COVID’s Surprising Silver Linings

Jenna McCarthy spoils us with a cathartic collection of COVID reflections in her latest book, "Yankee Doodle Soup".

Jenna McCarthy is the author of more than twenty books, including The War on Ivermectin with Dr. Pierre Kory and writes a regular column for the FLCCC called “Here’s a Thought.” Yankee Doodle Soup is her first anthology. To read reviews, excerpts and more, please visit www.yankeedoodlesoup.com.

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The COVID pandemic was devastating on countless levels. People lost their friends, their families, and their faith. They walked away from (or were forced out of) careers, shuttered businesses they built from scratch, and suffered injuries in silence. Isolation was mandated. Suicide rates skyrocketed. Unborn babies perished. Children missed crucial developmental milestones. Adults battled addiction, anxiety, and depression. The ones who spoke out against the prevailing narrative were shamed, blamed, denigrated, and deplatformed. Countless people bid final, heartbreaking goodbyes to loved ones by phone or over FaceTime; an unfathomable many died alone.

How do you overcome such profound grief? How do you heal broken hearts, damaged bodies, and a shattered sense of safety, security, and serenity?

Humans are remarkably resilient. As long as we have something to live for—our children, our parents, a passion or purpose—we push through physical and emotional pain. We endure. We seek comfort and community, survival and salvation. We find our tribes, share our stories, and shoulder each other's burdens. We may rage, but we also pray. We count blessings, not transgressions. We cry over what we’ve lost—we’re human, after all—and we try to remember to give thanks for what we still have.

Before COVID, I was probably best known for three things: I had written a bunch of mostly funny books, I’d given a couple of TED talks, and I liked cats and profanity (equally and a lot if I’m being honest). Never once, not even in a drunken stupor or a blind election-inspired rage, did I blog or post publicly about politics, religion, or anything even slightly more inflammatory than the lousy movie I’d just seen or the viral cauliflower pizza recipe I’d tried that tasted like wet cardboard. I had no interest in exposing the seedy, slimy underbelly of our government or its regulatory agencies; in fact, I can’t imagine a single circumstance that could have compelled pre-COVID Jenna to invoke the phrase “our government or its regulatory agencies.”

Pandemics have a way of shaking things up, I suppose.

A disclaimer: I’m a rebel by nature. I’ve never met a WET PAINT sign I didn’t feel the need to test or a group project I didn’t try to commandeer. My knee-jerk comeback to anyone who tries to tell me what to do (with the possible exception of my actual boss back when I had one) has always been, “You’re not the boss of me.” I am equal parts cynical, skeptical, sarcastic, and stubborn by nature; go-with-the-flow I am not.

True to this God-given disposition, from the pandemic’s beginning I openly questioned the uselessness of masks and the criminality of mandates, shared lifesaving information about promising early treatments including ivermectin (and then co-wrote an exhaustive book on the subject and became a regular contributor to the FLCCC Alliance Substack), “did my own research,” and warned of the dangers of the untested, experimental, not safe-or-effective vaccines. I did all of this with humor—because that’s what I do—despite the sober nature of the subjects and the suffering state of the world. Many people thanked me for my efforts; untold others called me every name in the book: a conspiracy theorist, a grifter, a granny-killer, a selfish troll, a MAGA-hatter, a fringy right-winger. Friends forsook me, family members disowned me, and followers cursed me—some before wishing misery upon me and then promptly hitting the unfollow button.

Still, I spoke out. And the more I did, the more something magical began to happen: Instead of shrinking, my circle grew. Slowly at first, and then exponentially. For every “friend” I lost, I gained a dozen more. I found kindred spirits in the most unlikely of souls; people whose paths I never would have crossed had it not been for COVID, ones who share my convictions and my commitment to truth and my impossible optimism.

It was that “impossible optimism” that led to my just released anthology, Yankee Doodle Soup for the Fringy, Tin Foil Hat-Wearing Conspiracy Theorist’s Soul: An uplifting collection of reflections on the wacky state of the world. I tapped my new tribe to submit their warmest, wittiest, most inspirational stories—and this fierce, like-minded band of warriors did not disappoint. The eclectic range of topics includes vaccines in veterinary and human medicine, post-pandemic dating, curing cancer naturally, rediscovering faith, the nefarious WEF, homeschooling, freedom-fighting, and of course, the notorious "horse dewormer." Contributors range from esteemed doctors and scientists to speakers, authors, attorneys, editors, and vaccine injury activists. There’s an Emmy Award-winning news anchor, a proud member of the “Disinformation Dozen,” a renowned bridal gown designer, a paramedic whistleblower, a former cult member, a rock band, and one “pissed-off, childless, married woman of a certain age who didn’t do anything meaningful in her life until COVID.”

An overwhelming number of the essays I received touched my heart; countless offered new insight, several gave me chills, and a delightful many made me laugh out loud. Together, they’re everything that a warm bowl of homemade soup should be: satisfying, savory, and exactly what I believe the world is hungry for right now. (The awake half, at least.)

This book was written by and for survivors; the ones who look for silver linings, cling to hope, refuse to be silenced, and still believe that the overwhelming majority of humanity is good. Within its pages, you’ll find comfort, community, wit, wisdom, and the assurance that no matter how despondent or disconnected you may have felt during COVID, you were never really alone.