There are a lot of reasons that I've been neglecting this blog for almost five months now. The fact that affordable, computer-based internet only exists from 1-5 AM is a major one. But the biggest reason that I haven't done a better job of chronicling my Namibian life for everyone to read up to this point is, quite simply, for that very reason.
They say that the toughest part of Peace Corps service is the first three months at site. And they're not wrong; the first three months was a total roller coaster ride. But for as difficult as the first three months were, I found that I was usually able to stay positive by reminding myself that coming in at the end of the term was tough, that getting technical training at our Reconnect conference in January would help me to fix all the mistakes I knew I was making but didn't know exactly how to rectify.
And then the end of the term passed. Spending December break on the road with my friends renewed me. Reconnect gave me tons of great resources, tips and ideas I wished I'd had when I started teaching in October. I was so ready to go back to school in January, to start over with new classes where I was in control and where I was certain to be able to accomplish something, however small. Term 1, I was certain, would be better than Term 3.
I was so wrong. I have never, in my entire life, been more miserable than I have been for the last four months.
I honestly cannot say much about my days of teaching this term; every single one of them is no more than a blur of yelling and frustration and self-loathing. When I am in class, I am an ogre, and I hate myself for it. When I am out of class...well, I'm never really out of class. When the bell (mercifully) rings every day at 1 PM, I know that I have about half an hour to get home, prepare and eat my lunch, and get back to work. I teach 37 periods per week (out of 39), for four different promotional classes and two non-promotional subjects, which means that I spend approximately 90% of my waking hours devoted to lesson preparation and various school-related tasks.
Seriously. I've stopped bathing every day because I know that the time I spend in the tub is time out of my lesson preparations, which in turn is time out of my already-light sleeping schedule. The only dreams I have anymore involve all my learners and colleagues being in my house, in my bedroom, in the middle of the night asking me to do things - mark papers and teach classes and coach netball and make photocopies. Any time that I take to do things to relax inevitably ends up with me feeling guilty about not spending that time preparing for classes and stressing even more about how I'm going to fit it all in.
Walks around my community? Social visits to my host family? Playing with my neighbor kids? Having learners over for cooldrinks and conversations? Forget it. Integrating requires far more energy than I've got to give. I'm putting my all into survival.
This is not how it's supposed to be. At all times, I am distinctly aware that something is seriously wrong here, that giving all I've got to an endeavor that's giving me nothing but heartbreak in return is no way to live. And yet every time I think that I need to demand that something changes, I immediately start worrying about the domino effect that I'm going to have. If I ask to reduce my teaching load, we'll have to recombine Grades 6 and 7, and the kids will suffer. If I ask someone to take time to help me with Afrikaans or to help me learn more about the community, that's time that person doesn't have to spend on something important. Other people have real problems of their own and don't need to be bothered with stuff I should be able to handle on my own.
This is something I've known about myself as long as I can remember: when given the option, I always elect to suffer in relative silence rather than telling people how I feel, until I reach a breaking point. That point was Week 8 - the middle of the term - when I spent an entire week sobbing uncontrollably on the phone with one of the VSN representatives. It was kind of awful and liberating at the same time. As much as I hate talking about my problems, it was really nice to have someone validate how overwhelmed and frustrated and angry and isolated I was feeling.
I know that I have to ask for things to change, and I know that no matter how much I know it's acceptable and normal, I'm still going to feel guilty. But I've also realized that, especially as a teacher, that suffering in silence simply isn't an option. As much as I try to keep things bottled up, I'm kind of like that flask I inherited from Milan and Pat...shiny, but noticeably leaky. My constant state of exhaustion gives me a short fuse. Grade Whatever disrespects me during first period, which upsets me even more because I can't think straight. I start the next class in a funk from how badly the first class went, which just magnifies the problems that invariably crop up during the following class. And so on. And so forth. For eight periods per day, five days per week, fifteen weeks per term.
Right now I'm at my last night of IST (in-service training) in Windhoek. Although the ten days with my friends has been a great way to push aside some of the frustrations from this term (especially the last two weeks of exams and marking and report card-writing), I'm honestly not leaving with a significantly more positive outlook than I had before. I feel more confident about taking steps to do something about the things that are bothering me, but I also feel incredibly stupid for letting things go like this for so long before speaking up and daunted by how much back-tracking I'm going to have to do now.
Even as I write this, I'm having second thoughts about whether I want to put this out there, where it's ultimately going to serve as a reminder of a rocky first quarter I'd much rather forget. I've been avoiding my journal like the plague since October for that very reason - if I don't write it down, I can pretend it's not happening. I guess my hope is that admitting, in a semi-permanent format, that I've hit (or am damn close to) rock bottom will make it easier for me to hold onto the conviction that I do have to do something.
So there you have it, the best explanation I've got for my prolonged silence. Hopefully next time I'll have something more positive to say.
4 comments:
Lizzie- I hear your frustration. Working with children on any given day is a challenge. I have been at it for over 20 years and still make mistakes. With every misstep I learn something new about how children learn, feel and adapt to their ever changing environments. The culture of a classroom can change with a sneeze,tap of a pencil or the whirl of the overhead fan. Learners are NOT predictable!!!
Lizzie, you are a very accomplished young woman with big dreams and aspirations. We all start a new career with high hopes of changing the world. Every time I have a student in my office I still have this dream. But often after spending an hour of intensive counseling with one of them, I see them go back out into their school day and make the same mistake. The one thing that keeps me going is the thought I have planted a seed, a tiny seed, but a seed that I hope will someday grow into a tree of knowledge. Students often visit me years later and share with me how that one seed made a difference in their lives. This restores my faith in my dreams of making a difference in children's lives and gives me the courage to fight another day for another child!
Lizzie, you are planting tiny seeds of knowledge. You may never see them grow but know you are making a difference for every child you touch. Look in the mirror every night and see the beautiful, brave and intelligent young woman you are and think of the one small difference you made that day. I wish I could be there with you to give you a BIG HUG! I think of you often and know you are doing a great job! Keep your chin up and go plant those seeds!!! Love, Annette
Awwwww. It sounds like you've been having a miserable time and putting in a whole lot of effort without being able to see things improve. That's really frustrating. But I wanted to tell you that you've already done the three hardest things: you've admitted there was a problem, you've asked other people for help, and you've determined that you need to do something about it. Lots of people start off thinking that if they just do everything right and keep working at something, it will eventually turn around to be the way they imagine it's supposed to be. Sometimes that works, but other times it becomes a trap in which you work harder and harder and harder and get so burned out that you can't do anything anymore.
It's tough to tell other people that things have to change, but not doing that has so far not worked to your benefit. It sounds like you're doing the work of at least two people. You can't sustain that in the long term, you'll either collapse or quit.
In my experience, people respect those who make their boundaries clear. I'm sure you'll address the issue with your Namibian counterparts with tact and clarity; don't worry if initially you get resistance. You're there to work and teach; you're not there to do everything that's been put aside for lack of personnel for the last 15 years.
Good luck, honey. You can do it!
-- A random Namibian PC blog reader
Another thought -- have you considered that you might also be having a bad reaction to mefloquine? I thought of that when I read that every day seems like a blur to you. You are definitely being overworked, but that could be adding to the problem. Here are some possible side effects of mefloquine: severe depression, anxiety, paranoia, aggression, nightmares, insomnia, dizziness, headache, and vivid dreams.
Just an idea to discuss with your PC health person!
What an experience... its in did a story to tell... Dejabu
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