expat life – Turbulent Mind

A lot of my family and friends have expressed worry and concern for the situation unfolding here in South Korea. As much as I appreciate suggestions to “just come home,” I have unwittingly cemented myself in this country that I call my second home and I feel that leaving now would be, perhaps, one of my biggest regrets and mistakes I could ever make. As many of my friends and family know, I have been living in Changwon, South Korea, on and off, since 2014, and it’s hard to take away the attachment and emotions I have for this country and particularly this region during such a time of crisis. So far, for this week, my academy has closed down in order to comply with public health suggestions to halt schools and classes for at least a week. We are taking this situation a day at a time, and I would like to trust that my academy will make a sound decision for our well-being and livelihoods.

Today, I visited my psychiatrist at the hospital in the midst of the madness. I was greeted by people wearing goggles and plastic protective suits and masks at the entrance of the hospital I’ve gone to every month since last year. Tents were set up for people displaying flu-like symptoms to get their exams outside of the hospital within the sealed tents. Doctors wearing full suits, gloves, goggles and masks were working tirelessly as lines of people dutifully reported their symptoms and were tested for the virus. This daunting experience at the door was nothing compared to the ghost town within the hospital. It was advised for me not to visit hospitals during this time. However, with my mental illnesses and the need to refill my prescription and check in with my psychiatrist, I bypassed the flu/COVID-19 tent and was greeted by people asking me which department I was visiting today. I was quickly ushered over to a thermal scanner which took my temperature at the door. A big green check mark appeared on the screen and I was cleared to go inside the hospital. It was a ghost town. As I entered my psychiatrist’s office for my visit, I could see in his eyes that, he too, was feeling anxious for the state of the country. A month before, there wasn’t any of this. A month before, we were discussing the virus and complimenting how well the virus has been controlled so far. But as our appointment wrapped up, he turned to me and stated, “This is… a difficult time for our country. I hope that you understand that it is okay that you are anxious. These are difficult times and we feel these difficulties together. I hope you remain safe, well, and have hope for better times here.” With those words, I felt a little bit of my hope in humanity restored.

I’ve found myself having to pick apart what is actually 100% going on with my anxiety surrounding the Coronavirus outbreak. As much as I’d like to think that I am well-read and understand basic epidemiology, it’s still difficult to control my feelings surrounding this. Discussing this with some of my family and friends residing in the West has been difficult, as their reassurances are always that I’m healthy and I’m young. As long as I am washing my hands frequently and wearing a mask in public I’ll be good. I want to update my friends and family back home in the states, but I also want to remain realistic, as I know my friends here are suffering from similar worries and anxieties that I am. I was discussing this last night with a friend here, that… a lot of people just tell me I’m “giving in to fear-mongering” by “allowing myself” to feel anxious. I know I don’t need to justify my feelings or anxieties to anyone, but I think that this can also help a lot of people understand what anxiety actually does to a person, and how to help people the know that are going through a similar situation.

My anxiety is surrounded by the idea that over the course of a week, the society that I have come to love and understand has begun to slowly turn their backs on each other. People that, previously didn’t mind being in packed elevators and buses are now cowering in fear when I enter an elevator with my two dogs. The streets that are usually full of pedestrians and cars are quiet. At night, I can hear my thoughts rather than the cars passing outside my windows. Such a drastic change within a week is not a “natural” situation to be in. When you get used to crowds and students feeding you with hands that you’re not quite sure have been washed properly today, and all of the sudden everyone is sanitizing everything and spraying down desks. Cue anxiety spike for me and, the millions of people that surround me in this tiny peninsula country.

In case folks don’t really know what’s been going on in South Korea and the severity of the situation, I have an article here that quickly sums up the general story of it all. I’m sitting in between two sides of a situation that I understand has snowballed out of control due to the non-compliance of citizens with the public health suggestions that have been widely posted everywhere. These individuals have been difficult to track down and have been reluctant to reveal their movement and connection to the Shincheonji sect that is taking the spotlight in this outbreak. The secrecy and non-compliance with the public health officials within this group has made it difficult to track down and ensure that infected individuals are not spreading the virus to others. Citizens that are complying are angry that the government isn’t “doing enough” to control this sect. And have called for the Blue House to shut down the Shincheonji sect by force via petition. The outrage that the people are feeling toward the sect is understandable, but much of the situation has become a sort of “witch hunt” for sect members.

Now, I do not need to act in panic and fear with these anxieties, but I have learned that rather than fighting the anxiety, it’s better to understand where anxiety is coming from, and what your relationship with your anxiety is like. And for me, my anxiety has been a “friend” of sorts that has worked to save me before, and she’s trying to do it again for me. I cannot simply shut her up and tell her she isn’t allowed to feel. I acknowledge and validate that the fears are real and normal. And that I can feel anxious but still operate as I usually do. I can continue to feel all of the spectrum of positive and negative feelings. And I can have a day to myself where I sit and really pick out what is going on in my brain and understand where my brain is coming from. I spent all of yesterday trying to really hone in on some of the fears and emotions and spent a lot of time journaling and reflecting on the situation.

So, to my friends in the West. It’s shitty here. I am not going to lie. This isn’t great for people with anxiety, especially someone with health anxiety. But what is important is that I’m doing everything I can to stay safe and sane. Bad days are going to happen, but I am looking forward to the day that this feels like it’s under control. For those of you in the East that are anxious despite understanding the low mortality rate of this virus and that it is not much worse than having influenza, I empathize and understand. For those of us in the midst of this outbreak, we are experiencing social changes and fears that are unprecedented. Uncertainties in the economy and in our livelihoods that are very, very scary. You are valid in your anxieties and fears, just remember that fears are just that. Fears.

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.

Tag: expat life

Coronavirus – Part Two

A Year Ago