Taken from a recent journal entry- the truth about coming back.
Just a note: there have been some incredibly amazing and joyous things that have come with being back in the States and God has moved and worked in some incredible ways (those were in different journal entries), but just wanted to share what many may mask and to be transparent about the re-entry process…
It’s been a little over two months since I’ve been back in the states and I’ve had several people ask me the typical been-back-for-a-bit questions, “Are you so happy to be back?” “Do you miss it?” “So how’s it been being home?” “What’s next?”
I usually answer with a smile and a “yeah, totally”, but I think it has taken me a while to process it all. So here’s a real, true, raw, and honest answer: It’s been hard. Very hard.
Hard doesn’t equal bad- there have been some great parts, of course, but it has been a lot more difficult than expected. For those that have asked, I’m going to do my best to paint the picture to answer your questions.
Last year was incredible, terrible, beautiful, and wonderful all at the same time. I knew I was where God called me to be, even in the midst of the people I couldn’t stand and being under an organization that felt cult-like and immature. My role was clearly defined, I knew that what I was doing was being done for a purpose, and I was constantly surrounded by several people (we’re talking 24/7) and at least one of those people was someone that I deeply connected with. With those few who became connected, we were open with each other; we had a mutual trust that we had our best interest at heart and a desire to grow with and for each other. It wasn’t offensive to have conflict. Our ears and hearts were open. It was hard, but beautiful in a way. There were blow-ups and tears, but it all came back to love. We all had one goal and were all striving and surviving towards it.
And that goal was to show the world Love. To be Hands and Feet for people who had a great need. Although we lacked showers, sometimes toilets, and became super acquainted with rice-on-rice, our impact was immediate, worthwhile, and apparent.
We were also constantly on the move, our senses being attacked every three weeks with new people, new cultures, new languages and customs. We saw poverty, sickness, and death – none of those things hiding like they do in the West. They were out there, unabashedly flaunting for all who looked on. Before we were able to process the horrors of the reality of sex-trafficking right next door, we were moving on to starving communities who had to alternate which child they fed, or moving on to witnessing the devastation that comes with the loss of a baby we played with the day before, simply because the hospital didn’t have the resources to save him.
It was chaotic and heart-wrenching, but exciting work, in a way. You were aiming to bring Light into these dark situations and were doing your best to help make it better. Toward the end, you begin to ache for the people at home. Everyone is at a level of exhaustion so deep that it begins to creep into everything you say and do. You haven’t quite processed each month, and they’re all piled up somewhere in your subconscious. Fighting is exhausting. You begin to think, “once I get back to where I belong, it will all make sense”. “Once I get back to my ‘home’, I’ll know who I am again.” “I just need to process all of this in the familiar and it will all be okay”.
Then you get home. Your heart nearly bursts the first time you see “your people”. It’s a euphoric blast of excitement. You’re finally home, you made it, you survived. You take a deep breath and go eat a much-longed-for-burrito.
After a couple of days, the deep exhaustion and overwhelm sets in. People begin to expect you to just be normal (why wouldn’t they- your “trip” is over and you’re finally back to the land of luxury where everything is always alright): “Okay, great, you’re back now – we’ll pick up right where we left off. You’re fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”
And you fail at the simplest things. You can’t hold a thought, you can’t stay awake or go to sleep, going to a grocery story causes deep panic, and everything seems to mentally crash on you at once. And anybody who would understand what’s going on is experiencing it themselves hundreds of miles away. You realize that you’re disappointing people, not on purpose, but it’s happening. “Where are you? How come you haven’t called me? Can you swing by the store and pick this up? What’s your deal? Aren’t you happy to be back? I thought you’d be different.”
Not being able to cope is not okay. And, suddenly, the familiar- the place your heart and mind was running to for comfort is more difficult than the unfamiliar. You realize that the trip has left you so raw and vulnerable and exposed, but there’s no way to express it. You need people the most, but don’t want to be anything but the “strong godly woman who just traveled the world for Jesus”. You want to show people how much you’ve grown, but then begin to question whether it happened at all. Because people can’t possibly understand why you’re not okay and those aren’t the amazing stories that people want to hear. Because God really did do some incredible and amazing things last year that would encourage anybody and bring joy to all who hear about it. But that’s not what’s crowding your mind at this overwhelming moment.
And don’t get me wrong, people were and have been absolutely incredible. So much love and support has been showered on me that I could not be more blessed. The problem is with me. I haven’t been fully honest about where I’ve been and where I’m at and I haven’t been able to process it all. And there is no possible way to encapsulate this experience, this feeling, this…whatever… and present it in a way that people can fully understand. I wouldn’t have been able to understand it. And I would have been totally judgemental and not at all accommodating – “okay, yeah, you got to escape for a year- I don’t wanna hear about it. Yeah, yeah, you’ll bounce back, just suck it up and enjoy America.”
After a couple of weeks, people are used to you being home and then the “what’s next” questions pop up. Luckily, I had a plan and an answer, but I found myself immediately trying to sound strong, confident, and like I have it all figured out. I didn’t want to sound weak or unsure or like my brain weighed a million pounds with all that was un-processed and un-figured out.
These thoughts constantly roll through your mind in a repeating stream: “Everyone seems so skilled at living life, I should look like that, too. Everyone is so busy, I should be busy, too. What’s wrong with me? Shoot, they think I don’t care. Time to look like I’ve totally got it. Shoot, I messed up and they’re mad at me. Are you not supposed to say that? Why can’t I be selfless and just focus on them? Haven’t I changed? Maybe I didn’t change at all. Lord, where are you? Help me live the change you made in me. Messed up again. It’s been a month, Where is everyone? I should be fine by now. Will it be like this forever?”
Again, not all has been bad, much has been incredible. I’m just sharing some of the more hidden parts of re-entry.
It’s a strange sort of loneliness.
And, to be honest, after two months of being back, I still feel it sometimes. A year ago, I had a defined role and a defined place every day. I was constantly surrounded by conversations of the Lord and witnessing His goodness. There was camaraderie in the hardship. There was laughter and silliness. Togetherness.
And now, just like any life change, it’s different. Transitions are hard. Being this new kind of lonely is hard. Being raw and vulnerable is hard. Seeking the Lord becomes all the more important for survival. The most peace and joy I’ve had in these times has come with time in the Lord. It’s hard to find the strength sometimes, but it’s always worth it.
So here are the answers to those questions:
1- Yes, I am so happy to be home. I love being able to hug people I love when I want. I love seeing them smile and knowing I can be part of their lives. I love burritos and toilets and showers. I love opportunity and my community, friends, and family.
2- Yes, I miss it. Not all of it, but I miss the feeling of knowing that I’m making an impact. I miss the deep relationships that were forged in the battle of it all. I miss seeing things that are so clearly God happening in peoples’ lives. I miss having a clearly defined role within the community, and for the month/week/day. I miss feeling like my life mattered. I miss the constant, forward-moving nature of the trip and the simplicity of a life focused on God and people without all the distractions.
3- It’s been a struggle. I have been beyond blessed by people, but it has been internally difficult. It’s been hard to process a year’s worth of dramatically hard core and harsh realities of the world while also fighting to process the immediate onslaught of expectation (social, fiscal, and otherwise) and processing the familiar now being the unfamiliar. Finding a role in “the new world” (which is really the old world, it just feels new now). Fighting to matter again, to feel like I am of worth to those that I love. Fighting daily to know that the Lord is as present with me here where life is a different kind of easy as He was where we were “suffering” for his sake.
4- What’s next? I have been in the process of applying for grad school with the ultimate goal of becoming an English teacher to middle and high school students. I feel at peace in this decision, even though the program costs approximately a bazillion dollars and I’m looking at being in debt for the first time in my life (forever a loan). Luckily, I have just gotten a job with Starbucks, which will cover the cost of living like I lived all of last year (however, it is a job that will be flexible with grad school/ student teaching hours and so I am grateful) and have prospects of getting a place with some very good friends in January. Things are looking up, as they always were. I still haven’t processed everything, but I’m beginning to find my feet.
Thank you so much for going with me on this journey! Your prayers and support have meant the world to me and I would not have survived without it. On to the next adventure!
Love,
