A Season for Quiet

It's cool and has been raining all morning.  The children are in school -- all three of them.  The house is quiet, but I put on the classical radio and the tea kettle is starting to gurgle and boil.  Autumn is here.

When I lived in Africa, there was so much that I was able to learn about and take into my self-hood that I never would have experienced here.  I can still close my inner eyes and feel that certain heat of the equatorial sun; feel the air that is full of red dust, and always infused with scents and smells.  And while I lived in Africa, there was a pain inside from missing what I have always known, what has gone into the making of me for so many years.  The pain of missing my husband, my dogs, and my friends, was sharper and more towards the outside of my being.  The pain of missing the air, the green, the peacefulness of gray, was deep inside, in the places you don't even fully realize you are existing.  And the strongest of all those pains was that of missing seasons.  And as much as I wished I were home to appreciate the snowy pictures my local friends posted on Facebook, the worst seasonal pain was missing autumn.

So perhaps that means autumn is my favorite season, although I think actually my favorite part about seasons is how they change.  As someone who has been either a student, a teacher, or a mother of students, for all of my life, fall also feels like the beginning of the new year to me.  And fall means fresh apples, and I really like apples -- the entire experience of apples.  Living in Africa, I also learned that I have very deep feelings about apples.  At any rate, between all these different aspects, school has started, the weather is changing, and the apples are ripe on the trees.... and I feel like a new door has opened in my life and our family's lives.

Part of that new door is our new adventures in school.  Buttercup has started school for the first time, and is attending mixed-age kindergarten with Sunflower three mornings a week.  Sunflower has the same schedule at Waldorf school as he has had for (at least part of) the last three years, but we are also starting a more deliberate home-schooling pattern, and he is deeply invested in that work.  And part of that door is opening something within me.  I have determined to celebrate the autumn by preserving so much of its beautiful produce into something we can enjoy all year long; and I have made a schedule where I can preserve some time for the things that nurture me as a human being.  Part of which is that I will come back and write this blog on a regular basis, which allows me to create something, and also gives me time to reflect and contemplate on my daily thoughts and experiences as a mother.  Furthermore, I think that these writings have touched people in different ways.  I have heard that people feel closer to my family, that they have new understanding about adoption or emotional special needs, or new ideas for their own parenting, or a more realistic expectation about living abroad or in Uganda, or simply have the time and space to appreciate standing in someone else's shoes.  So perhaps these writings are part of "the work God has given (me) to do," as we pray every Sunday after communion.  Thank you for sharing if you have found this writing to be meaningful to you, and I will now work to continue it.

We have now been home almost exactly eight months, which coincidentally is the same amount of time that we lived in Uganda.  I feel like most of that time has been some kind of dream state, or transition period -- in my inner world, as well as the outer one.  There has been so much in this outer world to get "done," and yet it has seemed impossible to do it.  I have taken care of the children, and kept up with the necessary basics, but I have not been a "do-er" for the last eight months.  I know both my husband and my mother have been frustrated with me or worried about me at times.  Although I occasionally have been frustrated with myself, there has been a certain necessary depth to the feeling of floating through life.

Part of it, I know, is habit.  At home, I have always had projects and things I'm involved in, and like many people of my class and generation, I am usually over-committed.  But in Uganda, what I really learned to do was wait.  Ugandans are experts at waiting, and perhaps there is something in that particular, sultry equatorial air that lends itself to slowness of body and quietness of mind.  The simple chores of existence -- buying groceries, doing laundry, bathing -- took up so much mental and physical energy there was not enough left to think of larger projects.  And of course, the children themselves took up everything that was left, and more!  Yes, there were long periods when I was simply sitting... writing or reading or something else  But even then, I think my internal energy, something about my soul, was required to throw over our household, keep our fragile lives intertwined.  The children's chaotic energy required a balance of quiet and calm to hold them together.  If you could have seen into the room, it would have seemed like I was doing nothing or wasting time, and yet my internal energy was deeply engaged.

And then when one gets home from almost a year of learning to wait, and listen, and be quiet, one can't just jump back into being active all the time.  When every evening after the children are in bed, one restores their soul by enjoying the absolute quiet of the house, it's hard to switch to rejuvenating oneself by talking.  Maybe an extrovert would have relished it, but I have always been introverted, and spending almost eight entire months with never ever having an open and emotional conversation (except for a few brief visits), strengthened the introversion and self-sufficiency within me.  Once home, I appreciated so much being able to connect with the people I love, but the daily availability of connection seemed almost too much.  By the end of the day, it felt like I was out of spoken words and didn't know where to find them to chat with my husband.  When my mother visited, it was like I didn't remember how to be together and interact with an adult all day long.  I had to ease into it from the inside, which looked like quiet or passivity from the outside

I haven't been depressed, although all this quietness seems like depression.  I have never been more deeply and fully grateful for what my life is filled with, and never has it been easier to feel like my life itself is a prayer of thanksgiving and joy.  But on the surface, I have run out of energy quickly.  It has been easier to be calm and passive.  Unlike my husband and mother, this hasn't bothered me.  I have felt like this, too, was a season.  Perhaps a season of re-learning what energy and activity is, or perhaps a season where I knew that stillness was what my children needed the most.  When I have plenty of "quiet time" alongside them, instead of folding the sheets and mowing the lawn, I do have a lot more energy left for the giant and improbable meltdown that pops up later that afternoon.  They have needed my reserves of energy, and creating an actual balance has not looked balanced.

And now, the season has just seemed to pass away from me.  I have a schedule for the children and myself, and it feels good to get out and DO the next thing.  I've been doing homeschool with Sunflower, and deeply enjoying the chance to work intimately together with him.  It's been easy and enjoyable to get out for a walk with the dogs in the woods almost every day, even when I need to bring children along with us.  After I put the children in bed, instead of feeling completely depleted and unable to stand, I've enjoyed working on fruit or canning in the evening, and other nights I've gotten housecleaning done.  I've also given myself a rhythm for kitchen work and house work, and our house suddenly feels manageable now.  I have not girded my loins and forced myself to be different; it feels like the door has opened and we have simply passed into a new place.  As the seasons change and the apples ripen, so suddenly we are ripe for something new.

It feels to me like the children are ripe to their new phase of life, as well.  Well-meaning friends suggest how "the transition" of moving or new siblings might be so hard on them, but they have not been here for every day of the last eight months in Uganda and eight months in Eugene, as I have.  I am feeling like we are finally out of transitioning, that this is real life.  What is bubbling out of them isn't in response to all the transitioning, it's what has been bubbling all along below the transitions.  When they're tired or angry or whiney as they get used to their new school schedule, it isn't because it's a new language or their home routine isn't what they expect or everything is new.  It's because everything else no longer requires their extra energy, and they are simply responding to starting a new school year which is harder than they wish it would be.  When Sunflower and Hibiscus are so deeply involved in their play they don't notice the passage of time, their words and actions tumbling over each other as they create a world that only they see; and then minutes later they irritate each other so much that they both end up screaming until they turn red.... it's no longer because they're getting used to each other as siblings.  It's because they ARE siblings.  We are off and running, and this is the path we are on.


"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven."  When God made me, He made me capable of action and activity, but He did not make me an active person.  He made me a person capable of deep calm and quiet.  Which I admit freely can lead to a messy house, but I also believe that it's a powerful and meaningful gift, and as I have grown into myself I have learned to appreciate and value my own inner gifts.  And I believe that by giving this gift to me, He is also giving the gift of peace, of a quiet space of acceptance, of an aura of freedom from anxiety; into my home, for my husband and children.  The last few months apparently my energy has been needed for quiet.  Now it is time for a new purpose under heaven, and our season can change to more energy and activity on top of the quiet.

Return Trip

It was the water bottle that did me in.  You know how, in modern airports, you can't bring your water through security, you have to pour it all out and get new water in the terminal to bring on the plane?  Well, it's like in Africa, they have to be as modern as other airports, but they have to twist things around to make themselves unique, and in the process they defeat the entire point but they are still stubborn and bureaucratic about it, and just stand there staring at your repeating their stupid rules.  In this case, no one cared about water going into the airport, at either the preliminary security station nor the main security check where you would expect a security check.  But at the last minute, when you are walking into the pre-boarding area at the gate, there is an extra security gate, with no signs or information or anything, but they tell you to throw away your water.  Which means no water whatsoever in the plane.  As though the water they are selling in the terminal is loaded with whatever bombs people can make out of water, or for that matter, that they want people wandering around with those water-bombs in the airport terminal at all.  I protested, and the guy brought over his superior, who repeated the same words mildly and stared vaguely behind my ear, which is the African way of having a passive argument.  I said "what am I supposed to do?" which is the African arguing way of not letting them be passive any more, but they didn't take the bait and just kept staring.  They brought over a third person to be unhelpful, though.  After a while, one of them said that if the water had a seal, it would be okay, which as far as I could tell he made up on the spot to appear agreeable, although of course it could be airport policy -- who knows, as the airport policy is not posted any where.  The water bottle in question had about four sips taken out of it and had cost me 160 Kenyan shillings, and of course we wouldn't have taken four sips if we had known about this so-called airport policy.  I pointed out that other airports all over the world do not randomly take your water away when you are boarding the plane.  One of the guards said calmly that they were not any other airport, and they did not follow any other policy, they were Boma Jaipa airport (or whatever the name is) and that is their policy.  Obviously, duh!  (Those last were not technically words, but very clear.)

I am generally an incredibly non-confrontational person.  As in, if I even think about saying something rude, I start to cry and have to go away in private and think about it the rest of the afternoon.  I'm losing it in Africa, I really am -- my sanity or my Type 9-ness, I'm not sure which.  Although less healthy Type 9's are known for being passive aggressive, and maybe that includes violently throwing your water bottle at the trash can as you walk away.  I didn't actually throw it at a human being, which would be more on the aggressive side.  Actually, come to think of it, it probably IS passive aggressive, because that is what they are experts at around here, and they all expertly ignored me.


The trip back to Uganda technically went smoothly.  There were no lines to check in or go through security, we found our gate, the flight was on time and the bathrooms functioning, I got American dollars for the Ugandan visas, I found a toy that I had promised Emerson for good-shopping-behavior in the terminal, I even had time to get a couple Kenyan souvenirs.  (It takes some searching to find Kenyan souvenirs that are not exactly the same things as Ugandan souvenirs, except maybe there is a different country name painted on it.  In fact, the terminal was full of general east-African souvenirs with every possible East African country name painted on it, just in case you wanted to feel specific to a whole bunch of places.)  Most importantly, the Ugandan customs official laughed and joked with Emerson, and didn't make any kind of fuss about putting the new stamps in our passports.  This was quite a concern, because not only have I heard a lot of airport-official horror stories by this point, the customs official on the way out did not like all my visa extensions, and delayed me for quite some time even thought I was just trying to LEAVE the country.  It is quite certain that she would not have let me back in.  So the trip went smoothly.

But I was so tired.  I actually got more sleep in Kenya than I usually do at home, so there was no physical reason to feel so exhausted, but it was one of those days when I felt like everything was through a fog and my limbs were moving in syrup.  I think it was the fact of returning to Uganda.  The closer we got, the more tired I became, just in anticipation.


The few days in Kenya were such a treat.  Of course it was nice to not have to worry about fixing meals or doing laundry or worrying about paperwork, but the vacation-y-ness wasn't the main thing.  It was so rejuvenating to see something new and think about something new and do something new!  With three children in the suburbs, I am so confined.  I am either at home, doing the same-ol' at home things, or I am doing necessary errands... and with all the children out of school, those errands are gut-wrenchingly tiring and stressful.  It was so nice mentally to think about different shaped buildings, and how the history of the two countries had created such different realities in such geographical proximity, and listen to cheesy stories about elephants, knowing that I had absolutely no connection to the elephants and I wasn't going to come back again or show it to someone else or where I would stand next time, and basically just have NOTHING TO DO with the stupid elephants except to stand there and watch them.  That was refreshing.

And it was refreshing to be a one-child mama again.  It's more than just the number of children, it's that Emerson and I have a rhythm, we understand each other.  There is no question that I have spent more time alone with Emerson than anyone else in the world, since I was his age and spending that much time with my own mother.  (Three weeks older than he is now, my sister was born and that intimacy changed into something new, too.)  Going around Nairobi together was familiar like going around Kampala was a few months ago, a routine that we knew, the excitement and exploration that we remembered, and that we both enjoy.  But there are years of memories like that; Emerson and I have done a lot of traveling alone together.  So it was like settling in with an old friend, to be with my son the way I remembered being with my son.  It was a treat.  But more than that, it was fine; it was normal; it was enough.


The pilot forgot to ask my opinion, but as far as I was concerned, that plane could have kept on flying.  We could have gone right over east Africa and headed back home.  There was nothing I needed to stop for in Uganda; nothing that was so important that I wanted to head down into this morass again.

Almost as often as people try and convince me that the baby I'm carrying isn't actually my baby, they tell me what a saint I am for helping out other people's babies.  That's not true either; people adopt for selfish reasons: they want to dress a girl in pretty clothes or play baseball with a boy or show that they are a unique and open-minded family, whatever it is.  I feel like my decision to adopt has some selfless and loving reasons in it, but it certainly has a lot of selfishness too.


Going back to Kampala this December was not selfish.  I sat there, content with my son and the special bond we shared, and I thought that there wasn't anything in Uganda that would make me, personally, more happy than NOT being in Uganda any more.


And of course, the plane went on, and we got off, and we're back in our apartment in Konge, and I know that's the right decision to make and I wouldn't make a different one.  That was the feeling of a moment, not of a lifetime.  So we went back home, and the girls didn't want to look at me, and our routine was all broken up, and we were all tired, so it was a really exhausting afternoon and evening and they were all crazy difficult, and I yelled at them, more than once.  I never used to yell, never ever.  It wasn't self control, I never felt like yelling.  I felt like walking away when things (and children) got too frustrating -- and I still do, for that matter, but apparently months of not being able to walk away for even a moment has uncovered the yelling-part of me.  My toolbox of parenting ideas has apparently tipped over and everything has fallen out... and don't you dare give me suggestions, or I'll probably end up yelling at you, too!  The only thing left seems to be to imagine the plane flying off, off and away over Africa, leaving it behind.... But no matter how I felt, I have made too many promises to the girls to even acutualy consider not fulfilling my promises to them, and coming back as soon as possible.   I wouldn't really leave.
         

But I want to stop feeling so angry.  And I really want to get out of here.
 

Random Thoughts About Another Month or So

It is those miserable aunties, and the unspeakably miserable thief who drove us out of our home.  We could have made it home with normal administrative tangles, if we didn't have meanness tangles getting in our way.

Our original court date was the day after the main judge, who seems to be hearing almost all of the cases, came back from her leave.  At that point, her paperwork wouldn't have been backed up yet and she probably would have gotten the ruling out close to the original estimate of a week.  By the time our court finished up almost two weeks later, her estimation was a written ruling 2-3 weeks out.  Someone had their court date this morning, and their ruling was estimated for January 20th -- almost six weeks out.  I think it would have been under two weeks if we had been earlier.

Because there hadn't been any judges hearing cases in early November, the Embassy wouldn't have been backed up.  They said that 90% of families complete their paperwork with them within a week, but December and summer are the worst times for waiting.

We just need photo ID's for the girls to get the medical appointments.  The Embassy lady said that in 99% of the cases this meant the passports, but since we were foster parents we might have some other sort of ID which would work just as well.  Then we could do the passports and the IOM paperwork concurrently, both of take about a week.  Our Local Council in Ggaba was really into issuing ID's, and when we first talked with them about a letter of recommendation they needed to make ID's for Emerson and I before anything else.  I am just kicking myself that I never went back and asked them to make ID's for the girls, which they suggested but I didn't have foster care at the time.  And I had never heard about photo ID's for the medical appointment before this.  I can go work on getting ID's through our new district, but it will be more complicated than just getting them from the same place where we got ours.  (On a side note, my photo ID for my Ggaba residence has come in handy many times.  Emerson's, not as much, but it's cute.)

So basically, if our court date had finished when it started instead of being interrupted by crazy aunties, and I still lived where I knew people and was connected to the important people, it sounds like it actually was a very realistic estimate for getting home.

That's what really bugs me.  I get that the judges have a huge case load and are doing their best.  I get that the Embassy people have to jump through a lot of hoops.  I think that, really, most of the officials whom we have met so far have been doing their best under non-ideal circumstances.  But I am really peeved that we are held up by a few random people being just plain malicious.


So, now here is my to-do list.  I have to find a new place to live.  It looks like it will be a month or so, thus looking into another apartment and not just hotel or something.  I think we have to move out Monday or Tuesday or something (it's Tuesday night now).  I also have to figure out about getting the girls some photo ID, either by finding the LC officials for this district, or by going to the LC for their original district (the one who testified at court for us) and ask for his advice.  Of course, if I meet with the LC's of this district, then that will mean I need to find another apartment in the same district.  I want to be in the same area, but the LC districts are quite small.

I need to plan a trip out of the country so that Emerson and I can get new Ugandan visas.  They last till the end of the month, but it might make sense to plan something immediately.  Another adoptive father whom I have been in touch with offered to stay with the girls so I could make a quick trip with Emerson.  Emotionally, it will be awful for the girls for me to leave them.  But logistically, traveling to a DIFFERENT African country with three small children is....  It is insane.  It really is.  I have been known to do things that are insane before (like this entire thing!) but I do try and err on the side of when the benefits outweigh the potential disasters.  Leaving the girls with an experienced American parent seems like a pretty reasonable thing to do, and thus means that I need to get my trip figured out and completed before he has to go home for Christmas.  Because he actually has plans to leave, unlike some (insane) people that we could mention.

And as for Christmas?  Everyone keeps asking about Christmas or wanting to get home for Christmas or something.  I love the Christmas season, but this is not it.  I have kind of gotten over Christmas for this year.  Maybe this goes back to the Enneagram... we 9's like smooth sailing.  I like fun things too, but our ship has been flying under a hard wind and all that matters to me is keeping on an even tack.  I am not concerned about a holiday detour.  I think some people would prefer the distraction and something to look forward to, but to me it is really not worth the energy I would have to put out.

The kids probably do not feel exactly as I do.  They are having a big-deal Christmas production at school, and they've been rehearsing dances and songs and poems and a pageant and everything. The performance is Sunday.  That can be their big Christmas contemplation.  I think I can probably manage a coffeecake on Christmas morning or something, and probably someone will send us a gift.  Beyond that, we'll see.  Luckily, the girls don't know what to expect anyways, and I think the tropical weather has distracted Emerson as much as it has for me, and he hasn't even mentioned a tree or anything.  Hopefully all our other traditions can float by just as easily.  The one thing Emerson IS actually focused on is his birthday, although he seems to have forgotten that we usually celebrate it in January.  I can make a cake, and work on sweet-talking my way out of a Ugandan kid-party.  Probably two cakes will do it.

Unfortunately, the school calendar is not going to forget about the holiday, and the kids have two weeks off.  That's the one hassle that seems overwhelming right now.  I could keep on keeping on, but my two lively, wild, and now bored kids might sink the boat.  Well, we won't sink, but we could get pretty soggy and have to turn on the big water pump, which probably is angry-mama-voice.  We will have to figure out something to do over the break, which is hard because not only is there not much to do, it is crazy to just leave the house with all three children unless I can contain them in a car.  And we are NOT hiring the car every day.  There's not enough places to go in the car, anyways.  Mostly shopping, which is also a nightmare with all three kids.

Speaking of which, I should find a babysitter, so I can go out and procure food.  That would help my sanity, although the kids are so terrified of being left, I might decide that my sanity is better off finding someone to send grocery shopping.

Anyways, one thing at a time.  This morning I thought I got a lot done, but clearly it was somewhere between treading water and just swimming down the wrong stream.  Also, my laundry is piling up, although some of it is actually clean and dry.  And I gave the girls luke-warm cocoa in their sippy cups this morning, although I let Emerson have it straight up.

So basically, I could make it another month.  It's been many months; what's one more?  And I am not upset about missing a proper Christmas... at least not nearly as upset about other things.  Like my dogs.  I could really use some dogs tonight.  I am upset about:
- a trip to Kenya or Rwanda or some crazy place like that
- moving
- school vacation
- looking for a new apartment
- having to move into that new apartment

Which is what I have to start tomorrow.

Betrayal

Someone has been stealing from me.  The house has not been broken into, so it is someone that I have trusted.  I don't know who it is, and I have hesitated to write about this lest I cast suspicion on someone who is not the thief.  So, I will clarify that there are a lot of possibilities, and I am not going to add any more details.  I have been doing a lot of work to figure out how it is happening, and I can't figure anything out, so I am left with a vague feeling of distrusting everyone.

Someone is stealing money.  A lot of money.  This is a cash-only society, and the nearest ATM is still a long way away, so I get out a bunch of cash about once a week, although I sometimes go more often and store it when I know a certain expense is coming up.  It has happened several times, and the first couple incidents I wasn't sure if it was my own mis-remembering, but then a couple more incidents have involved a very large amount of money.  Very large even by American standards, let along Ugandan ones.  I thought I had figured out what was going on and accounted for it, but then it just happened again.

As I said, I'm not going to go into any more details about what is happening, but I am going to try and talk about how I personally have been doing.  I feel like I need to write about this, because it has colored so much of my feelings and actions over the last few weeks.  A little while ago, I wrote about how owning the strengths of my personality helped me get through the rough times, but part of exploring ourselves is also owning the dark sides.  I admit that a tragedy like this has brought out my dark sides.

(And for the word "tragedy," I don't think that simply having money taken is a tragedy; we can still eat at the end of the day.  But I do think that having my trust shaken in just about everyone around me, in a country which I am trying to adapt to and at a time when I am already struggling to focus on the positive, is not an exaggeration of "tragedy".)

I'm going to talk about this in terms of my Enneagram type, because that's what I've been thinking about lately, but not to imply that other types would not mind being robbed!

I think part of the problem is that we 9's are unsuspicious.  Someone else might have been paranoid about money from the beginning, and other more worried personalities would probably have figured it out earlier than I did.  I know I'm bad a worrying about logical things, so at home I make rules for myself like "always lock the car door when I get out," even if I'm in the middle of an empty field and not going out of sight of the car.  I'm afraid that if I start to decide that I don't need to lock the car, I'll decide that too often. And 9's like to float through life, and we tend to be detail-oriented about things we care about and let go of details we don't care about, so I kept my money out of sight but didn't make a big deal about securing it or keeping track of exactly how much there was.

9's seek internal and external peace, and we tend to want to find that at least partially by creating a peaceful oasis in our home.  In this chaotic and extroverted African society, my own calm home has been a vital element of maintaining my sanity.  To have the sanctity of my home violated is a really big deal.  Just a really really big deal.

And I've probably dealt with it in the negative 9 way.  I've started getting worried, and going around and around the same thoughts helplessly.  So to escape that cycle, I just bury myself in something else, anything else... except it's pretty much bound to be something unproductive!  It's already been hard for me to be productive around here, with all the practical limitations on me, so with some internal blocks as well I really do make it all the way over to "lazy."  But I just don't have enough energy to get up and do anything else!  My house is an absolute mess right now, for several different reasons (which include but are not actually limited to three small being who inhabit it), and I have just let it be messy around me all day long -- actually, it's probably been several days now.  I know that the messy house is making things worse, but that is somehow not helping me actually do anything about it.

And I also don't have any energy left to to deal with the kids with their internal and external kid-chaos getting home at the end of the day.  I find myself getting frustrated way too quickly when Buttercup pees herself and doesn't tell me, or Emerson starts screaming possessively about his precious stuff, and Hibiscus -- oh my goodness, Hibiscus is just a giant bundle of chaos.  Swinging heavy objects violently and randomly, strange precarious acts on stairs, putting bizarre and delicate objects on her head, and everything at high speed and high volume.  Ideally, my peaceful 9-ness would help balance her out, and she would naturally gravitate a little more towards the middle.  Instead, it has been feeling like she just shatters through whatever was left of my internal peace, leaving behind great gaping holes of non-mother-li-ness.

Why don't I have any energy left?

We read a new little book the other night, about a girl who is excused from doing all the family chores but no one does work for her, either.  I had a strong suspicion from just the first page that it would contain a useful moral for my children!  (We have a Little Miss "Dat not my mess, I no for clean dat one!" at family chore time.)  But not only did the girl in the book decide that it was no fun to have to do all her own jobs, and it makes a family to do chores together, but she also got bored with nothing to do.  Her mother told her that "doing nothing makes you feel like doing nothing."  That could be part of my problem.

But it feels like it's more than that.  This morning, I didn't clean the house, but I did count money and decide where to put my lockbox and my keys and so on and so forth.  I really think that felt like several hours of hard labor, except I didn't have anything to show for it at the end.  On the days when I spent time with my parents, or even our American visitor "Mr Slinky," I didn't feel this leaden exhaustion at night; even on the long days I went to bed more calm instead of drained.  If having conversation and friendly human interaction is in some way fulfilling and energizing, it's just absolutely the opposite to have to look at the people around me and feel defensive and boxed in.  I don't have "best friends" here, but I have people around me with whom I have pleasant interactions and smiles; now everyone in my compound is a potential sneak and thief.

I don't have natural internal walls.  I don't dislike people; I don't distrust people.  Unlike many other types, 9's don't define themselves as strongly by the company they keep; they keep all sorts of company, and see the value in all sorts of people.

But I am one step past being able to forgive, forget, and move on.  I did that once, and then I got robbed again.  (And possibly one more time, although I'm hoping that was just an accounting error... although how I could possibly miscount my money is a little beyond me at this point; la la la la la.....)  Or maybe I'm one step before being able to forgive, forget and move on... I need to be out of here.  The vague feelings of un-safety that have been hovering at the edges of my mental vision have come swooping into center ground: I am not safe.  Someone I thought I knew has been betraying me, repeatedly.  Stealing money is far from the worst thing that could happen to me, I know very well.  But if someone can do that, what else bad could happen?  All the warnings I have gotten from so many directions -- other travelers, locals, friends, random people on the street, ex-pats living here, gossips and worrywarts -- suddenly loom large and real.

Very large.  I am a woman alone in a faraway country where I don't know the language, the customs; where I am spectacularly conspicuous.  I constantly have children with me who are not biologically my own, in a culture which doesn't understand adoption but is full of stories about stealing children for witchcraft.  Ugh.  I just can't write any more about it.

And I don't even have my dogs.  Beloved and territory-defending dogs are a good talisman against feeling afraid in your home!  Or, lacking that, an off-kiilter 9 can curl up with them at night, and feel their silky ears and hear their soft sighs of sleepy contentment, and feel a little bit of centered-ness returning to her.  Those happy-dog sighs!  I forgot how rejuvinating it was to feel like I am making another being so happy.  Even when I'm a terrible mother, my dogs are quick to forgive any sin for a nice good cuddle.

So, that is my emotional story of the last couple of weeks.  I can see the problem, but I don't see a solution that can restore my lost sense of safety.  I can see my own weakness, but I can't figure out the way back on to the road to strength.

The Next Day: Drawing Deeper

This has been on my mind for months now, but I started writing about it somewhere else and realized that this is the flip side of what I wrote last night.  I was feeling so discouraged about losing myself, but I need to continue to have faith and strength in the self that is within me.  Personality is intrinsically connected to what is going on outside of us, and our past experiences, but we are also more than that.  

Desmond Tutu, who has written some wonderful religious books for children, talks about "God's dream" for each of us.  I haven't read Tutu's adult explanations of what he means, but the idea has taken root for me.  To me, it is about being the fulfillment of what each of us COULD be.  Not that there is a perfect person or an ideal we are striving for, but that each person has a unique place, a unique direction, and more than that, inside ourselves we are something worth dreaming about.  God is hoping that we take the steps to get ourselves there, and helping and guiding us as much as we allow Him to.

Perhaps because I am a strongly analytical person, using personality systems has helped me to think more fully about this, both about myself and the people around me.  I have used a number of them, but the Enneagram is my favorite, because it is more focused on our inner selves (our desires and fears) than our outward behavior.  It took me years of playing with the Enneagram off and on to realize what type I actually was.

I think most of us wish we were something other than what we are, and especially in youth we like to play with different personalities.  Whether from my own insecurity or because of the outside pressures and assumptions around me, I formed a very strong idea of the kind of person who was "best" and who I wanted to be.  I nurtured all those qualities in myself, tried to push away what didn't fit my self-selected image, and was frustrated or guilty about what I couldn't change.  I wanted to be competent, energetic, productive, respected, elegant, and friendly.  (Those don't even all go together!)

Now I can recognize that these are many of my secondary characteristics, but not the crux of who I am.  I was pretty good at acting that way because I was putting all my emphasis on something that I could do... but the thing is, we don't get to decide who we are.  We are Created by something beyond ourselves, and we can't re-build ourselves like a basket of legos.  It was exhausting constantly trying to be something specific, and even when I got compliments on how well I did ("you're amazing; I don't know how you get so much done!") I felt kind of guilty, like I hadn't really earned it.

Thinking about the Enneagram helped me accept my natural strengths instead of trying to create them, but I hadn't realized that something was missing.  We human beings doing exist simply on the inside.  We have to be true to ourselves on the outside, too.

I scoffed at "beauty profiling" for a long time, but in the fog when we lost Rehema and all our plans, I starting looking into Dress Your Truth, just as something fun to distract myself, because a lot of my friends on-line did it and it was easy for me to access.  In the last few months, I have stumbled into seasonal analysis for the same reason, because people on my wrapping site are talking about it, and it's something to think about other than my worries.

But it turns out that it's much more than that.  Perhaps I'll find something more in the future, but right now it feels like I've finally admitted the completion of the circle of acknowledging who I am.  (Not understanding it fully; that is a life-long journey.)  I wanted to think that the way I dressed wasn't that important and I would just let it fade into the background, but we ARE what we look like.  And furthermore, thinking about what I look like and how I dress has helped me to face inconsistencies in the way I was thinking about myself.  And finally, honestly, I'm a woman, and an American woman.  How I look is important to how I feel about myself.

So that's my journey from the outside, and here is the journey from the inside.  I am an Enneagram Type 9: the Peacemaker (with an 8 wing); Dress Your Truth Type 3: Soft and Subtle (with a secondary 1); and my season is Soft Summer.  I am the opposite of energetic and elegant!  Drawing descriptions from the different systems, I am peaceful, detail-oriented, supportive, able to get along with anyone, natural/Nature-like, able to be thinking or feeling, calm, subtle, comforting, slow, prone to laziness, introverted, have a rich inner life, peaceful, comforting, gentle, easily mistaken or misidentified, chameleon-like and blends in easily, conflict-avoidant, relaxed, stable, agreeable, accepting, creative, optimistic, and "devoted to the internal and external quest for peace."

(I kind of cringe writing all that, sure that people who know me will read and think "what is she talking about? I think she's really xyz, she's fooling herself!"  But first of all, any system's definition has a lot of subtleties that obviously I'm not trying to address, and second of all, remember that chameleon part?  In every system, it says this type is the hardest to identify because they're so good at acting like something different!)

Type 9Soft Summer

These last few months have been so hard in so many ways.  I have been reduced to emotional mush multiple times in my life, for crisis that were real but probably not as overpowering as these.  Part of being able to withstand this trial is growing up and making it through other hard times.  Part of it is gaining a deeper trust in God.  And part of it is gaining a deeper trust in myself and my own powers, which is actually part of trusting in God, since He made me.

Or put another way, I could not get through these months if I was spending even one iota of energy on trying to be someone who I am not.  Accepting who I am has given me the power to get through it.  I could get frantic about all the things I haven't done, but I've been able to say "I don't work fast, but I'm really good at being patient.  I can wait for this to come through."  I might feel guilty about all the things I'm not doing for my children, but I can say "I don't naturally have that child-like energy and enthusiasm, but I know that I'm naturally peaceful and calm; they will come back to me and be refreshed when they need it."  When I'm feeling so angry and overwhelmed, I know where to find my foggy, distant place and not let it take over, and I take comfort that those intense emotions come through gently and softly and my children don't have to take the worst of it.... but on the other side of the coin, I don't raise my voice and shout for joy, either.  

Yes, I'm spending more time sitting around the house and not really getting anything done.  But I don't need to feel any guilt about it.  Some people (3's in both systems, actually) really are do-ers, and their feelings of self-worth are based on their accomplishments, which also just seem to happen naturally in a whirlwind around their bodies.  I'm not like that.  It doesn't matter to me if I get anything done, other than technically needing it done.  I like to do things for the sake of the journey and that feels good, but I also have the capability to wait quietly.

Waiting.  You might have noticed that there has been a lot of waiting in the last few months.  I thank God that actually, inside, I'm a very patient person.  When a type 9 goes to their negative side, they can lose their natural balance and become a worrier.  So I remember that, and in this whole time I have not succumbed to bouts of worry and frustration.  Instead, I read a book or start thinking about what wrap I'm going to buy next and totally ignore the whole situation.  Thinking about personality systems has helped me realize that this is actually a good coping mechanism for me and I don't need to feel guilty about tuning out; it's what I'm good at!  It's not always the best direction, but when you honestly can't do anything about a situation, ignoring it completely is actually a pretty good option.  And it IS an option for me, unlike a more action-oriented or idealistic personality.

Tuning out is something I try not to do to my children, but when I acknowledge my inner self it's also something I can forgive myself for.  I am always amazed by moms who plan these amazing projects for their children or talk about how happy they were to get down on the floor and play together.  Did you see "playful" or "full of energy" on the list above?  Not so much.  I don't need to feel bad about not playing with my children, and furthermore, they would probably instinctually sense that I wasn't happy about playing with them.  Instead, I can acknowledge that I'm really good at making people feel peaceful and comfortable and accepted.  I can read my book while they act like wild monkeys together, and when they gather round or settle into bed, I create a place of peace and love.  I'm the home base, not the adventure.  

And as a result, they probably feel more truly loved because I am acting in a way that is true to myself instead of being somewhat dissatisfied doing something I don't care about.  And I reserve my energy for when we really need it, instead of constantly spending myself trying to be "playful" or "productive" or planning activities.

I can also acknowledge why some things are particularly hard on me.  I hate conflict and disapproval, so Hibiscus's loud and strident tone really wears me down, because I am so sensitive to negativity.  That's my problem, not hers, and it helps (a little) to remind myself.  (It's also the natural way that people in this culture speak; I'm really looking forward to her being surrounded by Waldorf teachers who speak REALLY GENTLY!)

But if the kids' roughness is hard on me, I can be grateful that it doesn't go the other direction.  At this point in their lives, all three children are distinctly un-9-ish, which doesn't mean that they're not sensitive to me and my emotions, but it does mean that my threshold for conflict is lower than theirs.  So on the days when I've felt particularly upset and angry, I'm probably not acting particularly angry by others' standards.  And then with my "gift of peace," I'm probably better at restoring harmony than I might otherwise be.  I hope so.

My personality type might be calm, but it is not passive.  What looks soft on the outside actually has a lot of inner strength.  In the seasons, it is described that Soft Summer is closest to Autumn, which is a season of strength.  The gentle and floating 9 takes a wing from the 8, which is the Enneagram representing the power of Mars.  I've called on those sides of myself in the last few months as well.  But I haven't needed to BE them.  I don't need to dress in a "power suit" and go into meetings with the strong personality of an 8, because I know that I have my own, different power as a 9.  When I was in college and starting my professional life, I tried to dress in strong colors and smooth lines so that people would take me seriously.  It turns out that I was probably just sending mixed messages, and perhaps even accentuating my own softness and youth by setting up such a dramatic contrast.  Softness is not silliness.  

 Last night I was looking at Soft Summer definitions on the web, and I found an image that really struck me: looking out at a field, with an oak in the foreground and dark trees in the background, through some mist or light rain.  They're right.  That's me.  I don't HAVE to try and be sunshine, I don't have to try and be a cheerful beach scene, I don't have to be vibrant fall colors and apple-picking.  Accepting myself as a Type 9 Soft Summer allows me to let go of that.  Who doesn't want to be sunshine?  We all like sunshine, and we all want to be sunny sometimes.  And I've been good at being things I'm not, and that has worked some times.  But I'm at a time in life when I don't want to do that any more.  I could exhaust myself trying to spread sunshine around, or we could sit down together with a cup of tea and look out at the mist over the grass and take deep breaths.  And I can go on a long time like that.

So, I'll draw from the wells within me, and keep on keeping on.  Hopefully taking baby steps toward the ME that God dreams for me.