As I’m reaching the one-year mark of my working contract here in South Korea, I realize that the person I was a year ago was drastically different than the person sitting here typing this out right now. I’ve written and re-written this entry many times now, wondering how can I actually be honest with myself if I’m not acknowledging my starting point. As painful as it is to remember and to reflect on, I need to acknowledge what I was to recognize how far I’ve come. Before reflecting on my past year here in South Korea, I’d like to paint a picture of what February 2019 was like for me.
Everything around me was hectic. I rushed to say my good-byes to people I was afraid I would not see. I tried to pack as much in as I could and, of course, I tried to spend as much time as possible with my family and my significant other. It was bittersweet. I was excited to go back to the job that brought me so much joy and made me feel so accomplished, but I was also terrified that things would turn out in a way that was completely unexpected. Despite the fear that was starting to build up inside of me in the shape of “what if” statements, I kept soldiering on and preparing for my departure.
I remember the last Friday before my departure so clearly, like it happened yesterday. Yet, I have trouble remembering all of this past year in this level of clarity. My phone rang in the morning, the phone number was from Madison, Wisconsin. I knew it was likely the APHIS Office confirming the receipt of Misha’s paperwork. When I answered, I remember the girl on the other line was so helpful. She explained to me that the records she received for Misha were out of date.
The air was knocked out of me. “Out of date? What do you mean? Did the veterinary clinic forget to include the rabies titer test from October?” She gently replied that they did, but that they did not submit the titer test to an accredited lab. At this point, I knew exactly what that meant. Having traveled with Misha to Korea before, I knew exactly which lab the blood sample must be submitted through. I knew I had told the veterinarian that it must be that lab. I even included an informational guide from the South Korean Animal and Plant Quarantine office with all of the information that I had of Misha from the last trip.
My heart dropped to the bottom of my stomach. I felt my knees go weak and I was speechless. The girl on the other line kindly asked if I was still there. To which, I weakly replied, “Yes, yes… I’ll call the vet clinic to get it straightened out.” That day, was a logistical nightmare. Being a person with anxiety, I do not like confrontation, but I confronted my veterinarian who admitted that she did not look over the informational guides I gave her, and that she went through the lab because that’s the lab that she usually sends the tests for pets traveling domestically. The veterinarian offered to send another blood test to the correct lab for an additional fee and that, “Maybe it’ll get here in time for your flight.” For the first time in my life, I think I saw red. I was so angered that all of my planning and instructions were dismissed because someone else thought they “knew better.” At that time, another veterinarian stepped in and said, “No, there will be no fee. You clearly asked us to do something with specific instructions, and we neglected to do it. We will try our best to get the bloodwork done.” I thanked the veterinarian and went home. I knew it would not be done. The lab had a waiting period of at least three weeks.
That night, I had panic attack after panic attack about not having Misha with me. My relationship with her is very close, and I depended on her heavily for my mental well being. I cried and cried and could not possible imagine my world in Korea without her. Thankfully my family and boyfriend were willing to help me get her to me as soon as May. I would only need to survive three months without her.
I’m not saying that without Misha, my mental health worsened. But I definitely was forced to face the fact that I was not well. With or without her, it was something that needed to be addressed.
I arrived in Korea to an apartment with no hot water, heat, or a bed. Nothing was prepared and it was infuriating. My work had tried to get a bed ordered to my apartment, but the delivery was delayed due to the Lunar New Year holiday, and I was forced to sleep on a folding couch for two weeks.
I think at this point, it felt like everything had gone wrong. No dog, apartment is a mess, I’m 6,000 miles from my family, and work was not coming back to me as smoothly as I would have liked. I broke. I broke into a million pieces and I am still picking them back up. I realized that so many factors in my life have contributed to that breaking point that it was inevitable. Whether I stayed back in Minneapolis or I came here, it would have happened.
February 2019 me was someone who broke down almost daily. I panicked about big and small things. I panicked about whether the students liked me. I panicked about whether I was covering the materials well enough. I panicked about whether or not I could keep up my duties as an instructor and a supervisor. I panicked to the point where I physically could not hold food down and began to avoid eating altogether. I didn’t make it more than 2 months before I knew I was completely defeated by my own fears and insecurities. Every week was a new fight, a new issue, a new insecurity that I battled through with my boyfriend on the other line. I could hear the exasperation in his voice. “What can I do for you? What do you want?” He would ask. I had no answer. I had no idea.
Booking that first therapy appointment was the best decision of my life. I practice what I learned through the sessions every single day. I practice mindfulness and grounding. I practice forgiving myself and setting realistic standards. I continue to work through insecurities, trauma and maladaptive behavior. I will continue to fight for me.
Now, a year later, I want to pat myself on the back for getting through those first few months. I want to tell myself that I’ve improved a lot since then. I want to say that even though I haven’t been perfect, I am still doing the best I can do for me. I want to read back on this entry on a rough day and remember that I have come a very long way from what I was. A lot can happen in a year, and this last year in Korea has felt like an entire lifetime.
Turbulent Mind 