Before I joined Peace Corps, I had experienced some sort of "growing pains" when I packed up and left my sheltered and familiar little life in Ste. Genevieve for a college town and a university experience in Cape Girardeau. I knew not a single soul when I arrived, and it definitely took an adjustment period to become accustomed to the community showers (not to mention the random men who showed up in them) and the vast amount of freedom I had never experienced before. This left me feeling both terrified and exhilarated, and I definitely resisted a tugging to return to all things familiar.
Granted, within a month or three, I had created friendships with individuals I now cannot imagine life without, and all was well. I learned plenty of lessons, made memories, and discovered I was able to define my life outside of what people in that small town deemed "acceptable" for me, and that was okay.
Fast forward four years. I decided to up and change my life again: I am an American living in Cherkasy, Ukraine. I know enough Ukrainian vocabulary to share my love of drawing, animals, exploring, and reading. I can, brokenly, explain how to make tacos and in return, learn how to make my new family's divine mushroom soup. I can tell my host family and new co-workers I appreciate their friendship, support, and help on this crazy journey (although much less eloquently than that). I can identify the correct trolleys and marshuki to get me to and from work, and to my favorite park, I can go to the bazaar or store and buy cherries or shampoo. I could go to the train station and purchase a ticket for the correct day and time to another city, if I so desired (Probably.. We'll test this theory in a few months). I can even explain why I am living and working in Ukraine while using big-kid vocabulary, like "youth development." For only having three months of language practice, I know this is an accomplishment; I know I should be proud of myself.
However, sometimes, without warning, growing pains can hit you hard in the middle of the night, plaguing you for days on end, refusing to be placated.
This week, I have been unable to explain that my grandfather is in the hospital, facing a long, difficult recovery, and I want more than anything to jump on a plane and be there for him and my family. I have been unable to voice my fear of being a burden, disappointment, and failure instead of a blessing to the organization that has been wanting a PCV for two years. I haven't been able to disclose how guilty I feel for not loving every minute of this experience like I feel I should be. I have been unable to express how much I am craving something familiar- a hug from my mom, a kiss on the forehead from someone dear to me, cuddling one of my furballs. Even helping my Ukrainian mama in the garden and playing with my pig-friend, Wiggly, would be a welcome comfort, because even that is more familiar than this busy new city.
To sum up, culture shock and home-sickness brutally tag-teamed me with the force of a sledgehammer. I wanted safe. I wanted home.
However, I didn't join Peace Corps to stay "safe." I didn't join Peace Corps to stay comfortably in my feel-good box where I can control everything with my pretty excel spreadsheets and highlighters. I don't even own a highlighter, now.
I joined Peace Corps to challenge myself. I joined Peace Corps to learn a new language and culture. I joined Peace Corps to become a more empathetic and knowledgeable social worker and human; to develop new relationships and to be of aid where help is truly needed. I joined Peace Corps to learn how to live.
Moving to a new country is hard. Preparing your personal and professional life for two years of service where you won't even be able to go home for the holidays is incredibly hard. I say that with a new understanding, albeit a bit of a delayed understanding. I think this is partly due to the fact that when you talk with RPCVs (Returned Peace Corps Volunteers), they talk about the differences they made- they relationships they shared; almost as if they're looking at their service through rose-colored glasses. They do not admit initial minute-by-minute struggle to understand what is being said to you and around you, the struggle to find your niche in your new community, or the fear of becoming lost in a city of 300,000 people when you cannot even correctly pronounce the name of the street you live on.
At first, I resented these RPCVs and Peace Corps staff for not disclosing the negatives of service because these struggles are so very real- they're part of the growing pains. But once I started thinking, I realized these barriers, the ones that feel ten feet tall? They're not permanent. They're built of clay, and they will begin to crumble with each small victory- be it a word learned, conversation had, or a cat-friend made.
So, yes, feel. Feel everything that's happening around you. Validate these feelings. After all, they're real; probably some of the most tangible you've ever experienced outside of being heels-over-head in love. But in these intense moments, don't forget to take a deep breath, step back, and reflect. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience that you're lucky enough to call your own. One day, you'll be that starry-eyed, twitter-painted RPCV describing the land and people and memories you fell in love with. All it takes is a little faith, trust, and pixie dust (comprised of a lot of hard work, dedication, and persistence). And remember:
You've got this.
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