Conversation Exams, Anxiety and Fulfillment

“Would you like to hang out and go see a movie sometime?”

“Awesome, I’d love to!” she said, not knowing quite the exact meaning or pronunciation of such westernized slang.

“It was nice to meet you. See you later!”

“Goodbye!”

Their timid voices and strong accents faded away, and two pairs of eager eyes stared at me then stole a glance at my grading chart.

“Excellent,” I complimented. “Very well done, girls.”

I have never experienced a prouder moment. My shy Thai girls had memorized, understood and recited a 25 line conversation with more enthusiasm and confidence than even I could’ve muster in front of a such a large group of piers. After such a fulfilling and accomplished moment, the only thought that ran through my head was, “I don’t think teaching is right for me.” 

Shocking? Why had I come to such a seemingly contradictory conclusion? Especially being that teaching English was the central idea of this whole trip. Compared to other significant spans in my life, these three months have been the most refreshing and revealing of them all, and here’s why. Evaluating your own shortcomings and strengths is one of the most daunting and self-effacing of tasks, but it must be done. Why did I enjoy that brief, enclosed moment listening to my girls speak their midterm exam more than the previous weeks of teaching combined? How can I explain my reasoning for feeling more accomplished after those two girls finished their test, giving me a smile brimming with comfort and new-found realization, than I feel after a class of 50 kids parrot (with perfect pronunciation, I might add) the question of the week?

The answer is simple, yet the meaning itself lies in the complexity of my personality. I am simply not comfortable in groups. There, I said it. Let me clarify, though. I like being on the outskirts of a group, merely listening and quietly surmising my own opinions, but when asked to be put in the middle, God forbid the head, of such situations, I would rather bow out. This is the point in my argument when one would assume I lack “backbone” or leadership qualities or authority, but it is also the point in the argument in which I would argue, matter-of-fact-ly, that those assumptions are untrue. Is a painter considered to be an untalented artist if he can’t sculpt replicas of a Grecian busts or create beautifully edited digital photos or carve wood into an intricate statue? No, because he can wield his artistic weapon on a canvas, investing every ounce of his creativity into that one medium. Just as this artist delves into one facet of a vast array of artistic talent, my leadership and influence take command in a certain arena as well. And that space, where my inner introvert has always felt at ease, is in the comfort and confines of intimate conversation. One in which both parties leave feeling more restored and encouraged than they did before they met.

Why do I feel more fulfilled after one hour-long private English lesson than teaching a whole class? Why do I cherish meeting our new German friend, Klaus, at "New York Grill" (our only source of beef in Thailand) rather than an activity filled weekend retreat with our Organization? These and every other situation in which I feel comfortable are because of the confinements of one-on-one interaction.

Over a year ago, I was accepted and registered to begin my Masters in Clinical Counseling but decided to put it on hold. I had no exact reasoning other than the fact that I felt it wasn't the right time. Little did I know that this nudge to put Grad school on hold was enough of a nudge to send me all the way to Thailand. Had I begun the courses, I would've never been free to take this journey, come to know my best friend and discover just how perfect that career path would inevitably be.

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"Feel how sweaty my palms are," Kelsey said gripping my arm with her clammy hands.

"Why are you so anxious?" I asked, wondering why her nerves would be so heightened while we were just sitting and waiting on our dinner.

"They're always like that." She said, her thumbs restlessly tracing her fingernails, her leg unknowingly bouncing against the table leg.

Puzzled, I inquired further. "What other things do you feel when you get this tense?"

"It's actually all the time. I've never really told anyone about this. I didn't realize it wasn't . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"Wasn't normal?" I finished, regretting my choice of word, but I was suddenly and completely concerned. Eventually, I came to know exactly how many symptoms there really were. Ones I had noticed, and ones that she'd kept repressed.

"My palms are always sweaty, my shoulders are always tense, I can't shut my mind off to sleep at night, but during the day I'm so fatigued that even daily tasks seem out of reach and uninteresting. My jaw is constantly clenched, I feel suffocated and impatient in social situations, my mind is swamped with irrational worries, and I'm on edge as if someone is about to jump around every corner."

Her descriptions hit me like a ton of bricks, leaving a familiar tone resonating in my mind and in my heart. She didn't realize that that one spilling realization did more for her than I could ever do, but I was determined to help her understand it. And from that day forward, I've tried to do just that. Before this trip, we were acquaintances compared to now. I was humbled by her honesty, and there is no stronger bond for a friendship.

"I don't choose to be this way. It's like I can't stop it. It's like an out of body experience where I'm looking down at myself saying, 'Kelsey relax. Calm down. Stop worrying. Stop acting this way.' But I can't." She looked at me regretfully as if it was her fault, apologizing for something she couldn't help, and that broke my heart. What she didn't know was that I did know. I knew without touching sweaty palms when she was anxious. I knew without her even opening her mouth when she was in a downtrodden mood. I knew without seeing her fidgeting feet when she was uncomfortable. And I understood. Even if their wasn't a tangible reason.

Having been raised in a family where severe anxious tendencies were common, I was familiar with the symptoms and  how they affect those they hold captive. There's not one "thing" that makes someone depressed. There's not one "instance" that makes someone anxious. There's not one "situation" which sparks an outbreak of irrational fear or regrettable words. And I, more than anyone in the world, understand that. Call it masochistic interest, but I love being around it. For some reason, I tolerate it willingly and almost with welcomed enthusiasm. I can see past the anxiety to the real person who is hurting because of it. I can see through the depression and love the one who is trapped behind its crippling mask.

What if my mother hadn't excavated through the barriers of my self-conscious fears and bolstered me each and every day? What if my daddy hadn't ignored my self-criticism and told me to be confident with who I was? What if my sister had not pulled off my cloak of timidness and showed me how to be slightly outgoing? What if Kelsey hadn't taken the time to see past my wall of introversion? Everyone has them. Insecurities, depression, anxiety, self-deprecation. Someone has to be patient enough to see through these barriers to the real person, or else they'll be trapped alone. I don't want them, or anyone, to be alone.

As I sit and watch my sweet Thai girl struggle with pronunciation and reading, I know she hides behind a fear of failure. As I watch the darting eyes of my sweet Thai girl quoting her conversation exam, I know she hides behind a wall of shy embarrassment. I was put on this earth to help uncover those fears and be patient until they do. As I help them, I inadvertently help myself, so what could be better?

I couldn't be any more grateful for such a loving family, an honest best friend and willing Thai students who have helped me feel a sense of worth and fulfillment. They will never know to what extent I appreciate their reliance upon me, no matter how slight. I know what I'm supposed to do now, and there's no greater feeling of satisfaction.