Culture Shock

Your emotional reserves, which are what help you have that thick skin, are what help you not react to cultural moments. They are what you draw upon in order to be culturally appropriate, culturally sensitive, and that all-knowing, wise, open-minded American. They help you deal with people staring or people pointing to you, or a whole marshrutka full of people talking about the American and what do you think she's doing here and and she doesn't understand Russian (I DO!), etc. Not that that last thing happened recently.

The emotional reserves start to go away as you are bombarded by new culture, loss of freedom, loss of language, stress of language learning, not being able to talk to your best friend, not being able to eat food you love and are familiar with, being treated like you are three years old, being around Americans you may not like, getting trained in your job and having to do homework, having someone else tie your shoes for you (yes, this happened to me), being treated like a 3-year-old, having your personal space invaded, and your body space invaded.

Your emotional reserves can deal with any of those things, but the result of being bombarded by all these things all at once for an extended period of time drains them. You lose that thick skin. Things start to bother you that would ordinarily not bother you. You become a bit more emotionally frayed and you react more. Because those emotional reserves are tapped—they're too busy trying to deal with the big stuff that the little stuff seeps through.

I knew this would happen. During our training, they showed us a video of the negative things that could happen, specifically sexual harassment. A woman in the video told about how she was sexually harassed every day with all the cat calls and sexual comments tossed at her as she walked down the street every day. One gal in our group made the comment that was pretty much along the lines of: "She should be more culturally sensitive. That's just part of Latino culture, and she shouldn't apply American standards to their culture." Or something close to that. I remember thinking at the time that the girl in our training girl had no idea what she was talking about, because something happening day after day has *got* to wear at you.

It's like someone touching you. That's fine. But now imagine them touching you in the same spot again and again and again. Where you could first shrug it off, now it's a point of contention and irritation and you JUST WANT THEM TO STOP. I knew this at the beginning of training.

And yet I was completely shocked when culture shock hit me. I remember it so clearly. A girl in my language lesson snapped at me. It was Halloween, only 31 days after getting into Ukraine. Only 31 days of Peace Corps training. Only 31 days of using up those emotional reserves. The comment ate at me all day. It made me angry and sick and more angry. For some reason, around 11pm, I just started bawling. I tried to call my best friend in America, but my phone had no money on it, which made me cry harder, and I had no idea why, which made me cry even harder. And not some stoic lady-like cry—this was an "8-year-old-who-just-got-spanked-and-now-can't-go-to-the-sleepover cry. There was nothing I could put my finger on--not any one thing, except for some stupid little comment, and I sure as hell knew one small comment didn't cause this reaction.

I probably sobbed for three hours that night. It really sucked. My own emotional reaction shocked me--I haven't bawled that hard in a while--I'm 32 and kinda thought I was past that.

Things that really helped me: Peace Corps's booklet called "A Few Minor Adjustments," which addresses culture shock. It really helped. REALLY. Also, making friends that I really liked and who I could call and talk to, because previously I had felt very alone being amongst so many Americans and not really having a close friend.

It hit me that hard again, about 6 months in country. It was late at night and I started to just feel SO ALONE. I went to the disco, hoping that just being around people would make me feel better, but it made me feel more alone, and I called America, sobbing at the disco. I just couldn't stop crying. It sucked.

I hate being shocked at my own emotional reactions. I hate when they take me unawares. I was shocked at myself the first time I screamed at my host sister (17 year olds!!!). I was shocked at myself when I got angry at every little thing. I was shocked at myself by how dismayed I was at having fried eggs with TOO MUCH OIL. And yet, when those reserves are drained, you are the emotional equivalent of a car without shocks on a rocky road.

I consider myself lucky--two emotional breakdowns in 11 months. For six months it's been smooth sailing, and I'm in a position to have built up those emotional reserves. I have autonomy, I have friends, I have people close to me, I can communicate, I have internet (woo hoo!). But I also know it's likely that I'll have at least one or two more of these moments.

The following is a metaphor I wrote about culture shock:



I'd wanted to swim in the ocean for about 10 years. More precisely, I wanted to be flown in a helicopter out in the middle of the ocean, be dropped out far enough that I couldn't see the land, then I wanted to swim to shore.

I'd read all the books about what to do, what to take, and how to do it. I had my shark repellent, my space sticks energy sticks, and even a flare for if it got really bad. Gearing up for this moment, I practiced every day in the swimming pool, and I was totally pumped. I'd even read first-hand accounts from people who had done precisely this same thing. I even knew what emotions I would likely be feeling and how to deal with them.

I was prepared. Everything was ready. I was ready. Completely.

They flew me in a helicopter, told me exactly what to do if I needed help, then I made the leap into that huge ocean. I watched the helicopter fly away, and I started to swim. I was feeling strong and awesome. Everything was going according to plan.

Then I started to get a little tired, and I felt something bump my foot. The smell of the salt water was getting to me, and I was starting to get a sunburn. I realized that as much as I had prepared, NOTHING could have prepared me for that feeling of being in the middle of the ocean all alone and not being able to see shore. I started to feel overwhelmed by all the water around me and how alone I felt, but I pushed it off, knowing I couldn't feel this way because I had prepared. But what I hadn't prepared for was my very own emotional reaction to everything. As much as my brain was ready, my emotions weren't, and after much pushing down, the emotions overwhelmed me.

It finally passed and I pressed on. The dream and the realization of that dream driving me further. Most of the time I'm fine and it's under control, but every now and then, the vastness of the sea gets to me.

10.13.07 Red, Blonde, Pink.

Those are the colors that 80% of the women in Ukraine have as hair color. It's almost hard to find brown or black hair! And when I say red, I mean Very Bright like a brilliant burgundy or fire engine red. And pink. Like pink. And apparently these colors are totally appropriate for teachers to have. Wild! I may end up dying my hair red if it's not too spendy.

My house: Okay, first of all it's on the fifth floor. I think I climb 60 stairs to get up to it. I already mentioned about the wild locking mechanism, and after you open the door, there's an inner door that's padded like a vinyl seat cushion. The dog then greets you--well, she greets me and would bark at you because she doesn't know you, of course!

You walk into a room and there's a...I can't remember the English word for it...it's like a small dresser that comes up to about your knees and has three tall mirrors on it so you can see your hair from all sides. On that dresser is the phone. Your shoes go to your right.

To the right is the kitchen, forward is the living room/my host parents' bedroom. To the left is the hallway and the first door on the left is the toilet room. Just a toilet. It's got a padded seat, which is going to be super nice when it's freezing and I won't have to set bare skin on subarctic temperature porcelain! The next door on your left is the bathroom. There's a bathtub, a mirror to your left, and a small washing machine to the right.

Straight down the hall is Tanya's room, and to the right is my room. My room has wallpaper on it--a grey/black floral design. It looks very 80s to me. My bed is pretty large, and there are massive cabinets every where. I have a table and chair for studying, and there's a balcony in my room where the laundry is often hung.

My routine: In the morning I wake up to my alarm. It's the Superman theme. Then I tell it to wake me up in 10 minutes. Then I tell it wake me up in 5 minutes. I then get up and fold my blanket and put it in the cabinet, I fold my sheet and cuddle blanket and put them in the cabinet, I put my pillows in the cabinet, shut it, straighten the decorative blanket on the bed and put on the decoration pillows. By this time my host mom has gotten up and peeked her head in to say good morning and has started breakfast. I put my stuff for class on the bed along with my bag. I pick out my clothes and change from my yummy fleece pajamas to long underwear, black pants, formal shirt and sweater. I then go eat too much breakfast. Always have coffee or chai. I sit on the side of the tub and brush my teeth using the bathtub as a sink. I then apply makeup, throw my crap in my bag and leave for my lesson.

Dom Dva. I have hit the jackpot. It means "House 2". Think Top Model meets Big Brother only with more rolling in flour (thank you, Amy, for giving me this description). Thanks to the power of my camera, I have recorded bits of Dom Dva for your viewing pleasure. Sadly, I missed most of the part where the model was attacking her boyfriend--I did catch the tail end where she was flailing her fists at him and crying. This is High Drama. Think the Puck season of Real World. Exactly--this is Real World, Russia! The commercials are pretty damn funny as well--I took a video of those.

My host mom gave me a shirt. It's so Ukrainian! It's a light blue/grey color and it's ANIMAL PRINT! Sweet! I've never owned anything animal print and now I do. I'll be the most fashionable PCV here! heh.

Today I had a tiny bit of a tough day. I've noticed that Ukrainians have their personal volume set about two notches higher than Americans. Or they're doing what we do when people can't speak English--you speak louder. ^_^. My host sister often tells me what to do in a very matter of fact way "Julia, EAT. Julia, GO TO BED. Julia, GO TO BATH."


_{My first host sister}

Which is fine and I take these as a) a rite of passage b) temporary c) a way of showing care. But still, there's a lot of loud directed my way and I absorb it well, I think. So my host sister and I went out to the 75th anniversary celebration of Chirnihiv being made capital city of this Oblast, and we were going around to food vendors and I was asking her what things were, and she yelled at me "I DON'T KNOW." I kind of lost it internally and held it in. A little later when I thought I was composed I said "Please don't yell at me for asking you what something is." Only my stupid eye started leaking and she said "please don't cry--I'm sorry." I have no idea why it got to me all at once, but it did. I think every once in a while things just overwhelm, and there's enough here that's NEW and DIFFERENT that sometimes really small things can tip over the internal order that was much more precariously perched than you realized.