time, which provided a bonus diversion, Breadner said.
“You could distract yourself with a two-day-old baby lamb, and you’re bottle feeding them on your lap by the wood stove. I mean, you could spend all day doing that,” she said.
Within two weeks of the lockdown, Breadner had shifted her yarn sales online, keeping the business alive even though the brick-and-mortar store remained closed for nearly two years.
In the end, Breadner shuttered the store — something she now wishes she had done much earlier.
The pandemic also gave rise to a new project, one that continues to this day.
Breadner and two friends decided to make a memorial blanket for those who died of COVID-19, a plan that has seen more than a thousand knitters from around the world contribute knitted squares. The group is still assembling the squares in the hopes that the blanket can one day be displayed.
“I will never stop working on this … this is not something I’m willing to ever walk away from,” she said.
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Jocelyn Titone in St. Catharines
When Jocelyn Titone was sent home from her job at Brock University to work remotely, she thought the change would be short-lived.
She held on to that belief for the first few weeks, relieved that she could carry on working — something her husband, a sales manager at a car dealership, couldn’t do.
Like many other parents, Titone set up a laptop wherever she could and logged a full work day in short spurts, in between taking care of her kids, then three and five, and supplementing their online schooling.
Often, she found herself still on the clock past midnight, determined to put in full-time hours regardless of the crisis gripping the world, she said.
When her husband was allowed to go back to his job, they co-ordinated so she could squeeze in a bit of uninterrupted work while he took care of the kids before his shift.
It wasn’t long before that pace took a toll, she said.
“I look back and I’m like, what? Why? Why did I try so hard to put my hours in when it meant me not getting enough sleep and sacrificing my mental health?” she said, adding the pressure to remain productive came from herself rather than her colleagues.
“I felt like I wasn’t enough in my role at work and I wasn’t enough in my role as a parent.”
She recalled constantly monitoring the news for the latest pandemic updates and protocols, and adopting a multi-step system to sanitize groceries.
Her mental health hit a low after the death of her grandfather that summer, particularly since public health measures meant she couldn’t see him in person or attend his funeral, she said.
Things began to improve once the restrictions eased. Titone said she carved out time to exercise and read, and started keeping a gratitude journal on her phone.
“Because it was a time of such negative mental health, a lesson that I did learn was to prioritize my mental health.”
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Ren Navarro in Kitchener
Ren Navarro woke up on her 45th birthday to news that the province recommended sweeping closures to contain the spread of COVID-19.
She remembered crying on her couch in between bites of leftover dim sum, disappointed that she couldn’t even hang out at a local bar while friends dropped in.
The next day, those recommendations became mandatory as the province declared a state of emergency.
Still, at the time, she thought it would only be a matter of weeks before the restrictions were lifted.
Her wife had already been working from home before the lockdown, making the adjustment to their new life within the boundaries of their apartment relatively smooth, though it confused their cats, Navarro said.
“Thankfully, we really adore each other, because we also made it out of the pandemic,” she said, unlike many couples whose relationships collapsed under the strain of constant proximity.
Groceries and cleaning supplies were top of mind in the beginning, said Navarro, who recalled wiping things down “every 20 minutes” and later freaking out when a delivery person briefly stepped inside their home to drop off purchases.
Meanwhile, Navarro’s own work as a diversity consultant, then primarily involving breweries, dried up, leaving her with a surplus of creative energy, she said.
She channelled it into social media, making use of her stockpile of industry merch to post a daily “outfit of the day,” a routine she kept up for months.
“It was so hilarious and so stupid that I think it saved me, because I started planning my outfits days in advance,” she said.
Then there was the haircut incident.
With salons off limits, Navarro thought to give herself a trim at home — something she had done in the past. The clippers didn’t have any guards on so the first swipe cut her hair down to the scalp, forcing her to go fully bald.
Navarro took it in stride, but also didn’t cut her hair again during the lockdown, she said.
Over time, the pandemic brought her closer to some friends and caused rifts with others, she said, while giving her a push to expand her client list to other sectors beyond the beer industry.
“I think if I didn’t do it right then, I don’t think I’d have a company now and that’s probably one of the biggest things that came out of it.”
This report by The Canadian Press was first published March 17, 2025.
Paola Loriggio, The Canadian Press
