I Screamed at a Stranger (Growing Pains Abroad)

So...I lost it. Totally lost all of my cool. In public. Loudly. 

I've heard from a number of experienced expats, read a handful of blog posts, even seen it first hand with a close friend, how living abroad can affect someone over time. And because of that, I thought I was prepared for the worst.  Nope. I have never heard any stories quite similar to my giant temper tantrum yesterday. Maybe no one tells those stories. Or maybe I am just the total worst at this. But all of this is to say...if you are going to live abroad some time in your life, definitely be prepared for some of the best days, but also, be prepared for your absolute worst days. Days that might look a little like this:

I moved here November 2015. So I have been here close to a year. That's about the time frame that a majority of people I have heard from say they hit their breaking point while living abroad. For me, though, the first month was extremely difficult. I had come here because I had married someone from here and we had agreed that both U.S. and Rwanda would be our homes interchangeably for the rest of our lives. But once I got here, that hit me hard. That there would always be large chunks of time that we would be away from my family. That no matter what things make me uncomfortable, I will always have reasons to come back. That a good number of my in-laws only speak languages that I cannot speak (yet). And that was all pretty scary. But once I had found a job, found an artistic outlet, and found my own means of transportation, the scary things seemed a little less daunting. So I had thought that maybe I was getting the hang of things finally and that the worst was behind me. 

But lately (probably for the last couple of months), it has seemed like all the biggest frustrations and fears and insecurities have become increasingly heavy. And it has become ever more obvious that all of the things that make me uncomfortable will not ever go away. Random crying spells, fits of anger at minor frustrations around the house, feeling like a failure if I don't make it out of the compound, but my heart pounding heavier each time I do leave, and snapping at random people when I feel uncomfortable. All things that were not totally unheard of from me but that have become more and more frequent as time goes on. I haven't felt more out of control of my emotions as I have in this time. 

I'm not sure if it was a particular chain of events that led me to my tipping point, or the fact that I'm working towards something on my own now, or if it is just that time. But whatever the reason, I screamed. I screamed at a stranger who was just wanting to help because my temperamental scooter was having a hard time starting. I knew it would start eventually, because it always does this after a heavy rain. But he didn't know that. He probably didn't even know that he was the third person to come and ask if I needed help only to be told to go away (trust me, I know I sound like a pretty mean person at this point). And most importantly, he probably had no clue that I have been here for one year, being stared at by most people I pass by, and that I am extremely introverted and don't like to be put on the spot. But, still, I screamed at him at the top of my lungs, "I DON'T. NEED. HELP." And at least five other people were close enough to hear. 

Shortly after, my scooter started, and I drove off, bawling my eyes out. But I still had to come back to teach in less than an hour, to that same place, where all those people had heard me lose it. I had planned to go grab food, but I would only attract more unwanted attention. So I pulled over to the side of the road, and I called my mom who was on the other side of the world. 

The truth is, there was not much she could do or say to fix my problem. And I knew that. But at that moment I wanted to be anywhere but here. And I felt awful for wanting that. I felt like I had finally failed. Like I had failed myself, my husband, his family, everyone back home who was so impressed that I moved here. Like I had truly only made people's lives worse by being here. Like I am actually one of those people in an African country who is doing more harm than good. Like there was no way I could stay after making a total ass out of myself like that.

But I'm still here. If I was here on my own, maybe this would be the point I would consider going home. But, I love my husband enough to push through this hard time, to figure out how to stay with him in his home country and to learn to love it here as much as he does. So I'm going to keep trying. Hopefully the terrible feeling that follows such an outburst as yesterday's will remind me not to repeat it. 

I don't know exactly why living abroad long term is so inexplicably difficult, at least for some people. Especially for me. Maybe it's because many of us go into it only expecting to love everything more over time and to be able ignore the frustrations. And then we feel let down when something disappoints us or makes us feel unwelcome and out of place. And I guess how we will really end up feeling from day to day is just so much more unpredictable than we thought. The movies make it all look so romantic. But they leave all that out, I think. I believe it is truly important for people to travel, and to experience first hand how people in other places around the world live. Are we really meant to live abroad long term? I don't know. Some people seem to do it really well. But this is my moment of honesty. It's hard. It brings out everything inside you that you didn't know was there. So all I can say is, if you're getting ready to go, hang on tight for one heck of a roller coaster!