I have something I want to say, but I'm not sure I can put it into words and
have it make sense to anyone else. That's why I've never said it before and am
not sure I should now. And why I'm rambling like this is a super huge big deal,
but to me I guess it is.
Once upon a time, about 11 years ago I spent most of the year living and working in Dubai. Anyone who knows me or has known me for a long time knows this, but now and then I mention it to someone at work and they are surprised. I don't talk about it much and find myself changing the conversation topic though because it makes me sad. Sad because leaving there makes me feel like I failed at something, something big, and I'll never have another chance at it again. So I don't talk about it or think about it and therefore don't have to deal with my issues of failure - whether it is true failure or all in my own little noggin'.
I'm thinking about it today, however, because in a nifty turn of events, next weekend I get to travel a couple of hours north of my current hometown and have a visit with my boss from that short time overseas. I haven't seen her since that day almost exactly 11 years ago that I walked out of the gates of the school where I worked and headed back to the US, so I'm pretty excited that we'll get to visit and catch up on each other's lives.
After we talked on the phone last night to solidify some plans, I found myself crying and I couldn't figure out why. That's when I realized that I really do not talk about having lived in Dubai or the reason that I left - fear. I was there on September 11, 2001 when the World Trade Center in NYC was attacked and so many were killed. I also had a horrible bout of food poisoning that day, so it was pretty miserable watching news coverage and being so far from home and violently ill. And that event gave me an escape route out of a situation that was only starting to level out.
I was told when I went over that it would take about 6 months to a year to really acclimate and get used to living in a new place and be ok with it and boy was that true. I had moved over in February and by mid-August, when the new school year started, I was finally starting to feel better about things. I realized that yes, I had made some friends there and had people to hang out with. Things were looking up and then this happened and I let the fear take over and I ran. I ran away. I failed. And I'm still pretty unhappy about that 11 years later.
I don't want to lay blame on anyone else, but I think if my family had been more supportive while I was gone, then I would have been better able to stand on solid footing and stay. It's not that they were unsupportive per se, but I remember calling home one time because I was so homesick and my father not wanting to talk too long because it would run up long distance - very long distance - charges. Then I would hear other people talk about having hour long phone conversations with family back in the US and once again I would be sad. Maybe if it had been in the age of Facebook and international texting and all that then things would have been easier because I could have communicated with family and friends back home faster and easier and more often. I would not have felt so isolated. But I did feel isolated and alone and am so thankful for my friend Cynthia who took me under her wing during the time I was there. I would not have made it through without her.
I was only home for about a month when I realized what a mistake it was to have moved back. I should have stayed. I shouldn't have made a fast decision to leave, but we were on a time table with the "out" we were given in our contracts should be choose to use it. I think if I'd had a month or so to calm down then I think I would have chosen to stay and work out my 3 year contract. If I allow myself, I think about what "might have been" if I'd stayed, but I know dwelling on that is an exercise in futility. So I really do not think or talk about that time in Dubai so that I don't dwell on it and get myself all riled up and start wallowing in the big, fat failure of the whole thing. (Yeah yeah yeah, it was a life lesson and blah blah blah whatever shut up I can bitch about this if I want to.)
Not long after I came back to the States, I was interviewing for a new job and trying to explain why I had left Dubai after only 8 months and even though it was barely 1 month since the September 11th attacks, the people I was talking to did not get it. Truly. They did not understand why I had left. Sure, I did not say I was afraid and felt unsupported by family and friends in the States (who, regardless of whether they will own up to it or not, all were behaving as if I should drop everything and pack up and move home although now I get comments like, "You didn't stay long enough for me to come visit!" as if that's the only thought they had ever had about me being over there) and so I tucked tail and ran home, but I would have thought people would "get it" about why I left, but some of them didn't seem to.
Once I was back in a job a few months later, I found myself also going to therapy for all the anxiety that the major life changes had caused me. I was sad about having come home and couldn't shake it, plus I was in a job that was not right for me and where the boss seemed to dislike me so I'm not sure why he even hired me to begin with. I had no friends and no life outside of work and was mostly hiding out in my apartment. No wonder I needed therapy! And group therapy is amazing. Everyone should try it if only because you realized that your problems are so microscopic in comparison with some of what other people are going through. Ultimately therapy helped and when I moved again in a year I was in a much better place and agreed with a new therapist that I didn't need to keep going regularly unless something happened and I felt that I really needed it.
But still... it's been 11 years and I really don't like to talk about living over there because inevitably the question comes up of why I left and while I can explain it to people (and generally even admit that I left because I was afraid), I really don't think they understand. I really, really don't. And I don't know how to make them understand even a tiny little fraction of how I felt or why this was and still is a big deal to me. Even as I type this I'm starting to tear up and wanting to make a break for the restroom (note to self: never blog about emotional things on your lunch hour while in the office) and have a good cry and just get all that pent up emotion out of me. Hopefully I won't do that to Sue when I see her on Sunday and start the waterworks, but I'm afraid I might. Because that time in Dubai might have been long ago and far away now, but it still lives in me and I never get to talk about it or see anyone that was there with me then. I've never had the closure that I need to get over it all and move on and by suppressing it all I know that isn't healthy either, but...I dunno. I don't know what else I want to say right now, but I needed to get that out and if you'll excuse me, I think I might have to make a break for the restroom anyway and have that cry. I've got to get this out of me and get to a healthier place. One where I don't think of this as a huge failure anymore. One where I learn whatever life lessons this was supposed to teach me. One where maybe I can forgive myself for what I consider one of the greatest mistakes of my life - not believing I was strong enough.
Once upon a time, about 11 years ago I spent most of the year living and working in Dubai. Anyone who knows me or has known me for a long time knows this, but now and then I mention it to someone at work and they are surprised. I don't talk about it much and find myself changing the conversation topic though because it makes me sad. Sad because leaving there makes me feel like I failed at something, something big, and I'll never have another chance at it again. So I don't talk about it or think about it and therefore don't have to deal with my issues of failure - whether it is true failure or all in my own little noggin'.
I'm thinking about it today, however, because in a nifty turn of events, next weekend I get to travel a couple of hours north of my current hometown and have a visit with my boss from that short time overseas. I haven't seen her since that day almost exactly 11 years ago that I walked out of the gates of the school where I worked and headed back to the US, so I'm pretty excited that we'll get to visit and catch up on each other's lives.
After we talked on the phone last night to solidify some plans, I found myself crying and I couldn't figure out why. That's when I realized that I really do not talk about having lived in Dubai or the reason that I left - fear. I was there on September 11, 2001 when the World Trade Center in NYC was attacked and so many were killed. I also had a horrible bout of food poisoning that day, so it was pretty miserable watching news coverage and being so far from home and violently ill. And that event gave me an escape route out of a situation that was only starting to level out.
I was told when I went over that it would take about 6 months to a year to really acclimate and get used to living in a new place and be ok with it and boy was that true. I had moved over in February and by mid-August, when the new school year started, I was finally starting to feel better about things. I realized that yes, I had made some friends there and had people to hang out with. Things were looking up and then this happened and I let the fear take over and I ran. I ran away. I failed. And I'm still pretty unhappy about that 11 years later.
I don't want to lay blame on anyone else, but I think if my family had been more supportive while I was gone, then I would have been better able to stand on solid footing and stay. It's not that they were unsupportive per se, but I remember calling home one time because I was so homesick and my father not wanting to talk too long because it would run up long distance - very long distance - charges. Then I would hear other people talk about having hour long phone conversations with family back in the US and once again I would be sad. Maybe if it had been in the age of Facebook and international texting and all that then things would have been easier because I could have communicated with family and friends back home faster and easier and more often. I would not have felt so isolated. But I did feel isolated and alone and am so thankful for my friend Cynthia who took me under her wing during the time I was there. I would not have made it through without her.
I was only home for about a month when I realized what a mistake it was to have moved back. I should have stayed. I shouldn't have made a fast decision to leave, but we were on a time table with the "out" we were given in our contracts should be choose to use it. I think if I'd had a month or so to calm down then I think I would have chosen to stay and work out my 3 year contract. If I allow myself, I think about what "might have been" if I'd stayed, but I know dwelling on that is an exercise in futility. So I really do not think or talk about that time in Dubai so that I don't dwell on it and get myself all riled up and start wallowing in the big, fat failure of the whole thing. (Yeah yeah yeah, it was a life lesson and blah blah blah whatever shut up I can bitch about this if I want to.)
Not long after I came back to the States, I was interviewing for a new job and trying to explain why I had left Dubai after only 8 months and even though it was barely 1 month since the September 11th attacks, the people I was talking to did not get it. Truly. They did not understand why I had left. Sure, I did not say I was afraid and felt unsupported by family and friends in the States (who, regardless of whether they will own up to it or not, all were behaving as if I should drop everything and pack up and move home although now I get comments like, "You didn't stay long enough for me to come visit!" as if that's the only thought they had ever had about me being over there) and so I tucked tail and ran home, but I would have thought people would "get it" about why I left, but some of them didn't seem to.
Once I was back in a job a few months later, I found myself also going to therapy for all the anxiety that the major life changes had caused me. I was sad about having come home and couldn't shake it, plus I was in a job that was not right for me and where the boss seemed to dislike me so I'm not sure why he even hired me to begin with. I had no friends and no life outside of work and was mostly hiding out in my apartment. No wonder I needed therapy! And group therapy is amazing. Everyone should try it if only because you realized that your problems are so microscopic in comparison with some of what other people are going through. Ultimately therapy helped and when I moved again in a year I was in a much better place and agreed with a new therapist that I didn't need to keep going regularly unless something happened and I felt that I really needed it.
But still... it's been 11 years and I really don't like to talk about living over there because inevitably the question comes up of why I left and while I can explain it to people (and generally even admit that I left because I was afraid), I really don't think they understand. I really, really don't. And I don't know how to make them understand even a tiny little fraction of how I felt or why this was and still is a big deal to me. Even as I type this I'm starting to tear up and wanting to make a break for the restroom (note to self: never blog about emotional things on your lunch hour while in the office) and have a good cry and just get all that pent up emotion out of me. Hopefully I won't do that to Sue when I see her on Sunday and start the waterworks, but I'm afraid I might. Because that time in Dubai might have been long ago and far away now, but it still lives in me and I never get to talk about it or see anyone that was there with me then. I've never had the closure that I need to get over it all and move on and by suppressing it all I know that isn't healthy either, but...I dunno. I don't know what else I want to say right now, but I needed to get that out and if you'll excuse me, I think I might have to make a break for the restroom anyway and have that cry. I've got to get this out of me and get to a healthier place. One where I don't think of this as a huge failure anymore. One where I learn whatever life lessons this was supposed to teach me. One where maybe I can forgive myself for what I consider one of the greatest mistakes of my life - not believing I was strong enough.
