July 2, 2014
Robynn Bliss writes about life as a missionary overseas: “I didn’t expect a rose garden,
but neither did I expect that the disappointments and the pains would be so
relentless, so incessant, so continuous.”
So, here’s the thing nobody likes
to talk about: being a missionary is not all about saving the world. Just
because you pack up your life to move across the planet and are planning to
help people doesn’t mean your own life stops having trauma and pain and sorrow.
In fact, I would argue it gets worse and more intense. And then, when
missionaries have these traumatic or painful things happen to them, we don’t
want to tell anyone or talk about it because we feel like we are failing at
being a missionary, at doing this one thing that we have been sent to do. We
compare our own sufferings to those of the people we are working with and then
feel selfish for experiencing pain and suffering, because it’s nothing compared
to not having running water or consistent electricity or a bed to sleep in. But
the truth is, pain is pain, trauma is trauma, and discounting your own story
because it’s not traumatic or painful ENOUGH is a bad practice. Our experience
is our experience and just because it’s not the same trauma as someone else’s
does not make it any less real.
I was talking today to several
other missionaries about how we feel like we can’t be real with people because
our supporters or families or friends have these images of us out there, strong
and capable and “saving the world.” But, I think that is an unhealthy and
ultimately, untrue, view of what we do here. Yes, of course, our work with
homeless, stateless, exploited and abused people is important. It’s the reason
we are all here, after all, the reason we get out of bed in the morning and
fight day after day, to see change happen, to see people get citizenship, to
see women escape trafficking, to see children graduate high school and break
the cycle of poverty. And all that is good to share. But, I think it’s just as
important to share our personal ups and downs so that people know what life is
really like, that they don’t just get the rose colored glasses version of
things and so they know how they can really support us.
When we come back to our home
countries, it’s often very difficult for us to relate to people because no one
can understand what life is like in this position unless you have lived it
yourself. We are often bombarded with people telling us how much good we are
doing, and asking how rewarding it all is and how we must feel so great that we
are fulfilling our purpose in life. And, while all that is true, it also makes
us feel like we can’t be honest about the disappointments we face when someone
who has been making great progress backslides, or when someone we have trusted
implicitly as a confidante betrays us. On days or weeks like that, we question
what the point of it all is, just like people in “regular” jobs do. We
question ourselves, are we doing enough, working hard enough, working too hard,
giving too little, giving too much, spending too much time on this area and not
enough in another. And at times questioning whether God made a mistake in
sending us here.
If we can’t feel free to express
these natural emotions on the rollercoaster of life, we can feel very alone and
lost. It’s so important for our supporters to be able to encourage us through
the hard times as well as the good and to remind us that what we are feeling is
normal and that we will get through it.
Personally, the past year has
been very painful. I haven’t posted much about it because I was worried about
what people would think of me. I thought I had failed at everything: as a
parent, as a missionary, as a person in general.
In June of last year, just when I
thought things were getting on a much better level with Sophie and me, she
announced she wanted to go live with Ning and Faa at their children’s home.
This floored me because it felt like it came out of left field with no warning
whatsoever. She couldn’t even give me a reason why. She just said she missed
living with people of her culture, and I couldn’t fault her for that. Since I
hadn’t technically adopted her, there really wan’t much I could to do stop her,
especially since every other person who she pulled into this conversation was
supporting her moving out rather than advocating for her to stay at home and
work through her problems.
So, two weeks after that bombshell,
she moved out of the house. It was basically the most devastating thing to ever
happen to me emotionally. I had spent two years fighting to keep her alive,
keep her in school, get her citizenship, adopt her, and then with no warning
whatsoever, she just decided to bail. Maybe it was all too much for her, the
structure, the language, the culture, the chores, especially with her background of absentee parenting. I don’t know, but all I know
is that it felt like my heart was being ripped in half as this child that I
loved as my daughter and thought would be a permanent part of my family decided
she didn’t want to be that anymore.
Over the next few months, as I
tried to repair our relationship, she pushed me further away and things got
worse rather than better. Finally, about two weeks before Christmas, she said
she didn’t want a family, didn’t want anyone to be responsible for her, didn’t
want to be responsible to anyone, just wanted to make all her own choices and
she didn’t want to live with me anymore. She instead wanted to live with the
people she had stayed with while I was in the US last time. She ended by
basically saying “Don’t call me, I’ll call you.” Which she didn’t for about 6
months.
Then, out of the blue in April,
just before her birthday, she called to invite me to her birthday party. It was like nothing had ever happened and
everything was normal. Since then, I’ve seen her every few weeks for a movie or
dinner and things have gotten better. They are not where I would want them to
be, and I still worry about the fact that she is not experiencing any natural
consequences of her actions, due to all the other adults in her life catering
to her every whim, but I have to accept that it’s not my responsibility to make
sure she learns those lessons anymore. It’s just my job to love her
unconditionally, as her mom, even if that isn’t what she wants me to be
anymore.
So, that is the main reason I
have not written anything of substance in my blog for the past year. Fear of
people knowing the truth, of judging me as a bad parent or a bad person in
general. It’s one of those situations where it’s impossible to know what it’s
like unless you have gone through the same thing. Everyone has an opinion, and
while they all mean well, most advice I have gotten just makes me feel worse.
What I really need is for people to just say: “Man, that sucks. I’m sorry.” I am so thankful for my parents, sister and pastor who said almost exactly that and really helped me get through this year (well, my mom doesn't like the word "sucks" but she said something similar.) Despite all of the anguish and pain this
situation has caused, I would still like to foster and adopt kids in the future
because I think every child deserves a home and a family.