Moving: A Lesson in Resilience
I know, I know. It's been quite some time since you've heard from me here.
To be honest, I've been agonizing over what to write, how to write my truth, and how to break some news to my family, friends, fellow PCV's, and anyone else who follows my journey here.
The news is this: for reasons I choose not to disclose here [yet, at least], I have left my site where I spent nearly 5 months to live somewhere else here in Mozambique. If you have been following along, you know how much I loved my little town in Inhambane. My house was really starting to feel like home, I was beginning to understand my students better, my Xitswa [local language] was improving, and I was getting into a groove. I was content, comfortable, and while I faced challenges everyday, I was finding happiness in my work and relationships there.
After nearly three weeks in the capital city of Maputo, I recieved news from Peace Corps that I would be relocated to Maputo province in a town just a few hours away from the city. What that meant for me was that I would return to my house in Inhambane, pack my belongings, and leave the next morning for my new home. A total unknown was in front of me and I was terrified.
The thought of leaving behind my students left a lump in my throat the whole drive. I wondered what I would tell them, how they would hear the news if it wasn't from me, how they would feel, who was going to teach them, and if they would forgive me for leaving them behind. I loved being their teacher. I loved watching them put words together and gain confidence to speak up in class [especially my girls]. I loved hanging in my hammock and listening to them tell me about whatever was on their minds that day. I won't go on about how much I already miss them. You get the idea..I'm a puddle of emotional mush when it comes to my students. They gave me purpose. What will I do without them?
There are very few things more important to me than openness and honesty. I've always been candid about my struggles as a Peace Corps Volunteer and honest about my feelings because I know I'm not the only one going through these challenges--PCV or otherwise. When we say "estamos juntos," we really mean it. We truly are together.
I wish I could explain the pain and hurt that I have felt in the last month. While my world turned upside down, I felt helpless to do anything to stop it. One instant had the power to change the entire trajectory of my service without my consent. Things were happening all around me, conversations were had, decisions were made, and I felt like I was in the eye of a hurricane, watching life swirl around me and unable to pause, process, or understand. [Sidenote: through this whole process, Peace Corps staff have been wonderful and have gone above and beyond to make me feel supported.]
What do we do in moments like these? Distract ourselves? Vent to our friends? Numb?
I'm no stranger to this feeling of helplessness. When my little sister was having brain surgery after brain surgery for months on end about five years ago, I felt like I would never bounce back until I heard her silly little 7-year-old laugh and tell me everything was going to be okay. But that day never came, and I haven't heard my beautiful sister's laugh since that chilly October day. I look back on this all the time whenever I encounter setbacks and I always tell myself that nothing could ever happen that would be worse than that. Never. I still believe this. But my way of coping was allowing a little voice in the back of my head tell me that there was a way out of feeling the sadness I felt--wait until she's better. But I didn't have any control of that. I couldn't go into her hospital room, disconnect her from all those damn machines, and will her back to health.
So, uhhhh, what does this have to do with me moving? Not much. However, the point I want to make isn't about situational details. It's about resilience and why it's so important. I, like many people, often cope by telling myself that things will be better soon and then I, like many of us, look for things in the future to hold onto instead of real tangible things that I have in the present.
What I mean to say is that we can't set ourselves up for failure by telling ourselves, "I'll feel better when..." because sometimes that "when" never comes. It's not always about waiting for the hurricane to pass. Sometimes we have to be part of it. We have to take an active roll in our own growth. We have to process, to reflect, to sit with our discomfort sometimes.
For me, taking an active role in my growth meant focusing on resilience. Instead of letting the actions of others to define my time here, I decided that it wasn't my job to change anyone else. It's my job to decide how to move on. And move on I will. Resilience isn't about avoiding pain, it's about preparing for it, sitting with it when it busts in our doors, and then gently asking it to leave behind a lesson on its way out.
As I sit here in my new little house in my new little town, I am sooo wishing I could share what that lesson is. But honestly, I'm not so sure yet. But I know it's coming. I already feel lighter, more free, and ready to keep chugging along this messy, winding, bumpy road to nowhere in particular.
We are not the things that happen to us. Some of those are out of our control. We are, however, the bits of strength we can find, the wisdom woven through our mistakes, and the joy we create despite the pain we feel.
With love,
Emily
P.S. Stay tuned for a post about my new site where I promise I'll ramble less and give some actual info about Moz and my job...;)
To be honest, I've been agonizing over what to write, how to write my truth, and how to break some news to my family, friends, fellow PCV's, and anyone else who follows my journey here.
The news is this: for reasons I choose not to disclose here [yet, at least], I have left my site where I spent nearly 5 months to live somewhere else here in Mozambique. If you have been following along, you know how much I loved my little town in Inhambane. My house was really starting to feel like home, I was beginning to understand my students better, my Xitswa [local language] was improving, and I was getting into a groove. I was content, comfortable, and while I faced challenges everyday, I was finding happiness in my work and relationships there.
After nearly three weeks in the capital city of Maputo, I recieved news from Peace Corps that I would be relocated to Maputo province in a town just a few hours away from the city. What that meant for me was that I would return to my house in Inhambane, pack my belongings, and leave the next morning for my new home. A total unknown was in front of me and I was terrified.
 |
| I ended up spending three weeks or so in Maputo where I stayed busy by making new friends, watching live music and eating way too much dairy [sorry, tummy]. |
The thought of leaving behind my students left a lump in my throat the whole drive. I wondered what I would tell them, how they would hear the news if it wasn't from me, how they would feel, who was going to teach them, and if they would forgive me for leaving them behind. I loved being their teacher. I loved watching them put words together and gain confidence to speak up in class [especially my girls]. I loved hanging in my hammock and listening to them tell me about whatever was on their minds that day. I won't go on about how much I already miss them. You get the idea..I'm a puddle of emotional mush when it comes to my students. They gave me purpose. What will I do without them?
There are very few things more important to me than openness and honesty. I've always been candid about my struggles as a Peace Corps Volunteer and honest about my feelings because I know I'm not the only one going through these challenges--PCV or otherwise. When we say "estamos juntos," we really mean it. We truly are together.
I wish I could explain the pain and hurt that I have felt in the last month. While my world turned upside down, I felt helpless to do anything to stop it. One instant had the power to change the entire trajectory of my service without my consent. Things were happening all around me, conversations were had, decisions were made, and I felt like I was in the eye of a hurricane, watching life swirl around me and unable to pause, process, or understand. [Sidenote: through this whole process, Peace Corps staff have been wonderful and have gone above and beyond to make me feel supported.]
What do we do in moments like these? Distract ourselves? Vent to our friends? Numb?
I'm no stranger to this feeling of helplessness. When my little sister was having brain surgery after brain surgery for months on end about five years ago, I felt like I would never bounce back until I heard her silly little 7-year-old laugh and tell me everything was going to be okay. But that day never came, and I haven't heard my beautiful sister's laugh since that chilly October day. I look back on this all the time whenever I encounter setbacks and I always tell myself that nothing could ever happen that would be worse than that. Never. I still believe this. But my way of coping was allowing a little voice in the back of my head tell me that there was a way out of feeling the sadness I felt--wait until she's better. But I didn't have any control of that. I couldn't go into her hospital room, disconnect her from all those damn machines, and will her back to health.
So, uhhhh, what does this have to do with me moving? Not much. However, the point I want to make isn't about situational details. It's about resilience and why it's so important. I, like many people, often cope by telling myself that things will be better soon and then I, like many of us, look for things in the future to hold onto instead of real tangible things that I have in the present.
What I mean to say is that we can't set ourselves up for failure by telling ourselves, "I'll feel better when..." because sometimes that "when" never comes. It's not always about waiting for the hurricane to pass. Sometimes we have to be part of it. We have to take an active roll in our own growth. We have to process, to reflect, to sit with our discomfort sometimes.
For me, taking an active role in my growth meant focusing on resilience. Instead of letting the actions of others to define my time here, I decided that it wasn't my job to change anyone else. It's my job to decide how to move on. And move on I will. Resilience isn't about avoiding pain, it's about preparing for it, sitting with it when it busts in our doors, and then gently asking it to leave behind a lesson on its way out.
As I sit here in my new little house in my new little town, I am sooo wishing I could share what that lesson is. But honestly, I'm not so sure yet. But I know it's coming. I already feel lighter, more free, and ready to keep chugging along this messy, winding, bumpy road to nowhere in particular.
We are not the things that happen to us. Some of those are out of our control. We are, however, the bits of strength we can find, the wisdom woven through our mistakes, and the joy we create despite the pain we feel.
With love,
Emily
P.S. Stay tuned for a post about my new site where I promise I'll ramble less and give some actual info about Moz and my job...;)
Wow what an incredibly insightful post! I read it twice because of how amazing it is. You are remarkable. Please consider writing a book!
ReplyDelete- Your fam in good old WI