This is not writers block. This is not a lack of words. This is reverse culture shock.
I'm still trying to figure out how you can live somewhere for just 12.5 weeks, after living somewhere else your whole life, yet returning to that place feeling like an alien.
I remember walking to get my bags off of the conveyor belt in Cincinnati, my parents I hadn't seen in almost 3 months right next to me, and feeling lost.
God bless them I know they care, I know they wanted to listen to me and my hoarse voice from sickness talk about all of the adventures, lessons, and friends, but there was a disconnect because they did not see or feel or know first hand what I was talking about. I felt so bad.
We walked into their house in Lexington a few hours later and I just started to sob. Mind you this is the same house I lived in all middle and high school. But it was different now. The stove, the central heating and air, the dish washer, the big open rooms, my own room, full of childhood. I was sick. Inconsolable. Never before had I felt this way. All I wanted to do was just walk out the door and see my friends walking into the Park Gallery downstairs getting ready for college group, or see dozens of cars zipping by the most dangerous intersection there ever was. All I saw was the same house, row after row. The suburbs. I couldn't hear anything. No helicopters, sirens, people talking, palm trees rustling. Nothing.
A few days later I was back in Knoxville. Moved back to the East Side. Finding my way into senior year and another term at Emerald. Surely seeing my kids and friends would heal whatever sort of sadness I still had... that and time and I'd be fine right?
Apparently not.
Going through the motions I am expected to achieve, turning in work, showing up for class, scanning into chapel. It's all a blur. Sitting still in classrooms for over 6 hours a day after I spent 3 months under the sun, dancing in the streets with babies that had no homes... Living in this big house after sharing 400 square feet with 5 people... Friends that complain about their iPhone update being slow when I sat on public bathroom floor to help a prostitute sew her skirt with an earring... And yet I'm honestly embarrassed that I'm more than a month removed from the summer and I still can't shake some of the things I felt, saw, experienced, and left behind in order to just "fit in." F that.
"Why can't I integrate back into this dang southern culture like everyone else?"
I'm still mourning the dead bodies from last year, let alone this summer. So forgive me if I find it a little hard to comprehend why I owe anyone a fake smile. I want to not have nightmares anymore. I want to feel like I didn't compromise. I want to know that my black and brown brothers and sisters won't be another hashtag. I want to stop piling stones in front of my heart because I'm starting to forget what it feels like to allow anyone else in.
But I know those things wont stop happening anytime soon.
And I know that I will continue to have an empty feeling inside of me until I am able to deal with the beautiful wins, and tragic losses from the summer. So my prayer is to be present when it's so easy not to be. My prayer is that I will continue to serve the Lord wholeheartedly, allow myself grace, lament the hard things, and rejoice the good.
Here I am, on the eve of a season change, in more ways than one.
Finally admitting reverse culture shock has settled in.
Still taking names, facing waves, and using up a lot of sand paper in hopes I look like Jesus at the end of this journey.
But this tough girl is tired.
