An Honest State of Mind

I woke up today to the start of my week-end. It's been a long and short week. The days seem to flip by like a quick browse through an issue of Ladies Home Journal. After the week is over, I find myself scratching my head to try and remember what I did each day and where my time went. I taught first graders, I went home, I ate a snack, I may have skyped someone, I watched a show, I did homework for online classes, I did a lesson plan, and I talked to Aaron and I went to sleep. I remember the routine, but I never feel like I'm actually living it. Then, I am exhausted when Friday rolls around and all I want to do is be home.

The problem is that home isn't here. The longing for things that really fill me up grows stronger each day. I feel like I can do my job as a teacher well, but I'm always coming up against something uncomfortable outside the classroom. Aaron and I go out on dates and they are pleasant, but never feel quite right like they do at home. We might even venture out for a walk in the park, but between the stares and the dust, I struggle to find the satisfaction I get from a good walk in the States. All of these things that I miss compound into a Friday morning feeling of being "stuck" as I drag myself out of bed. It feels like every thing that happens here threatens the essence of what makes me, well me. And I'm tired from it.

These things are feelings; I get that. I am sure I should just get over myself. There comes a point when I have to face the reality of my sitution here in Iraq. We live here now. I work here, my husband works here. I don't want to just survive this. What would be the point of that? My kids in first grade keep me going throughout the week, but how do I beat these week-end blues and find my purpose? It may be that this is a phase that I have to move through. It is a grinding emotion and every edge is sharp. My skin is raw and my blood runs thin.

I chose to dive to the bottom of this well. I have been swimming for a while, trying to find the end of this flow of longing. The depth of emotion that I feel as I swim is uncomfortable and I often think I might drown in it. One day, hopefully soon, I'll hit my head on the bottom and wake up. The blood will rush back to my head and I won't be so fragile anymore. For now, living here still feels like a dream - more often than not, a bad one, but I know that I've got to keep swimming. Swimming makes a person stronger. For all good stories are filled with darkness and struggle and a character who pushes against the grain. Good is re-defined in our lives because bad exists. So, it looks like I'll be swimming for a while.