On Intermittent Grieving
Writing to you from the bumpy and isolated roads of Moyo, Uganda, on the border of South Sudan. Home to one of the largest refugee populations in the world.
I've been quiet here for a little while now. For a couple reasons. Most superficially, my phone was stolen and along with it the last year of photos. Photos of my time out West with my brother and his fiancé, photos of my first Summer in uptown Saint John, photos of my digital nomad chapter in South America, photos of my few weeks at home before I set off again, this time to work in Africa. I felt violated. Hurt. Angry.
There’s something different this time about moving and working overseas.
But, I had waited 8 years to be back in this part of the world, why does it feel so hard?
I think when we set off on these types of experiences, we can often lose sight of what we give up to do so. Moving to Kampala meant I was again saying, “see you soon”, to family and friends. It meant I was missing out on important life events like weddings, new babies, and other incredible milestones for people I love. I was establishing a new social group for the 20th+ time in less than a year. I was giving up my ability to leave my front door and go for a walk, a run, or to brush my teeth with tap water. I was not only establishing myself in a new country, culture, but I was also starting a new job in an exceptionally challenging context.
But on a deeper and more authentic level, I’ve stepped into a world where my conversations with 11 year old girls are not about Peppa the Pig and Cars but about how we could set up a safe breastfeeding corner so they can keep going to school while they feed their child. I’ve stepped into a world where it's normal for girls to miss or leave school because they can’t afford menstrual hygiene products or they can’t deal with the shame of being covered in blood, again, in front of their classmates. I’ve stepped into a world where class sizes of 100+ students to one teacher is the norm.
And I’ve been grieving all of it.
On a personal level. And for the Matthews, Norahs, and Janats who’ve shared their stories with me here and elsewhere.
Once the initial excitement and the “newness” of being on the road again wore off, I was heartbroken.
And I think it's important and necessary to talk about different types of heartbreak. Sure, there was that time in Grade 11 when I truly felt my life was over because I thought my heart had been broken. Or the times I’ve lost my grandmothers, while overseas and alone. Or supported a friend through loss.
Grief takes many shapes and sizes.
And right now I’m feeling it for the loss of my own sense of freedom and well-being to do this line of work, and for the exceptionally challenging circumstances for the people and communities who I’ve dedicated myself to supporting.
I’m calling it intermittent grieving.
I’m grieving the old. I’m grieving the new. And I’m feeling just plain old sad.
I’m trying to notice it. Hold space for it. Ask for help around it. Then hold more space. Now slowly, and with competent support, it’s starting to lift.
But every now and again it revisits. And I’m getting curious about how I can be more deeply in tune with these feelings, to allow myself to notice them, while staying in a state of grievance for a shorter period of time. I’ll let you know how I make out in the next little while.
To learn less about the highlight real, and more about what I’m learning and unlearning as I move through the world, stay tuned for a new domain name coming your way, soon.
In the meantime, if you have any photos of times we shared from August 2021-today, please pop them into this Google Drive link. It’s looking back on these, and hearing from you, that helps me push forward.
