Personal Struggles with not knowing I was a TCK

In my last post, I stated that I would write about coping mechanisms - which I will - but for now, I'm still trying to figure all of this stuff out and figure myself out.

I did not have the language or knowledge to know I was going to be smacked in the face with reverse culture shock. I was quite naive and figured, I have heard all the stories about my folks growing up in the States and we vacationed there pretty much every summer since we moved abroad, moving to the States will be a piece of cake!

I really was ok my first two years in the US. I jumped right into the college lifestyle and got involved. We all were new and trying to make the best out of our situation while attempting to study and get good grades (with the occasional justification of sleeping in instead of going to that 8 a.m. class). I would travel with the band I was involved in, getting to stay with host families and traveling to all kinds of different churches while we performed. I loved it!

My issues arose when my folks left the Azores and moved to Germany. When I went "home" for Christmas that first time after they had moved (end of my sophomore year), all my anger set in, but at the time I was experiencing emotions without cognitively understanding why. I started dreading going with friends to their homes for the holidays. I would get so angry and incredibly jealous with their traditions and family gatherings. Little did I know that once I left the Azores for college, my traditions with my family - what I knew - was all gone. It was all fun and games until reality set in and I was fending on my own.

I was (and still am) really good at getting to know people for the first time. But nobody asked me about my family, my likes, my traditions. And ten years later, I still have a very difficult time remembering what I did as a child, what traditions we had, all the awesome memories and experiences....because now I associate that with people not wanting anything to do with me because they don't understand.

What happened was not only did I lose my home, when I started having anger issues, my classmates and friends at my university started backing away from me. So, I also lost the support and friendship I had started to rely on. That experience was quite traumatic....and I'm already a very sensitive person.

I wanted to move away from that place, from Tennessee, after I dropped out of school and lost the friends I once had. I wanted to start my life anew and thought that my husband's family would take the place of my family. But again I was met with blank stares, misunderstanding, and nobody really trying to get to know me for who I was. All they could see was this girl with a lot of issues. Tired. Depressed. Emotional. Withdrawn. Defeated.

I do NOT regret the way I grew up AT ALL!! I want to make that clear. I just wish I could remember it better. I wish I had enough confidence in myself and had others supporting me through that transitional time.

I can look back now and start putting pieces of the puzzle together. But I'm still lonely and I still don't have many people to rely on. I admit that it is quite painful to talk openly about this. Part of me feels ashamed that I didn't realize I was going through transitional issues. Part of me feels bad that now that I'm beginning to understand, I should instantly snap out of my depression. I see others who embrace their unique TCK lifestyle. I see others who are thriving, successful, and helpful to others and I wonder what good I've done...if anything.

All of this makes me feel incredibly empty on the inside. I often feel alone in my struggles and it hurts so much when others don't understand, let alone care to understand, and I'm left to continue with these struggles on my own.

Cathartic Realizations

I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching as of late. This is something I do a lot, but I finally feel like I’m getting somewhere – that I’m getting some answers – that things are beginning to click.

I’ve been participating in a research study about TCKs and their college experience and it has shed so much light for me. Answering the questions brings things I’ve been trying to hide from and stuff away and forget to the forefront. I had a great time at college before my parents left the Azores. Even though I didn’t interact with international students and I stuffed my abroad experiences away because my peers couldn’t relate or understand, I still was able to develop and maintain friendships.

After my parents left the Azores, life became a blur for me. I had no home anymore. I didn’t know who I was or what I was supposed to do. I couldn’t go home. I was stuck in a country that I only considered a place to come to during the summer time. My experiences in the states consisted of traveling and little bits of TV here and there. I didn’t know what was popular. I didn’t know what was normal. I became incredibly alienated and anxiety and fear took over me.

Nobody knew that I was struggling with adjustment issues. Why would they? I had been in the states for two solid years going to school, happy as a lark (to an extent). My anger issues started arising as soon as I got to school because I had to deny big chunks of who I was.

The following are answers to some research questions I’ve been asked. My answers have been one of the most painful, yet cathartic realizations I’ve had in six years.

Explain the situation leading up to you leaving school for a while and eventually transferring. What spurred that decision? Why did you decide to leave? How did you make that decision? What did your friends, family, professors and/or advisers think? Were they supportive? Did you experience feelings of restlessness leading up to that decision? Even after leaving school and then re-enrolling, did you experience restlessness? What made you decide to return?

This was a very difficult time for me and something I’m still trying to overcome to this day. My parents left the Azores the summer before my junior year. It wasn’t until I went to visit them at Christmas time that things started to sink in for me. Germany, where my parents now live, was not my home. I didn’t have a home. I didn’t know where I was from. Every other summer and/or Christmas I would go home and then we would come back to the states to spend time together. I still had a place to go back to that was familiar and safe.

After the Christmas break, I started having a lot of anger issues. By the end of the semester, I ended up having a complete meltdown. Neither I, nor my parents understood what was going on. They switched my plane ticket to come “home” to Germany sooner than I was supposed to. They took me to see a doctor on the military base who diagnosed me with PMDD (premenstrual dysphoric disorder) since it seemed these anger issues and mood swings arose the week before menses. I was put on a mild antidepressant to help alleviate the symptoms. During the summer, my boyfriend broke up with me after being together for two years and I started having an incredibly difficult time functioning in school. I slept all the time. I missed classes. I asked my doctor to switch my medication because I couldn’t function in school. This is when I switched my major to a double major in music and psychology.

The winter semester of 2006 is quite a blur to me. I started having anxiety attacks all the time. I was switching medicines every couple of months. I was in and out of the ER 10 times alone that year. I didn’t know what was wrong with me and my family was so far away. My peers began to be frightened of me and started claiming I was demon possessed. My advisor and professors I looked up to came down on me with tough love. They stated that it only took a couple of minutes to pray and read my bible. They claimed if I had enough faith, then I would be healed. That didn’t help to feel safe or to feel I had support. I started to feel that there was something very wrong with me. My peers began to withdraw from me and I began to withdraw from them. I finished out the semester with good grades, although I have no idea how. I took the summer off and went to visit my new boyfriend’s family (now my husband) up in Ohio. I tried to begin the fall semester, but I was so embarrassed and still not functioning well that I ended up withdrawing in October 2006. I had obtained a part time job at a bank and decided to work full time while I tried to get things figured out. I attempted to start school again in January 2007, but withdrew after only a couple of days. I didn’t feel like I fit in at all anymore. .

My husband and I got married July 2007 and, again, I had planned to return to school because it was important to me to finish my education. I decided since my family was so far away, it would be better to move to Ohio to be close to his family. We moved up to Ohio in January 2008. I actually enrolled in Regent University’s psychology program online, but I wanted to be around people. So, I didn’t even stay for a total of two weeks before withdrawing. I was working as a teller and my trainer was talking about Hiram’s Weekend College. I remember two of my good friends from high school going to Hiram College, so I looked into it.

What do you think it was about your parents leaving the Azores that triggered such a deep emotional response?

It was my home. It was a place of safety and a place I identified as part of me. I was able to go home my first two years of college. I flew back home for Christmas and at the beginning of the summer time because school always let out earlier for me than it did for my parents. I all of a sudden didn’t feel safe and I didn’t know where I belonged. It was a scary experience.

Do you know if any of the personnel that worked with you through your depression have any experience dealing with Third Culture Kids?

None of them had any experience. I was diagnosed with a lot of different things from PTSD to having cluster headaches to being Bipolar NOS to having Major Depression to having a Mood Disorder NOS. Nobody took into account the way I grew up. I remember working with one counselor who claimed the way I grew up wasn’t reality. That really messed with my head, to say the least! Needless to say, I don’t seek out many professionals to help me anymore. I’ve had a lot more success researching on my own even though it’s probably taken longer. The doctor I am working with now is married to a German lady and is the first one to tell me that part of my issues stem from the way that I grew up.

Do you think the way that your professors (and/or friends) treated you with "tough love" was helpful or hurtful to you in your situation? Did anyone tell you there wasn't anything wrong with you or that you were just struggling with adjustment/transition?

It was absolutely hurtful. I felt lost and confused and by not having anyone that seemed to want to care really pushed me into isolation. Nobody told me anything of the sort. Nobody had a clue that I was struggling with adjustment/transition. I didn’t even realize it.

So, here I am six years later after all this mess happened. Finally able to face what actually happened to me. Finally able to look back and realize the majority of the poems I write about consist of loneliness, hurt, sadness, alienation…all the things I’ve been feeling and experiencing since this traumatic event.

Now I begin to wonder…do I have a Mood Disorder? Do I have PMDD? Will all the pain and anger I've been carrying around magically disappear or will it continue to haunt me? Or have I just been waiting for someone to tell me that there is nothing wrong with me…I just had a difficult time adjusting? I think I still do have PMDD because I had a difficult time with that in high school, but it became much worse after this stressful event. At this point, I don’t know. I guess only time will tell.

10-Year Grieving Process

I never cried when it seemed appropriate. I didn’t cry when I left Bahrain. I didn’t cry when I left the Azores. In fact, I was relieved because I had a very bad couple of experiences on my way back to the island for the last time. Maybe it was a way to help me through the process. If I was mad that would cover up the sadness. That’s often how my depression shows its face – through anger.

I’ve only been to a handful of funerals in my time and I don’t know how to grieve. I think that’s one reason why I have such emotional outburst during PMDD. It has to come out sometime and I’ve been harboring a lot of pain, a lot of emotion for quite a long time.

I have been trying to survive for so long. I have been trying to stay afloat and not drown in the seemingly endless amounts of emotions that overtake me month after month. Now that I’m not in survival mode anymore, I’m beginning to find out who I am again…or rather, who I am now. Our past will always be a part of us, but I don’t want to stay stagnant in the same place forever. I don’t want to sit wishing upon wishes that my life could be the way it used to be because by doing that I’m missing out on so much that is going on right now.

I’m grateful for the experiences and the life I’ve had. I’m so blessed to have grown up overseas and met the awesome people I have. I have so much more to look forward to.

I’m not slow and I’m not dumb, but it has taken me 10 years to recognize that I had a difficult time acclimating back to the United States, my passport county. It has taken me a long time to realize that I have been lonely and upset because I lost people that I considered close to me. I’ve grown distant. I’ve shut myself off. I use to be a very touchy-feely person. Always giving hugs and cuddling with my roommates. We need that from each other. We need each other. People need people. My faith has been tested big time, but I’m still growing. I’m still adapting. I’m still learning. I’m still sensitive. I’m just a heck of a lot more knowledgeable now and not groping for answers in the dark. This awareness won’t necessarily enable others to “get it”, but that’s ok. I’m beginning to have confidence in me. I’m beginning to heal. I’m beginning to live my life the way I was intended to.

I will still have bad days, I guarantee it. I will still have days that I cry and it may seem like for no reason…but deep down I’ll understand that it’s probably for multiple reasons.

I’m grateful for my tears because my body needs a release. I’m grateful for my pain because it’s validation that the life I lived was real…that I am real….that I feel and exist. I’m grateful for my experiences because they are making me into the person that I am. I'm grateful for the grieving process, no matter how long it takes....and it takes everyone a different amount of time and down a different path.

I feel like I'm finally ready to begin living my life.

Seven With a Line Through It...

I write my sevens with a line through the middle of it. Like so…

I never once thought about why I do that or that anything was wrong with it until I became a bank teller.

When I was a bank teller in TN, a lot of older people liked for their registers to be balanced. As I was kindly doing so for an older lady, she abruptly stopped me when she saw the way I had written my seven. “What is that?” she snarled. I was confused and it could be heard in my reply.

“It’s the number seven, ma’am.”

“No it’s not. Why are you writing it like that??”

“Because I lived overseas and that’s the way I learned to write it”

“Well, you’re in America now and that’s not proper.”

I’m sure you can imagine how her answer made my blood boil. Why isn’t it proper? Because most Americans don’t write their sevens that way? At the time I wasn’t sure why I was so upset, but I couldn’t show it for several reasons. 1. I was conducting business and in customer service, the customer is always right. 2. I wasn’t exactly sure why I was so upset.

So, here I am, six years later thinking about that incident. Why was I so upset?

Because I was expected to be one way and that’s not fair. Because I look American, I speak English like Americans, but other than those traits I have experiences that contribute to my being that have made my story unique. As a child, I picked up things my classmates and friends did from their own culture and incorporated it into my own life without even realizing it. It wasn’t until this lady pointed out so brutally that I was wrong for writing my number the way I did. It’s so simple. Why not just change and write it without the line through it? Because that’s not who I am.

I made a terrible mistake, unbeknownst to me at the time, when I moved back the states. I so desperately wanted to be a part of the American culture and wanted to fit in. So, naturally I tried to become like the fellow Americans around me. However, my expectations were sorely disappointed.

Growing up, specifically in the Azores, people came in and out of my life on a consist basis. Every year and a half to two years people were going as often as they were coming. I loved meeting new friends and that excitement overshadowed the loss of saying goodbye to old friends. Living this way constituted the need to welcome people into your group. To be open. To be social and to quickly get to know each other because you didn’t have much time together. This was my norm.

Due to this being the norm, I expected people to welcome me with open arms when I went to college, but that wasn’t the case. The majority of them came from big church groups together. Or if they didn’t come from the same state, they had gone to church camp for years upon years and knew each other or at least people knew who their parents were in the church.

Ok, no big deal. Church people are loving and accepting, right? Just because they have the label “Christian” didn’t make them loving and accepting. They were teenagers set free to explore the world on their own without mom and dad hovering over them. All the girls looked the same to me. Wearing heels and tons of makeup…even to their 8 a.m. classes. I rolled out of bed with my PJ's on with barely enough time to brush my hair and run to the dining room to grab some food.

People took an interest in me when it benefited them. At my first college, we all had to participate in a global experience before we could graduate. I loved the concept! Obviously, I didn’t need to since I was practically an international student. (I even had to pack up my stuff and put it in the dungeon with the rest of the international kids’ stuff when I went home for the summer. ) Classmates were suddenly coming out of the woodwork to ask me questions for their paper about how international students view the world. I was an easy target. “You lived overseas, right Megan?” So, you’re practically an international student. I was so excited that people began to realize who I was and where I came from, but it was very short lived. They were only interested long enough to complete their paper. And that only occurred in my freshman year. By the time I was in my sophomore and junior years, people had forgotten where I came from and I contributed to that lack of information.

I became very good at focusing on other people. I became very good at learning other people’s stories and who they were – what they were all about. While doing this, I slowly began to forget who I was and my own story.

So, yesterday, I started to write the date the way Europeans do. Date first, followed by month, and lastly the year. I haven’t done that since I was in the fourth or fifth grade. I’ve also started to have dreams. Dreams about my past. Pieces of a puzzle that I thought I had forgotten. I understand not everyone or most people don’t talk about cultural things. They just exist in it, but this is who I am. I write my sevens with a line through it and I’m not wrong for doing that.

Global Citizen

There is a lot that I'm learning and beginning to accept about myself. I think I always knew a lot of these things, but when I moved to the States....everything I did - everything I was became wrong.

I've come to recognize and accept that most people do not talk about cultural things or even really acknowledge the existence of their own culture in everyday life. Being a TCK doesn't really warrant you that opportunity. It becomes second nature to be inquisitive and interested in most all things culture latent.

That being said, I'm curious if other TCK's are this way:

I have a hard time telling others what I think. More specific, I have a hard time developing an opinion about much of anything. This is a phenomenon that seems to be more prevalent the older I become.



When I was younger, as I'm sure it is for the majority of people from any culture, I grasped onto my parent's culture. They are Christian. They are educators. My mom is from the south so we had cornbread and black-eyed peas for New Year's eve. My dad is from the north so we always had to have a pastie when we went up to the U.P. (Upper Peninsula of Michigan). I know those are only a few things that I'm naming and a lot had to do with food, but hopefully you get my point. I've mentioned this in other posts, but I was drawn to the stories my parents would tell longing for the day that I could live in the States and participate in a similar lifestyle. I dreamed of having a family and being a career woman. Oddly enough, I never dreamed about traveling much. I had set in my mind that I was an American and that I was going to live a very similar lifestyle that my own parents did.

They say that TCK's go through a delayed adolescence. I see the truth in that. It's been a long time coming and I'm still discovering who I am. Perhaps that's why I'm attracted to all things personality...but even more than that - I think it's a TCK trait.

We are very good at observing our surroundings. We don't often give our opinions right away because we want to discover what the "norm" is and that "norm" has changed so often in our lives that, as stated earlier, it becomes second nature. We want to figure out who you are before we allow ourselves to jump in.

I use to think being a chameleon was a sign of being untrue to oneself, but I'm slowly realizing the positive value in my capabilities. I have the ability to understand a wide variety of people with little to no judgement. I have a want to understand who people are and their backgrounds.

Yes, it becomes lonely when you're the only one asking questions. Yes, it becomes confusing when you're only learning about other people and not taking the time to discover who you really are. Many TCK's struggle with identity and rootlessness and it's very understandable. I believe those things have contributed greatly to my depression and PMDD. However, I'm accepting that this IS part of my identity and there is nothing wrong with it. It feels odd to not fully immerse yourself in one culture. People look at you funny or can't always understand or want to understand, but the beauty is that we are true global citizens. We are not closed off to one way of being. We are mailable, flexible, ever-learning people.

For once in my life I can say I'm proud of where I've been. I'm proud of who I've become and I'm looking forward to this continued journey!

Memories of Life Abroad

I wanted to create a mini collage that captured some pictures of the lifestyle I once led.

In honor of the Arabic-way of reading, I will start on the right and then move to the left.

Bahrain was the place I grew up from the time I was 6 years until 12 years old. I loved the pearl round-about because my name means "pearl". Not only that, but Bahraini's are known for their pearl diving skills and use dhows to accomplish that. I've written before about the Tree of Life. It's just an awesome, natural wonder!

The causway is a bridge that links Bahrain and Saudi Arabia together. We never went into Saudi because we didn't have a visa to be there, but we went half way and it was neat.

I loved shopping in the souk. The smells and the colors were amazing. Shop owners would often invite you in for some tea or to try some of their fresh pistachios or candies. You could buy carpets and gold galore!!

Terceira was the place I grew up from the time I was 12 years until 18 years old. I have a lot more clear, defined memories of this island.

Azaleas grow and bloom in the summer time and when they do, it looks like waterfalls of flowers are cascading down the hillside. The spirit houses are very unique to the Portuguese culture. It's a parish that houses the Holy Ghost's crown and there is usually a celebration that goes along with it. Back in the 1200's, Queen Elizabeth of mainland Portugal was said to start the tradition letting the poorest of people be crowned for a day. It was a tradition adopted on the Azorean islands in the 1400's.

The other four pictures are common scenes seen on the island. It's very common to see an older gentleman riding in a cart pulled by a donkey. It's very common to walk upon cobblestone roads. Neptune's face is just exist and a reminder of how beautiful nature truly can be!!

Resistance to Only Accepting One Culture

I was watching one of my favorite new shows the other day, Pan Am. The particular episode I watched entailed the crew flying a charter flight full of reporters to Berlin because President Kennedy was giving a speech. P.S. The show takes place in the 1960's. One of the stewardesses is of French nationality. In this episode, you find out that she is very bitter against the Germans because the Nazi's killed her family when she was little.

What I took away from that episode is that I don't have much national pride towards the United States, my passport country. Please understand that I'm not saying I hate America, I'm just stating that being a TCK has thwarted me from feeling a sense of nationality towards any one country.

We would come back to the States every summer to visit. So, this country was viewed as vacation time - as family time - as relaxing time. I use to dream about what it would be like to live in the different cities and towns we passed through. I would peer out the van window (because we always rented a van to travel cross the states) and dream up lovely stories about life in the United States. These dreams and stories became enhanced as I listened to the stories my parents would tell about their childhood in the US....but they were just that to me. Stories. I don't remember much of my childhood before we left to live abroad. I was only six-years old when we left. Vacation time was filled with shopping and fast food restaurants and the Disney channel - all the things we couldn't get living in our remote homes.

Because we came back to the States in the summer time, we would always end up watching the 4th of July fireworks. I loved the colors and the ones that sizzled. HATED the ones that just exploded like a bombs. I would always cover my ears and wait for the pretty ones to soar back into the air!


Just like the dreams and idealistic stories I made up in my head about living in the US, watching the fireworks was pretty much the same thing to me. I don't know many kids (young kids) that truly understand the importance of why fireworks are lit on the 4th of July. I was one of those kids. It was just like any other piece of history I had been dragged along to see (yes, sorry that was my interpretation of all our historical visits).

We went to London three different times. We went to West Minister Abby and saw where all these famous people had been buried. I was surrounded by rich history. We went to the Tower of London and the thing that sticks out in my mind are the stakes that lined the walkways, stained in blood from the many heads shoved onto them after being chopped off so the crows could eat it....BLECH!

It was like I was walking amongst a real-life story, but none of it seemed real to me. It seemed like I was always watching, but never fully partaking; always an outsider observing the mannerisms, ways, and behaviors of others even at such a young age.

I don't partake in politics because, just like the fireworks, I didn't think it pertained to me. We had the news on in our house a lot in Bahrain 1. Because we were limited to the channels we had and 2. Because we moved over there right before the Gulf War started. Now that I live in the US, I still don't partake in politics and don't get why the nation as a whole is consumed with it. That's just my opinion.

I don't partake in sports and find it silly that Americans get so into and hardcore about sports. Sure, Europeans were big into football (soccer). Sure, the Portuguese loved their bull fights and letting the bulls run.

I think I become apprehensive and resistant to accepting "American Culture" because I'm expected to accept it as my sole culture and that's not who I am. I want to be able to observe and watch from afar, but I can't really do that now as a citizen. I'm expected to share the same national sense and pride....but I just don't. I haven't changed the way I do things. I've always watched from afar and participated when I felt like I could, but never fully immersed myself into any one culture because I wasn't part of that culture. Now that I am back "home," I'm looked at as strange because I don't dive right in.




I wonder if I ever will - or if I'll continually watch from the sidelines, taking it all in?

The Misfit

I am a square peg being forced into a round hole. Guess what? I don't fit. Maybe if I turn just right, I can get an edge through. That is how my life feels. It feels like I twist and turn and am forced by society's standards to fit through this round hole. But no matter how many ways I'm twisted and forced to conform, my shape - the essence of who I am - cannot be changed.


That edge that I can fit through, it is like the tip of an iceberg in a round about way in this society's world.

Being a TCK, this analogy is best way I can describe how I fit into my passport culture...or rather, how only a teeny tiny part of me fits.

You know that other analogy about how life is compared to a play and we're all actors playing different roles at different times in our lives? I would like to take the same concept and modify it using an analogy of shoes.

There are some shoes that are appropriate for certain situations and not for others. Or the shoes that are super cute, but incredibly uncomfortable.

I equate these shoes to the roles we play in life. It's hard to find a pair that fits just right, but when we do find those magical shoes we don't ever want to take them off.

Flip flops are my magical shoes. I would wear them every day if I could. They do not create blisters on my heels. They can easily be put on or taken off. I feel free to be me. However, I can't wear flip flops in certain social settings. I'm forced to put on heels or other uncomfortable shoes to fit that standard.


What happens in life when we are forced to wear uncomfortable shoes that don't fit all of the time? Physical pain. I was walking in a pair of shoes the other day and I was in such pain that it caused me to change the way I walked. How often has this happened in our lives? We've been forced to be a certain way and succumb to what society expects us to be.


There are times that we are free to wear the shoes that identify us for who we are. We are comfortable and we will wear those shoes as long as we possibly can. But shoes can and will get worn out - there are times in our lives that we have to move on. We'll have to buy new shoes and either deal with the uncomfortableness until the pain is unbearable or keep searching for a new pair of shoes to break in.


I use to have a pair of shoes - a time in my life - when I was happy, carefree, and just me. My surroundings changed, though. My friends changed. My life changed drastically and my favorite pair of "shoes" were gone. All the "shoes" and roles I've been trying to fit into lately are a misfit. They are painful or just not appropriate for the occasion. I'm trying to find a new pair that will fit where I'm at right now. I've been walking around way too long in a pair that is incredibly uncomfortable. I'm tired of trying to conform to who and what society wants me to be. I'm tired of trying to wear shoes that change the way I walk, change the way I act. I want another pair of magical flip flops for this time of my life! What kind of shoes have you been walking around in? What are your magic shoes?

Flourish in the Desert

I feel like I'm being swallowed up by the same feeling time and time again - that feeling is called loneliness. I can't shake it. I can't wipe it off. Everywhere I turn, it's blaring me in the face reminding me that I'm on my own; that I have to fight this battle on my own.

How do you grow when you have no roots, nothing to support you? How do you sustain life when you feel so thirsty all the time?

I feel screwed. When you're a child, that is when you develop your roots. That is when you build lifelong relationships. I'm so lost and confused about my roots...or lack thereof. I'm so confused about who I am and what I'm supposed to do.

I don't even feel like I have family. I feel my family has turned their backs on me because I'm not getting better. Are my expectations too high? My friends all live in different parts of the world and have moved forward with their lives...they've made new lives for themselves. I want to do the same, but I just don't know how. I've gone so far in the other direction that I wouldn't even know how to begin to start anew. I wouldn't even know how to mend the brokenness.

I don't know how to fit in. I've lost my chameleon flair that TCKs are so good at. I don't see the point of trying to be someone you're not. There is such irony in that statement, though because I know who I'm not, but I don't know who I am.

I want to be like this tree.

[Tree of Life, Bahrain]

This is the "Tree of Life" in Bahrain. I loved going to visit this tree as a child. I was fascinated by its beauty and its vast expanding roots. Yet, it grew all alone in the desert with little to no other vegetation around! Despite the harsh conditions that surround it, the Tree of Life is a type of tree with one of the deepest known root systems.

I feel like the tree in the sense that I am surrounded by barrenness; surrounded by emptiness. But that is a problem with my perception. Sometimes I become jaded by life's harsh realities instead of digging deeper and recognizing the life that is bubbling inside. I forget the positive. I forget the beauty.

But I want to dig deep and have roots that search out truth and life. I want to cling tight to nourishment everlasting. I want to find a stream of living water. I want to hold up regardless of what conditions and/or situations are going on around me. I want to bloom. I want to grow wherever I'm planted. I want to flourish in the desert.

What Game Do You Play?

I read a cross-cultural study one time that looked at the differences between Western and Eastern cultures and how they dealt with, not necessarily conflict, but how they handled a challenge they were presented with. The two groups were presented with a selection of two types of games (don’t recall what the games actually were). If a Westerner was not good at a particular game and asked if they wanted to participate in the same game the next time around, they would often decline and want to try their hand at the other game. However, if the same situation was true from the Easterner, they would in fact play the same game (that they were not so good at) time and time again.

This scenario speaks volumes to me. It shows me that Westerners are more inclined to be the best at something. If they’re not, they don’t want to face the challenge. They will move on until they find something they are good at with little to no effort, whereas the Easterners continually practice at something that they may only have a mediocre skill in at first.

This isn’t black and white stating all Westerners and Easterners are this particular way and I am in no way stating that one culture is better than the other. I just find it interesting that the majority of the culture I currently live in now want to “find something they are good at with little to no effort”. I’ve fallen into this many a time.

When the tides of opposition start lapping upon me, I either go into ostrich mode or run away altogether.

Up until recently, the thing I was most proud of was when I played my upper division my sophomore year at Lee. I never really practiced like I should have. I’m not sure if it was laziness on my part, or I would much rather be hanging out with friends than in the practice rooms tirelessly blowing through reeds, with a sore bottom lip as I practiced my clarinet. Whatever it was, I actually put in the effort for my upper division. I practiced like I had never practiced before. I cried. I was tired. I felt like I was never good enough. I was a music major and I STILL squeaked from time to time!!! But in the end – I never felt so accomplished….until recently.

I could have easily given up on my degree when I had to drop out of school the first time around. I could have said, you know what – I’m a working adult now and I’ll just work my way up in the company, but education has been instilled in me since the time I was a wee thing (probably doesn’t help that I’m the daughter of educators). There were many times I was miserable going to and from school because I hadn’t dealt with the hardships that I encountered in TN. Plus I was still dealing with PMDD, being weaned off medication, developing my new relationship with my husband, starting a home, working full time. It was not easy. But I kept at it.

There is something to be said about keeping at something - pushing forward when it seems all the odds are against you – continually striving towards a goal when others don’t support you. There will always be people out there that are better off OR worse off than us. There will always be people out there that are better OR worse at something than we are. We can only do what we are capable of, but I want to be more like my Eastern cousins who continually practice at something that they are not good at; who want to be better despite the odds against them.

Are you here to play the game even if you’re not good at it? Do you try again or do you turn to find something else that you can be good at with little effort?

Dissatisfaction is Ensuing

“It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences.“ ~ Audre Lorde


Everything starts to mesh together. I can’t tell what is making me feel like what. If didn’t give a crap as to “why” so much, it wouldn’t really matter.

But here I am; dissatisfaction is ensuing. It’s not as hard to explain to others why this feeling exists. It is difficult, however, to accept the reality that they don’t really and truly get it. How do I know? I can see it in their eyes. I can see it in their body language. I can see it in their actual language. It’s written all over them.

I’ve been back in the US now for almost nine years. It’s been about seven that my strings have been cut from going back “home”; going back overseas on a regular basis.
And I’m becoming someone that I never thought I would be come. It’s not bitterness. No. I accept that I’m bitter and I’ll openly admit that to anyone. The truth is, I’m becoming judgmental and intolerant of the people around me. I NEVER thought I would see the day when I would become so angry and full of hatred towards those that don’t know any better.

I always tried to be understanding of people’s backgrounds. I always tried to be understanding of differences. I still accept a large majority of differences in diverse people, but I’m losing that ability to be flexible with people that look like me. People who are American like me. Perhaps I’m deflecting the actions others have shown. Or perhaps I’m so sick and tired of not being understood that now the pendulum has swung so far the other direction.

In relationships, it’s said that you cannot change another person. You only have control over you – your thoughts – your actions. So why must I constantly struggle with not feeling accepted amongst my own people. I say I’m full of anger and hatred for people that don’t “know better,” but I feel that people SHOULD know better!
Our world is becoming more globalized every single day. We can only hide our faces from the reality of this for so long. We live on one planet. We share the same space. We share the same air. No, we don’t all share the same language or same foods. No, we don’t have the same customs or traditions. But we are all human. We share the commonalities of what humans feel. We love. We hurt. We need. We know joy. We know sorrow. We know family. There are some things that make us similar! As the quote states below,though, we must learn to respect each others differences.


“In the end we are all separate: our stories, no matter how similar, come to a fork and diverge. We are drawn to each other because of our similarities, but it is our differences we must learn to respect.” ~ Confucius

Grief

I wish I could rip this day - this feeling out like a page in a magazine and then crumble it up and toss it away.

I say its hard because it truly is. I want to take a day off, but I can't. I have to keep pushing through. I thought everything would be hunky dorey once I started using the progesterone cream on a regular basis and I must admit, the swings aren't as severe...but man, they're still there!

I laid in bed and just cried last night. I was finally able to cry about my losses....and I think there will be plenty more times to come like that. At first I didn't want to and I laid there with a tissue over my face trying to keep back the sobs that were welling up inside. I tried to hold it back, but then I said screw it and the tears came.

I cried for losing my home knowing I'll never be able to go back - knowing nothing will ever be the same - feeling estranged in this country but disconnected from the country I called home the longest. I cried for losing Jessica knowing how young she was and just starting her family. Knowing she had so much more to give and she would never watch her son grow up. Longing for the fun times in high school and just to talk to her again. I cried for losing my grandpa knowing that I would never hear his voice again and he would never call us "the babiessss" ever again.

Why does our society frown on grief? Why are we just supposed to get up and get over it? Because crying is a sign of weakness? That's bologna. I use to get made fun of in elementary and high school for being too emotional and I acted like a baby and I cried too easily. Screw all of that! It's healthy to cry and its healthy to let the tears wash away the pain.

Why is it so uncomfortable for others to deal with raw emotions? It's not like emotions are taboo. Every human being has the capability to show emotion and some express it a lot more freely than others. I use to express my emotions freely and then I was shunned for it because the way I was expressing myself was uncomfortable to those around me.

I cannot and will not live to appease others. If I'm doing something morally wrong by having a bad freaking day, show me how it's wrong. Show me how I'm in the wrong for hurting. Show me how I'm in the wrong for wanting something better. Don't lecture me. Don't yell at me. Don't shun me. Don't abandon me. We all can get prickly sometimes, but there is still water flowing deep within. And its OK to let it out.

White Rabbit Syndrome

I must admit, my moods have been nothing but good lately! However, I still feel rushed and tired....oh so tired! I never feel like I stay caught up. I always feel two steps behind with the rest of the world. It's like I'm perpetually in White Rabbit mode, running late no matter what I do or where I go.

I had a discussion about this with my father one time. He says its my personality, but I think it has to do with the cultures I grew up in, too - probably emphasized what was already there. Both Bahrain and the Azores are cultures that view times as polychronic not monochronic. If you go here you can look at definitions for both and see which category you fall into. Also, if you go here you will be able to read a little bit more in depth about what the differences are between polychronic and monochronic type people.

Anywho, I definitely fall into the category of polychron but live in this American culture of: must be at "x" place on time, people will be mad at you if you don't follow through with plans made, get in and get out, get the job done and make sure the door is closed when you do it, etc! UGH!! I don't operate like that at all!!! If I see someone on the side of the road on my way to work, I want the opportunity to pull over and help them without being punished because I wasn't at work on time. I know there are things that I can learn from a monochronic personality...trust me, both my parents are and I'm married to one too! However, I think there is a lot you can learn from a polychronic personality as well.


I use to feel guilty for the way that I am. For canceling plans, for ALWAYS running late, for starting one project and then getting distracted, for the looks and the disappointments. But I'm here to say that I don't find TIME to be of utmost importance. I find PEOPLE to be the most important thing in my life! I hate feeling rushed anywhere. It causes anxiety and stress like going to see the queen or something! Oh got to get to the doctors appointment right away. To do what? Sit and wait?? It's all on their time anyway. I could have been watering plants or playing with my animals or talking to a friend while I sit in the waiting room twiddling my thumbs.

The nice thing about polychronic personalities - if you can get past the stress of always running late - is that you're introduced to opportunities and people you may not have had or met if you had been so focused on the time or job at hand.

A word of advice for monochrons. Yes, I know its a pain in the tooshie to have people cancel on you all the blessed time BUT if they end up doing something with you, that means they like you! If you're annoyed that they're always running late...the more important thing to look at is they actually showed up! If they didn't want to give you their time, they wouldn't have come at all! It's just twisting your perspective a little bit.

For now, though, I must deal with the White Rabbit Syndrome in a very monochronic culture.