Doubts. They found me in Japan.

It started as a whisper. It didn't stay that way.

Friends, family, former countrymen! This is a vulnerable post from me written in a vulnerable moment on the way home from Osaka after my first week at my new job. Writing about it helped me process it, which helped me move forward into a better headspace. Today, I’m excitedly (if not constantly happily) building a life with Mike in Fukuoka, Japan. It’s hard work and there are constantly new hurdles popping up - damn you unknown unknowns! So, read on if you want to put yourself in a low point of this move that I think is a very real part of grief, change, and being a person. 

---

It starts as a whisper.

“I don’t think you don’t want to do this.”

Faint, like a weak breeze on a muggy day. Doubt winds its way through the crevices in my brain. I can see the pink folds and swirls, wet with thought and heavy from exertion. The doubt moves slowly, getting stuck as it tries to find a foothold. Earlier this week, it didn’t have words. In my imagined mind, it’s like a little snake. Winding through my mind, grazing the legions in my brain that lie dormant. Tickling neurons along the way that prickle: uncomfortable physical, mental, and emotional responses that seem to come out of nowhere. It’s amazing how many nooks and crannies this little garden snake of doubt rubs against. I feel it when I can’t see it. Even when I shoo it away, there are too many ways back in - in the garden that is my mind, I’m not sure there is even a fence. I think my mind might just be a little shack in the middle of an endless field, and it turns out that the field is full of snakes.

It started as a whisper, “You don’t want to do this.”

And that whisper grew sharp. That whisper didn’t need to grow louder to get stronger; it needed to multiply. I didn’t know it, but new snakes and new whispers started making nests of their own.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“You don’t get to be yourself.”

“You’re going to be lonely and scared.”

“You’re going to be tired, and more tired, every day.”

“You’re going to hate it.”

“You’re going to suffer.”

“Why did you think that you could do this?”

“You won’t like any of these people.”

“You don’t even want to live in Japan, do you?”

“You have been lying to yourself for months, almost a year, trying to pretend that you are someone that you are not.”

Bigger snakes, bigger doubts. No longer harmless garden snakes, but full-blown creatures of concern that cannot be driven away. Big, hard doubts that feel impossible to tame. Doubts that drill into my mind – I can feel them building pressure in my head. Right at the front of my forehead, a small tangerine-sized nest of doubt demons pressing outward and inward. Doubts that fight their way out, doubts that start fights, and doubts that are beating me down. Doubts that don’t care about mindfulness, doubts that don’t see logic, and doubts that certainly don’t have faith in me. They are not scared of me. They’re willing to set the whole house on fire and burn the field with it. They’re stronger than I am, and I don’t know if I can fight to win this.

And now those doubts, they’re a roar.

YOU CAN’T LIVE THE LIFE YOU WANT TO LIVE BECAUSE YOUR SON IS DEAD. THE JOB YOU WANT, YOU CANNOT HAVE - YOU DO NOT GET TO BE HAN’S MOM EVER AGAIN. 

Ouch.

Major ouch. 

I can never have the life that I want to have, ever. It will never exist again. And unlike other disappointments, there are no silver linings or consolation prizes. There is just a box of dust where a little boy should be, and purposeless parents in a five-star hotel in Osaka.

What is the point of living?

Yes, living without Han. But generally, what is the point? We’re all just here for what?

None of it matters. Whether I quit this job, quit Japan, or quit life – it doesn’t matter.

We make up what matters. 

You hear that doubt!

We make up what matters. And you know what? If I can’t have what I want, then it doesn’t matter what I do. If I’m going to be miserable all day, then it might as well be a vehicle for inviting something good into my life. Maybe it’s not this job, maybe it’s not this city, but I do think choosing to be in Japan can be a vehicle for positive things in my life. When I think about what happens if I leave here, I cannot bear it either. It might be nice to be nearer to family, friends, and things that I understand, but it won’t bring me closer to being happy. I cannot bear the prospect of living in the United States right now. The daily anxiety and stress of politics and culture are too much to bear. The suffering, the greed, the anger, and the violence are far too large a burden to bear. That burden is bigger than the demon that is doubt.

Han’s first real taste of sugar was strawberry ice cream. I wish we’d had sweet moments with our little boy.

I’m here on a train. Trying to live through each minute again, just like I did on the days after Han died on July 9. Some minutes are darker than others, some minutes have tears, some minutes have anger, some minutes dare to be hopeful. All of them are painful. Again. Still. Probably always. Probably forever. I don’t know what's going to happen to me or my doubts right now, but that’s not a problem for this minute or the next.

---

Fun fact: Public displays of emotion are not the norm in Japan! Crying in underground malls, while riding shinkansen trains, or in communal baths is not winning any friends. I know crying at work isn’t great anywhere, but I’m sure that crying at work will not yield positive professional experiences for me. So far, I haven’t had a real cry at work - a silent tear when I have a particularly tender exchange with a kinder age student. I’ve formally requested not to teach kinder age kids to protect myself and the 3-6 year olds from an upsetting emotional outburst for us all. After a week on the job, I’ve taught six kids lessons which I got through without any major breakdowns, but there were painful moments. The sweet little boys are the hardest to teach.

Thank you, Mike, for loving me through the hardest times. 🩵 I hope to be your anchor during your hard times, too.

Today has been a good day, and this week has been a good week. I have a day off today and I’m looking forward to doing laundry with Mike. I also have some ideas for the kind of writing I would like to do while in Japan, and I’m excited to share more about our life here with our friends near and far.