When I moved to the US, more changes were required. Some more challenging and personally painful than I ever would have anticipated. In many ways, immigrating to the US has been a very difficult road for me.
Sometimes I think I'm making headway, and things are getting better. But then something just happens again to throw everything off.
So, now we're in a new ward. And I've already had this whole "primary" debacle. Last night the bishop came over to talk to us, and we almost got into a fight. (He mentioned stuff that sounded like the whole ward was concerned about my behavior or views, I'm not sure, over this whole primary German thing, and that he couldn't even understand why I made a huge deal out of this, and Sophia's primary language is English, and we speak English in America, and yadayadayada). I'm sure he wanted the discussion to be productive. But it just left me feeling awful. I hate when people bring "what other people think" into discussions. I hate it. I hate it when a discussion runs along the lines of suggesting that I'm this awful freak, but alas, we'll be nice and forgive and/or we'll love you anyways.
I really hate it basically when discussions end in a way where I feel that despite my best efforts, the other person still doesn't get where I'm coming from. They don't understand an ounce of who I am or what "my issue is". I'm sure I've done this to others. But I'd like to think that usually I try to understand how others think, and where they're coming from.
I'd like to think that with all my flaws and faults, I try to understand people. And I try to get along. And I don't give up when it gets hard. And that I have a forgiving heart. And that I try to accommodate, assimilate and be part of the 'group'.
Now, however, I'm just tired. I'm so tired of it all. I don't want to accommodate anymore. I don't want to listen. I don't want to try to understand anymore. I don't want to fit in, or be part of anything anymore. I just feel tired, and incredibly alone. I honestly don't feel like going to Church here anymore right now. Why try to be part of something when it's so incredibly difficult. I'm so tired of all the drama. Nobody even understands the sacrifices that you make each day as a foreigner that everyone takes for so granted. And I just.can't.deal.with it anymore. I just don't have it in me.
I'm sure that I'm contributing to my own situation in some significant ways that I'm blind-sided to. I'm sure I'm not without fault. But no one, who's never left their homecountry behind for good, and packed up to raise a family in an other place, will ever really understand. And that's why it sucks. Because no one gets it. I get that. But I just don't want to help people understand anymore. I don't want to shut out this huge part of who I am all the time, just for the sake of others. I'm just done with it.
I just don't know what that means. Or what I can even do other than cry and feel incredibly alone, and wishing that there would just one place where I can feel like I fit in, wherever such a strange place may be.
To read more about my experience immigrating you may want to check out this essay I wrote HERE.
Urm, here below this post. I meant to create a link, but that doesn't work. So, I'll just post my essay here (it was published a few months ago in The Exponent magazine. Nice, eh?). Here it is:
Franziska Patterson
Planet Earth
(Columbus, Ohio)
Inbetween
Something was starting to crumble inside of me. I was biking along a beautiful trail in the Provo canyon, with my new husband. Our wedding day, just a few weeks prior, had been a truly happy day and we were excited for our life together. But when my husband and I stopped to look at the river running next to the trail, discussing our life as newly-weds, I burst into tears. My husband tried unsuccessfully to console me, the stream of tears increasing with each question he asked. I couldn’t quite put a finger on what was bothering me, but eventually I muttered “Who am I?”
That day on the trail, when I suddenly felt lost and unsure of myself, I realized that I had started on a journey that encompassed more than just married life. With my marriage I had not only become a wife but an immigrant. I had left behind a clear definition of self and home, and was left with a gaping hole in my heart that needed to be filled. And the severity of the pain took me by surprise. Naturally, I expected that on marrying I’d most likely leave my native Germany behind for good. I thought I knew what that meant. But I did not. It wasn’t until I was awkwardly trying to sign documents with a new last name that it dawned on me how vastly my core self would be affected by my marriage.
Initially I attributed my shaky sense of identity to getting a new last name and the immigration process. I had been looking forward to trading my maiden name in for a new last name (my maiden name is about as common as Smith), but once it was gone suddenly I felt like a part of me had disappeared as well. The immigration process added to that sense of loss and confusion. Having come from a nation that afforded me any conceivable freedom, it was a rather harsh adjustment to get fingerprinted every time I entered the US, to have to report every change of address, to ask permission when wanting to leave the country for longer than 6 months, to not be able to travel outside the US until I had received a specific document (this was related to my pending immigration status, not to owning a passport), to not be able to vote (as a political science major, and avid voter, this was a real loss), and lastly to not be entitled to government benefits (despite paying taxes like any citizen). In addition, I had to undergo a thorough physical examination that included a genital health check, chest x-rays as well as testing for HIV and other STDs. I was also required to prove my married relationship was real by providing pictures of the wedding, notarized affidavits from friends and, if the USCIS deemed it necessary, provide proof that my marriage had been consummated. I felt degraded, like a second-class human, and as a modest Mormon woman, simply embarrassed.
But, I struggled beyond the humiliating parts of the immigration process and the loss of freedoms to which I was accustomed. I also felt tossed about by internal and external cultural dissonances. The cultural differences that appeared more like speed bumps during a temporary adventure while I was a student seemed like steep mountains to climb now that my stay had become a permanent one. I suddenly worried about speaking a foreign language for the rest of my life. I was concerned about my children absorbing parts of the American culture that were foreign to me, or that I simply didn’t like. The idea that my husband and children would feel “at home” while I was still a “wanderer in a strange land” (Jacob 7:26) was unsettling to me. I felt obligated to absorb the American culture or forever be an outsider, even within my own family. I wasn’t sure how I could feel at home when “me” felt so different from everyone else. Trying to bring my new life and old self together was a perfect recipe for cultural clashes. The typical German honesty and slight negativity (or realism as I like to call it) that I espoused, frequently came across as rude or offensive. More than once I was accused of hating the US, when all I tried to do was to share my opinion like everyone else. Occasionally it was suggested that if I did not like it here I should simply go back home. Those words stung in particular, because they suggested that I wasn’t home – I wasn’t “everyone else”. And, of course, going back to Germany was no longer a simple decision I could make any time, but a complex issue that involved other peoples’ lives.
Church posed a challenge for me as well. I dreaded the time around Independence Day, when I had to listen to songs and talks that had no spiritual or cultural meaning for me. There would be accidental moments, like sitting in Relief Society, unable to recite the Young Women’s theme with the sisters because I had never memorized the theme in English that reminded me again of my uprooted state. It was upsetting that even at Church - a place I thought should feel like home no matter what – I felt like I didn’t belong.
And then with all the differences that faced me here in the US, there was also alienation from my home country. When visiting family in Germany, I would walk into grocery stores, feeling prepared because I had a credit card with me, just to be reminded at the check-out that credit cards weren’t accepted. Or, I would say or do something maybe a bit atypical for Germans (maybe I was being too positive), only to hear how I was becoming “so American”. Sometimes, it was a little thing such as not immediately remembering a word in German, being surprised that there wasn’t a diaper changing table in the public restroom, or sitting in a room with other women from Church nursing my baby, but being the only one using a nursing cover that tuned me in to my personal metamorphosis. I seemed to not be German anymore. And yet I wasn’t American either.
My sense of self started to crumble when I got married – and has been under reconstruction since. It has been difficult for me at times to feel at home, to feel like I belong or to simply know who I am, now that I’m married, living in a foreign country. It has been a journey over the years, and I have not reached my destination yet. But I have found comfort in the thought that this world is Heavenly Father’s creation, and that I, as his daughter, belong wherever I choose to go and be. He has not created borders or nationalities for his children. I’ve also started to learn to dissociate my sense of self from what is written in my passport and from the customs of my childhood. Instead, I have decided to focus more on the customs of humanity and am finding a new sense of self in our human commonalities. I used to think that “home is where the heart is” and that the heart, somehow, can only be in one place. A part of my heart will always linger in Germany. Through the years, however, my heart has embraced people and places all over this beautiful world, slowly weaving a net of “home” that spans beyond what I had ever imagined. Home is where my heart is, but my heart is scattered across the globe. I am a citizen of the world. I’m a daughter of the God who created this world. This is my home – and I belong.
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11 comments:
Touching essay. And yet, I feel even more dramatic in my emotions than your rational explanation. I have moments when I feel nauseated, tormented, panicked. I see my children pleading allegiance at school. I see my husband and how lost he would be in France. I see my grave resting far from my ancestors. I see my in-laws, kind but unsettled and looking strangely at me. I see that none of my ideas fit.
It is an open wound that I choose to ignore but that stings when looked at. I feel as if I'm falling in a black hole and I resent God. Why did You uproot me?
Silence follows.
As far as language, a few people in your ward are blowing the issue. They take their political view into the church. My boys only spoke French until they went to school. So they felt isolated in Primary, but their teachers were patient. The Presidency kept giving talks to Teva during his first year, and I just asked them to not do it. In kindergarten this year, his teacher (who has a son in the army), doesn't believe his misbehavior was due to a language barrier. Even after explaining to her, she said it wasn't the case. it annoyed me. Teva was sent to the principal several times. Once, he had misunderstood the direction of the Art teacher, started to color his drawing, and she got mad, and back to the office he was. He couldn't understand at first why he was punished so often, and his teacher refused to believe English requires more effort for him. She also mentioned to me that his record from preschool talked about his behavioral problem. Those records were never shown to me and I didn't know that his preschool teacher perceived the situation to be such. So we just toughed it up. He lacks self-confidence, and tries extra hard to assimilate by refusing French entirely and telling me he's American. I get talked down a lot as a young looking mom with an accent. I was verbally aggressed and yelled at by two other mums in a school parking lot. I imagine they would have never dared doing this to a non-foreigner, but maybe I'm wrong. People lack class and manners in our days.
There is a difference in culture that we'll always encounter: what I call discussing a topic with passion, my husband calls it arguing. My husband dislikes me opening my mouth at church, even though I'm perfectly orthodox. I'm lucky that my Relief Society president, with whom I serve, finds me amusing and inspired. I will miss the crude New Englanders when I stumble upon San Diego.
Keep going to Church. Prove them wrong by being at peace with yourself. Taking the sacrament is worth it and you are entitled to the same blessings as before.
If seeing those individuals makes you boil, then maybe take a little rest. Actually, I have no idea what I would do in your situation. You are not weird or excessive to me. I hope things get better. I hope the Primary President wakes up speaking German, English amnesia, and she gets where you're coming from...ah ah
Marie, I want to quote you. Can I quote you? I don't think you're being dramatic. These are real issues. Other people just slap the "dramatic" label on other peoples feelings, because they don't understand and they're uncomfortable. So, it's easier to simply dismiss it all by slapping on labels.
I think your experience is heart-wrenching, real, and not dramatic. Just unfortunate that it's a reality.
I'll be sure to visit you as soon as you're in CA. I am so desperate for someone who "get's it". Plus I just miss your "amusing and inspired" ways. ;)
I'm pretty pathetic when it comes to knowing what to say but I'm good at bringing by dinner. I sure wish I was close enough to do that. These people are really missing out on knowing an awesome family.
Sarah, how about you let me know next time you're in Tulare, and I'll meet you for dinner. :)
I think I need to get my act together and pray real hard for a loving and forgiving heart. But right now I just feel angry, and tired. I feel like I've given up so much already just so Henry can be in his home country, with his family, his people etc. I've made so many sacrifices, and I've asked for nothing, except maybe for people not shunning my love for my heritage, and my kids saying 3 words or so in another language. It hurts to have people tell you you're demanding to ask for such things. :(
I guess it'd do it again though, because all the wonderful people I've met and learned to love are worth it. It just hurts badly inbetween.
Speaking of people, I have some peeps in my ward from the Fresno area. You may just have known each other...who knows.
I will let you know Fran and you can see first hand just how I grew up to be so awesome :) Who do you know from Fresno? I'd only been LDS for about a year before moving away but anything's possible.
I can relate to what you say, even if the immigration process for Canada seems easier :) I am also luckier since lots of people speak French here (well, close enough) but I can still relate. When we got married, my mother-in-law told us that we were not allowed to speak French at her place. I don't think she realised (and doubt she ever will) how much that hurt me. I don't speak French to make sure she doesn't understand, it's just natural, and sometimes easier and faster for me when I have something to say to my husband and now my kids (who learn French first since that's what we speak at home). Anyway, from the beginning I knew that, like you said, she's one of those who don't get it. So I knew it would be useless to argue and I've tried to dissipate her fears of French-speaking-only grand-kids. I don't tell my kids not to speak French at her place, but I will repeat in English if she's around so she knows we are trying for her. My kids become bilingual pretty quickly that way. I also realise that, just like she wants to be able to communicate with them, my kids want to be understood by their grand-parents/uncles/cousins and people at church. They want to learn English as well as French, because they need both to feel at home everywhere. And after all, they are just as much French as they are Canadian in my case...So my approach with church when my kids start Primary is to tell the teachers that my kids can only pray and do most stuff in French (and I explain that we only speak French at home because my parents don't speak English but want to communicate with their grand-kids, etc.)and I tell them that it might take a few weeks and some help before they get things in English and I thank them for their patience. Like I said, lots of people here, even in our ward, speak French, so they can actually let my kids do things in French if they want to (and they sometimes do- you can tell your ward that :) but I have realised that my kids want to learn in English as well so they can fit in. Like you, far away from my home country, I probably will never fit in anywhere any more, but there's no reason my kids shouldn't. I hope this all Primary thing is just a temporary difficulty and that your kids will like going no matter what language they can speak there! And before I finish, your friend Marie is so right, North-Americans don't understand the notion of discussion...
I love your essay Fran. You are so talented in sharing such deep feelings in your writings. It was interesting to me how much I related to your words, albeit in a much simpler way. I remember going through such a critical time in my marriage, desperately trying to know who I was and how I could preserve my 'self' being so far from my family and the 'culture' that was so comfortable to me. I still ache for my children to know what I grew up with and embrace those traditions and values. My heart often turns to you and these feelings you've shared. Thank you for being open.
I agree you are talented in sharing your deepest feelings.
I also know that you are not capable of just giving up. So, I hope you don't.
People don't know that when you say something you don't mean to offend them. Just to talk (sometimes heatedly) and hopefully help them to understand your point of view. Maybe you should preface what you say? j/k
And if Sophia speaks German it's all great, I mean it's awesome she has two languages and heritages. The only problem I see in primary is that someone wouldn't understand what she said, which in that case they would just say Awesome - now tell us in English so that we can all understand you...or have you in there to interpret the talk she gives or something. And if she gives a scripture or prayer in German it shouldn't be that big of a deal because sunbeams get up there all the time and we don't understand them, we just smile and say "how cute." I mean it's not a biggie of a deal.
One third of our ward here is Spanish. And sometimes we have no idea what they're saying, and sometimes someone interprets.
I don't agree with them saying it's an English only primary, that's like saying Germans or Italians aren't allowed in church. All of God's children are allowed, duh. It's not like you have a German branch to go to there. =)
Good luck in all you're doing there.
We were reading some stories of Ammon and how he went to the Lamanites and how he just served King Lamoni until he was trusted and he proved he was a good example, only then was he able to teach about Jesus Christ. Oh, and he prayed for courage and help too. Maybe some softening of hearts is needed all around.
I hope it gets better, it may take time, I hope sooner rather than later. =)
Thanks Heidi! I know I've certainly offended people with my views or comments...And for that reason I have started to learn to phrase things differently so they're more "palatable" to the average American audience. My sis-in-law (from Germany) visited us last year, and she asked me why I phrased things in such an 'apologetic' manner in Church. I thought about it, and I think a lot of it had to do with simply trying to phrase things better so people aren't offended.
Anyway, I think an all-around softening of hearts IS needed. The crazy thing is that I never wanted/asked for Sophia to be able to do anything in particular in German. I never envisioned her giving talks in German in primary, or responding to questions in German or whatever. She really speaks English just fine, and so I never gave it further thought. I just faced sudden resistance when she was not allowed to pass of that Article of Faith in German, even with me there to confirm she got it right or translate or whatever.
And I think when I realized that there'd be opposition for even minimal German usage in areas where understanding was irrelevant, that's where I was blowing a fuse. It's just not ok to exclude anyone based on language. I think it's good and important that we all make an effort to understand each other, and speak in ways so that's possible. But, I think it's equally important to reach out and love each other, whether we understand what someone is saying or not, and also to allow people to be comfortable in Church.
For example, I know it took me a VERY long time to feel comfortable saying prayers in English. It's such an intimate thing, and the language used in prayers was strange and uncomfortable to me. Possibly being asked to pray in Church was something I dreaded for a long time. So, how nice it is when we can just let people be comfortable and pray in whatever language stresses them out the least, and helps them feel connected to Heavenly Father. Isn't speaking another language a Gift Of Tongues, and wouldn't we by the spirit able to feel of the truths spoken?
Oh well...I think I just need to take a deep breath.
Sounds good Fran!! Take a deep breath. very deep!! =)
Fran I sorry you are suffering. I love you! I wish I could come over and give you a hug. Or some German chocolates. :) Thanks for sharing that beautiful article.
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