I grew up on the south shore of Long Island, New York in a town with a strong community. Proud Babylonians, we are. I was lucky enough to have two older brothers ahead of me in school, making me proud to be a Rodgers. "You know my big brothers, right? Yea, they play football, they're corner backs- ya know - the most athletic position on the team?". I excelled in my own areas as well, but I bragged about my big brothers to what I imagine was an annoying extent. Whatever. My close girlfriends and I have always agreed that above all else, growing up in Babylon gave us a real sense of identity. I realize now that our experience was not the same for everyone. That we came from stable homes and our greatest worries were about our clothes or what parties to go to. That if we did screw up, or get caught, the punishment would not be as harsh because we weren't 'problematic' for teachers and administration alike. Teachers liked, respected and favored us, and because of this we had a leg up when it came to getting into colleges. Teacher recommendations? No problem. Community Service hours? Duh.
This bubble was burst pretty quickly upon arriving at Providence College. For the first time I was faced with actual conflict. The people I had once put so much trust and value in were beginning to feel foreign to me. My sense of identity was lost. I made friends with people who would distract me from the awful things I thought about myself. Even though I am not too far removed from my four years at Providence College, about 2.5 years, I couldn't be further from there. Sometimes I look back and am amazed at the fact that I managed to graduate on time, with a 3.2 considering what I was going through at the time. College was not a party for me, to say the least. I probably would have been in the Peace Corps earlier, but at the time I needed to focus on more pressing issues. I won't be so cliche as to say 'everything happens for a reason', but things certainly unfolded in a way that allowed me to be fully prepared for my upcoming challenge.
As mentioned in my last post, it took quite a while to become medically cleared due to my own idiocy. That's partly true but more than anything else it was procrastination. Early in the application process it's asked whether or not you have sought mental health counseling. I answered yes. I could have answered no, because it never went through insurance (meaning it was not on my medical record). When my medical packet arrived it included a 6 page form to be filled out by my last counsellor. At this point it had been about a year and a half since I had last seen her. And as I said, I was already in a very different place emotionally. Due to Providence College policy, on campus counselors are restricted from seeing non-students, even alumni. (A poor practice in my opinion). Essentially, she was unable to speak on behalf of my current status.
The moment I saw her review my heart sank, I thought it was over. When I spoke to my medical assistant she informed me that this wasn't the end; that they would most likely ask that I get an updated review so that I may be fully cleared. I jumped on it and made an appointment through my PPO. For anyone who has been in counseling or tried it out (more so you folks), you know full well that some doctors just don't work for you. Their approach and practice is not one that helps. My original experience with counseling was not so, which is why it greatly benefitted me. The next time around, in the dead of winter (and we all remember how awful the snow was in New England) when all I wanted was to be at home soaking in a bath tub, I sat in a cold awkward disheveled office of a woman whose first language wasn't English ( all that I am implying is there was a communication issue) and was made to feel that there was no hope. That my future was bleak because I would never be able "to cope with such trauma without professional help". It was a devastatingly huge set back for me. I wanted to cry but I punched a snow bank that ended up being a sheet of ice and not powder, instead.
Thankfully, my family was fully aware of my past and was horrified, like me, of the language this particular counselor choose. My father decided he would take matters into his own hands ( yes, I am 'daddy's little girl'). We tried to get doctor recommendations from close friends and family hoping that whomever I saw would be more sensitive to my individual needs. Also, someone that would take all things into consideration - particularly, how badly I wanted this opportunity. Unfortunately, nothing worked out and by April I decided I needed to go back to the PPO and try again. Along came Dr. Silverstein (for anyone seeking counseling in the Boston/ Cambridge area I HIGHLY recommend her) and my hopes were reignited. After three sessions she gave me an amazing review and I felt a little closer to the finish line.
I fought so hard to make it through this part. It forced me to readdress some lingering issues that I admit were things I wanted to put behind me in joining the Peace Corps. A lot of folks will assume that someone who willingly leaves their family and friends for two years, to a place that's not easily accessible, is trying to run away from something. Those folks are the same ones whom also share a dark history. And you know what? They're right, I did want to be removed from certain people and places that I feel will only keep me stuck in old, unhealthy habits. There is no shame in trying to move forward and beyond a painful experience. But there is a right and a wrong way to do so; and at first I was walking a path that was somewhere in between. What I realized is that the experiences which are so painful we'd rather forget them, are the ones that characterize who we are as people. More importantly, this same fact implies nothing about your character. It does not mean you are broken, damaged, unlovable or that you have something to hide. All that it means is you were altered by that experience and if you do deal with it appropriately- you will begin to heal. The healing process is a life long one and there will be set backs. I leave you with a quote from the novel Bitter In The Mouth by Monique Truong that spoke to me while I fought to get cleared:
Disappoint. When I saw the word written, I thought of it first and foremost as the combining or the collapsing together of the words 'disappear' and 'point', as in how something in us ceased to exist the moment someone let us down. Small children understood this better than adults, this irreparable diminution of the self that occurred at each instance. Large and small, of someone forgetting a promise, arriving late, losing interest, leaving too soon, and otherwise making us feel like a fool. That was why children, in the face of disappointments, large and small, were so quick to cry and scream, often throwing their bodies to the ground as if their tiny limbs were on fire. That was a good instinct. We, the adults or the survivors of our youth, traded in instinct for a societal norm. We stayed calm. We swallowed hurt. We forgave the infraction. We ignored that our skin was on fire. We became our own fools. Sometimes, when we were very successful, we forgot entirely the memory of the disappointment. The loss that resulted, of course, could not be undone. What was done was done. We just could no longer remember how we ended up with so much less of our selves. Why we expected nothing, why we deserved so little, and why we brought strangers into our lives to fill the void. |
