don’t say you’re fine, ’cause you’re not
Like the sudden shock of an earthquake, shifts in your mental and emotional health can be drastic and startling. When one day you feel fine and full of vigor, despite knowing what challenges lie ahead. You’re tired but feel like you still have enough energy and compassion in you to power through, because you’ve done it before and can accommodate it again. People are relying on you, people are supporting you, people believe in you. You believe in yourself, too. Life isn’t all glitter and rainbows, but you do feel satisfied and purposeful. But then, with that trigger, the building blocks of resilience and optimism and self-confidence that you so carefully stacked up within yourself topple over and lay scattered. You don’t quite realize it at first, but something fundamentally has broken, the foundations have eroded, so that despite your efforts to stack those blocks up again they are already misaligned, and destined to fall once more.
I had already been feeling depressed since late November or so, but sometime in mid-February, I hit my limit. I’ve been told that I’m doing so well, that living away from home by myself overseas is so brave, that my work output is so commendable, and have kept myself going despite swimming this course that has no end, no breaks in sight, with the bottom of the pool too deep to stand on for more than a few seconds of relief. I’ve been treading water these last two weeks but am gasping for breath. I’m more irritable than usual, less generous with my time and skills than I once was, skeptical and jaded, constantly on the verge of tears. My muscles ache as I tread and tread, putting on the mask of happy and responsible レベッカ at work while finding fleeting moments of respite in a conversation with a friend, a good meal, or listening to some upbeat music. But I can’t go on like this. At some point, I’ll drown.
A few days ago, a friend asked me how I was doing, 「レベッカ元気？」「元気じゃないけどなんとかする」“Rebekah, how are you?” “I’m not doing well but I’ll manage somehow”. I had just finished with cleaning our showroom and was about to escort some journalists to our workshop when she asked. Reflexively I was going to say that I was fine, despite not being at all fine. But raw honesty took over. And while I was responding it took everything I had in that moment to ignore the lump in my throat and suppress the tears coming up to my eyes. Luckily I had to head out right then, otherwise I think I would have eventually burst into tears if I talked with her more. She messaged me later to ask how I was really doing, and I told her that she must have seen it in my eyes — the pain that I couldn’t keep back any longer. I don’t think my smile goes up into my eyes as much anymore.
While I may seem like a fairly open book with the sort of posts I make on social media or conversations I have with friends, there is a lot that I keep to myself, that I don’t reveal to anyone. I will tell you how I feel: lonely, exasperated, regretful, burnt out, or passionate, excited, motivated, committed. But I will rarely tell you how much I feel, specifically with those negative emotions, because I don’t want it to burden or worry you, nor do I want any pity, or judgment for being “dramatic”.
I am independent and empathetic to a fault. This combination of traits means that I will try to shoulder as much of the burden as I can by myself so as to not bother others, because I’m acutely aware of how busy others are. Me taking on just one more task and feeling a bit more tired at the end of the day pales in comparison to the daily suffering endured by millions of people in the world in poverty or other crises (I actually think like this, no joke). And so I take on more and more of those “one more”s, piling up the load on my back until I end up hunched over, aching, but still able to walk — and therefore still able to take on more. In this industry the more you can shoulder the more you’re respected and flattered, it seems. I don’t agree with it but in the end, I too got sucked in — an unspoken contract that you sign when you decide to work in Japan.
The workload itself isn’t the issue, but, among other things, frankly I really miss home, and don’t want to deal with not being around family and friends any longer. I want a hug from my parents. While 14 months is relatively short, and people have certainly had to endure longer spans of time without being with their loved ones, I don’t think I can do it, and if I have the means to take a trip back, then for my mental and emotional healing I need to do so. This pandemic has made it clear to me that as ambitious as I may be, I still need to be able to physically be with my family when I can.
I didn’t want to admit this because it seemed like other expat friends were weathering their respective situations well. I didn’t want to admit that I didn’t have enough here to keep me thriving, that I wasn’t “strong enough”. But what kind of a ridiculous notion is that? It’s not about strength, or who can outlast who, or who displays the most grit. I don’t quite know how to put this into words yet, but the shame I was feeling for not being able to endure this situation became something toxic, turning into a self-granted medal of achievement that I didn’t want taken away.
I’ll be going home for a bit later this spring, if flights remain available and current travel policies hold. I’ll work remotely, and intend on coming back to Ishinomaki after a month or two. And then we’ll see what’s next.
