My feminist exploration through liberation theology

This is a creative piece of work I put together for my Gender and Development MA at the Institute of Development Studies (IDS). It's something I'm really proud of, especially as I received 80/100 for it: a high first in the UK University system.

Enjoy.

Using Liberation Psychologies to ‘do gender’

During this module the concept I have connected with the most is that of ‘liberation psychologies’, particularly ‘liberation theology’. As a Christian, I believe this is a way of living out the “conviction that contemporary scripts have worn thin, and that neighbours must be more creative in the ways they live together in the world” (Watkins and Shulman, 2008, pg.3).  

As a result, my learning from this module is laid out in a journey through some of the concepts described in liberation psychologies: that of rupture, wilderness, and the concept of liberation itself. 

“First the pain. Then the waiting. Then the rising.

Fall. Winter. Spring.
Dusk. Night. Dawn.
It’s not personal, it’s just the Way of Things.” (Doyle, 2018)

I will explore how this “way of things” has helped me to reflect on my feminist journey to this module, through this module, and beyond this module. I write, as Watkins and Shulman (2008) say of liberation psychologies, as a celebration of finding a way to understand, recognise and rewrite an interpretation of the world that has been imposed on me.

RUPTURE

“But something happened post Uni. Through my work at WAGGGS, I was learning about gender inequality and gender-based violence, and instead of sneering as I would have done during Uni, I found myself responding by whispering, and then shouting: “me too. Me too. Me too!” It was like someone was peeling layers off me - faster and faster - revealing to me why everything had felt so horrible and uncomfortable for so long. I wasn’t the problem - the world was. The problem was what the world says about masculinity and femininity, about men and women, about relationships and power, and hope and connection, and voice and community. I realised that these were all boxes, shaped a specific way, that we were all expected to live in. They were cages.” [Extract from learning journal]

I didn’t know it then, but I had been experiencing a rupture. Watkins and Shulman (2008, pg.134) explain a rupture as “the sort of happening that challenges all of one’s capacity to make sense of life”. As they describe, I didn’t have a framework of understanding that I could use to make sense of what I was learning. I had, however, felt a sense of something ‘being wrong’ for quite a while. A feeling of the world being too painful and difficult. Watkins and Shulman (2008) invoke the metaphor of the ‘canary in a coalmine’ to describe people who sense social upheaval before everyone else. Historically, miners used to take canaries down into the coalmines with them to detect when gases were reaching a toxic level. This would give miners the time to get out of the mine before the gases got to a poisonous level for human beings. 

I realised I was a canary. I’d been sensing the toxic gases of misogyny and inequality for so long but I hadn’t had anyone to help me identify them.

I wondered - surely I wasn’t the only one?

“Perhaps we all are canaries,

but we have hardened our hearts.

Our cages are of our own making,

Forming insulation,

From the job of co-creating

That we’ve forgotten we have.

Perhaps we all were canaries,

Once upon a time.

But the fumes got too much

And it just got too hard

To try to change

What seemed to make sense

From inside of our cage.

Those who didn’t make it

Only had themselves to blame.

Why be a canary when you can be a blue-capped ifrit,

developing your own poisonous hit?

Protecting what you’ve earned 

and feel you deserve

from those whose eyes you avert.

Perhaps we are all still canaries,

Desperately wanting to be brave.

What will it take,

For you to shake,

Off your cage,

and try a different way?” [Extract from learning journal]

“These awakenings are often excruciatingly painful” (Watkins and Shulman, 2008, pg.134). 

If we are all latent canaries, the shedding of the insulation we’ve bound around ourselves is likely to be painful. I stepped out from my rupture and was suddenly aware of everything I’d normalised before. I noticed how the cat-calling from across the street made my stomach knot up. I seethed with anger when I found out that my sister’s school had told her not to wear a short skirt because it would ‘distract other students’. I felt anxious when I heard my peers saying phrases like, “man up” or “boys don’t cry”. I now knew the damage of gender stereotypes that objectified girls, normalised harassment and prevented boys from showing their emotions. I’d learnt that “violence against women and girls is rooted in gender-based discrimination and social norms and gender stereotypes” (UN Women, 2018) just like those. A different world had been revealed to me, and I felt raw.

WILDERNESS

Therefore, experiencing a rupture does not necessarily lead straight to liberation. The process towards liberation “begin(s) with a wandering in the desert where one questions and deconstructs in dialogue the fixed compass that has been orienting one’s identifications” (Watkins and Shulman, 2008, pg.47). In liberation theology, this wandering mirrors the journey of the Israelites wandering in the desert for forty years before they were ready to enter the promised land. This was a process of reconstruction. A space where they had to let go of their identities as slaves and learn what it meant to be free under the love of a God of justice. They had to learn a new way. 

This was the same for me. While it felt like my rupture set me free, it was only the beginning of my journey. I now had to learn what it meant to identify as a feminist and live this out. I had to learn who I was and how I was to survive in a world which would constantly try to quiet my voice and pull me back into a familiar oppression that felt comfortable, and therefore safe. I didn’t know it yet, but just like Watkins and Shulman (2008) describe, I would experience the trial and error of the Israelites as I tried various different arguments for feminism with friends and family, and the feeling of being lost as I tried to rediscover what I wanted for my life if I was in fact not restricted by gender norms and expectations.

“We know what the world wants from us. We know we must decide whether to stay small, quiet, and uncomplicated or allow ourselves to grow as big, loud, and complex as we were made to be. Every girl must decide whether to be true to herself or true to the world. Every girl must decide whether to settle for adoration or fight for love.” (Doyle Melton, 2016, pg.11)

As I reflected on where the years had taken me since the rupture I realised that I saw myself in the concept of a “feminist warrior within”. Rao (2015) describes “feminist warriors within” as “internal change agents who are avowedly feminist and are specifically focused on changing organisational cultures and outcomes to advance gender equality and women’s rights” (Rao, 2015, pg.180).

Dictionary definitions of ‘warrior’ include: “fighting the good fight” (vocabulary.com, 2018) and “being engaged in some struggle” (Merriam-Webster, 2018). In my church, my most immediate community, I felt that I was “fighting the good fight” for gender equality, and that I was “engaged in some struggle”. I would ask for more stories of women in the Bible to be highlighted in the services, so that everyone could see themselves in the protagonists’ shoes. I would point out when all the worships songs were written by men. I would speak about my own journey of referring to God as ‘She’. Not only to highlight the traditionally feminine qualities in God, and therefore how we should value those, but to challenge people to question why they were only comfortable with referring to God as ‘He’.

However, as I reflected on this struggle I felt despondent. I felt like I was letting people off the hook. That they should know this already and I wasn’t fighting for enough. A quote from Goetz (2013) on ‘femocrats’ really rang true for me: “Femocrats face horrendous criticism from their feminist sisters and live in an environment of toxic hostility. They navigate between a rock and a hard place in their inability to satisfy any constituency.” (Goetz, 2013, cited in Rao, 2015, pg.182). Although I didn’t have “feminist sisters” offering criticism, I felt that the feminist in me was not satisfied with the ‘progress’ I was making, and wanted me to do, say and challenge more. However, I was conscious of not wanting to push my church family to the point of annoyance and alienation. After all, I loved them.

In fact, what I was feeling was exactly what Ahmed (2017) describes when she speaks about the relationship between being a feminist and being seen as wilful. She explains that “this perception of feminist subjects as having too much will…or just as being too much, has profound effects on how we experience ourselves” (Ahmed, 2017, pg.66). For me, I was back to experiencing myself as the problem, just like before my rupture. 

It was time for me to remind myself of what I was fighting for. To “be energised by the words that have been put down [by others]; by the collective refusal to put down our pens” (Ahmed, 2017, pg.77). This module has helped to refocus me in a way I was straight after my rupture. It has helped me to realise that I need a community of feminists to move through my wilderness with. I need others who can give me the strength to be the ‘wilful feminist’ I need to be in my other communities - the ones who I hope to facilitate a rupture for.

LIBERATION

“When histories demand a separation (mothers from daughters, people from people), wilfulness might be required to refuse or resist that separation. Read through this history, reclaiming wilfulness would involve not only a protest against violence but a demand for a return: a return of the child who had been wrenched from her family.” (Ahmed, 2017, pg.79) 

“It is because a wilful womanist is responsible and in charge that she exposes sexual as well as racial violence, wherever and whenever it happens; she exposes the violence because she is concerned with the survival of people.” (Walker, 2005, cited in Ahmed,2017, pg.79) 

Exodus 9:1 “Then the LORD said to Moses, "Go to Pharaoh and say to him, 'This is what the LORD, the God of the Hebrews, says: "Let my people go, so that they may worship me.”” (The Holy Bible New International Version, 2011)

Liberation for me, as I move beyond this module, is about reclaiming my wilfulness. Reclaiming the concept of wilfulness.

As I sit with Alice Walker’s words about wilful womanism, and connect them with liberation theology, I see my God. I see the God of Israel as a wilful woman. A wilful woman warrior. Responsible. In charge. Exposing the Pharaoh’s oppression of Her people because She is concerned with the survival of Her people. Calling out: “let my people go!” Sending plagues as protest. Flexing Her muscles. Wilfully demanding that Her children, wrenched from Her family, be returned. Returned to Her.

Calling Her people out into the desert so She can show them what it means to no longer be slaves. Giving them space to dialogue, to reconstruct, to discover who they are in Her. To be transformed.

If my God can be wilful woman warrior, then so can I.

God as wilful woman [Extract from learning journal]

I believe that every day the wilful woman of God is revealing to me a little more of what true liberation looks like. Allowing me glimpses “of the better thing for which we are meant” (Tutu, 1999, cited in Watkins and Shulman, 2008, pg.154) that She is moving us towards.

“I feel freedom from male entitlement when my husband asks me if he can touch me, every single time. 

I see liberation from individualism when my church gathers together to surround someone in love. 

I hear male power and privilege crumbling as my teenage nephew articulates how he benefits from this world in a way his sister doesn’t. 

I sense progress as Christians in conservative communities around the world risk their livelihoods to step forward and endorse equal marriage.

I glimpse hope as I pick up the cry of “me too”.” [Extract from learning journal]

Dawn breaks. Spring approaches. Change is coming. 

“And I reason that if the Old and New Testaments are any indication, than change is in fact a major part of His aesthetic, a major part of His vision for the world. The Bible itself is an endorsement of change… Many days I reason to myself that change is the point of it all. And that everything we do should be a reflection of that vision of change.” (Okparanta, 2015, pg.322)

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Bibliography

Ahmed, S. (2017) Living a feminist life. USA: Duke University Press, pp. 65-92.

Doyle, G. (2018) ‘“You’re gonna be happy”, said life, “but first I’ll make you strong.”’ Instagram, 29 March. Available at: https://www.instagram.com/p/Bg4qtT-F5s6/ (Accessed: 19 April 2018).

Doyle Melton, G. (2016) Love warrior. New York: Flatiron Books, pp. 9-34.

Merriam-Webster (2018) Definition of warrior. Available at: https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/warrior (Accessed: 9 February 2018).

Okparanta, C. (2015) Under the udala trees. London: Granta Publications, pp. 315-323.

Rao, A. (2015) Gender at work: theory and practice for 21st century organizations. New York: Routledge, pp. 179-198.

The Holy Bible New International Version. (2011) Nashville: HarperCollins Christian Publishing.

UN Women (2018) Focusing on prevention to stop the violence. Available at: http://www.unwomen.org/en/what-we-do/ending-violence-against-women/prevention (Accessed: 19 April 2018).

vocabulary.com (2018) Definitions of warrior. Available at: https://www.vocabulary.com/dictionary/warrior (Accessed: 9 February 2018).

Watkins, M. and Shulman, H. (2008) Toward psychologies of liberation. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 1-158.  

Travelling: Learning About Myself

Having been away from home for seven months now (today!), and with only a couple of handfuls of weeks left, I’m starting to reflect. It’s hard not to when you’re beginning to flag: when the travel fatigue is setting in and you’re struggling to appreciate the new experiences coming your way. Naturally you begin to have conversations about your favourite moment or the funniest memory you’ll take home with you. Or if you are someone who enjoys reflection and retrospection, like myself, you will begin to think about how you’ve changed, what you’ve achieved, what’s surprised you or what you’ve learnt about yourself and your life.

So this is my first list, I guess, of my ‘take-aways’ from this trip. I know it isn’t over yet, but I think recognising some of these elements of myself now will help me to get the most out of the remaining weeks, and prepare for me for coming back to ‘real life’.

I like spending time on my own

To be honest, I knew this about myself already. I suppose the thing I’ve learnt is that I value time and space to myself and I need to make sure I give myself that time and space when I return home. Taking this trip with Dan has meant we’ve spent almost every minute together, which has, unsurprisingly, been difficult at times. We’ve had to consciously take time away from each other and this has felt pretty forced at times. When you’re both in an alien place, neither of you know anyone else there and you both want to see the same sights/have the same experiences, what’s the point of forcing yourselves to be separate? Well, that was our reasoning anyway. It turns out there are lots of benefits to ‘forcing’ yourselves to do things independently, even if they are the same things, as you'd go crazy otherwise. This is a lesson we will need to take back home with us as a couple who naturally spend a lot of time together at home.

I am capable of spending time with people without Dan

Now this probably sounds a bit weird, and perhaps an unnecessary statement to some people. However if you have anxiety, or I guess any number of mental health issues, you may understand at least a little bit of what I mean. At some point around the end of 2014/beginning of 2015 my anxiety was hitting the roof, and I felt like I wasn’t really worth spending any time with. I realise now, with hindsight, that I became dependent on Dan to be my social crutch. I felt like I couldn’t spend time with people alone - even good friends I’d known for a long time. I felt like I wasn’t ‘enough’. It wasn’t even conscious, and I didn’t realise I was doing it until we came away and I had the space to stop and look back at the two years prior to the trip. It suddenly felt like I’d let myself start to lose my own identity. I don’t want to keep shrinking away until I disappear. I look forward to returning and seeing friends and family without Dan, but also with Dan as my husband, not as my social crutch.

Ultimately, I am a city girl…

I have seen some stunning natural beauty out here. I’ve trekked through jungle, I’ve swum with tropical fishes in clear still water, I’ve stayed in small rural villages warming myself around a burning fire and I’ve watched the sunrise over snow-capped mountains. This has all been incredible and I’ve loved it all. I love being outdoors. I love camping, I love trekking, I love swimming (now that I can finally do it relatively well) and I love seeing the stars in a dark night’s sky surrounded by the sound of insects to lull me to sleep. But while I love this all, it would seem that this love has a best before date - more than anything, I love watching the landscape change out the window as the train or bus approaches the edge of a sprawling, noisy, chaotic, smelly, colourful, dirty city. I love watching as the buildings rise and expand, claiming more and more of the space. I love exploring winding streets. I love finding secret coffee shops or bars tucked behind clothes shops at the back of alleys. I love being surrounded by a million people going about their daily life (yeah, someone with anxiety enjoying this doesn’t make sense to me either). I love the culture clashes and the honking horns (ok, that’s pretty SE Asia specific), the impromptu street art and the pavement yoga classes. But you’d be surprised - or maybe you wouldn’t - by how few travellers we’ve met that share this with us. So many people can’t wait to get out of the cities, whereas we can’t wait to get in. I guess everyone is different, but I can count the city lovers on one hand.

…but I love a bit of adventure

I remember that as a child I always felt like I had quite an adventurous spirit, but as I got older and realised how many things I was, and am, scared of I started to feel a bit foolish for thinking of myself in that way. Yes, I could run up a climbing wall, I could zoom down an abseiling tower, I was completely happy tied to a zip-line and I loved theme park rides, but I still couldn’t swim, I couldn’t ride a bike, I couldn’t roller-skate or ice skate or anything other sort of skate and I certainly wasn’t climbing to the top of any climbing frames in the playground. 

However, being here has helped me to reconnect with my adventurous side and realise that not only do I have the strength to overcome my fears but I do ‘qualify’ for the adventurous name tag. And I haven’t even forced myself to do them - I’ve done them for my own enjoyment. Out here I’ve kayaked through busy backwaters, I’ve paraglided off a mountain, I’ve swum in the ocean, I’ve snorkelled, I’ve jumped off a zip-line into a river and I’ve climbed up the side of a mighty Ha Long Bay karst. But not only that - being here has helped me to remember that even at home I was trying to connect with my adventurous side but I never really let it become part of my identity. When I first moved to London I took up bouldering (climbing without ropes), I learnt to swim properly and I learnt to ride a bike. I want to be more adventurous and I want that to be part of how I think about myself. So this trip hasn’t only reconnected me to my adventurous side, it’s given me the confidence to engage a part of me that was already there, and allowed her to come out and shine.

I’m strong

Travelling is hard. Anyone who tells you otherwise is either Super-Person or lying. Or looking back at it with rose-tinted spectacles I suppose. I thought that having travelled for two months in Eastern Europe and having lived in India for four months would mean it was a walk in the park, but nothing can quite prepare you for the constant-ness of it all when you don’t have ‘home’ to come back to and relieve some of the burden. Whether it’s the constant moving around, or, contrastingly, trying to put roots down somewhere for a while without having a purpose for being there. Or if it’s the guilt of not ‘being productive’ (aka ‘working’) or the struggles of everything just being very different. Whatever it is, it’s draining, and fatigue soon sets in. India is also doubly hard and a challenge that not many people survive with all of their sanity still in tact!

But I’ve survived, and I’m still surviving. In terms of India: I am regaining my love for the country now that I’ve been away for a bit. Nowhere is as interesting or frustrating, and nowhere else quite matches up. I’m strong, and I’m still here, despite my gritted teeth, homesickness and reluctance to relax. I am strong enough to admit that it’s hard, and that I’m struggling, but also strong enough to work out a way through it to the other side. 

But what has travelling given me?

While travelling has helped me to discover new things about myself and reconnect with what was already there, it’s also helped me to grow. Many people say that travelling leaves them with a spark, a travelling ‘bug’ that they can’t get rid of. And while I am very excited by this world and everything it has to offer, I would say that rather than being left with a spark for future travel I’ve been left with a fire burning inside me for my ‘real life’ back home. (Perhaps this is because I travelled a lot with work so was quite well connected with the world already. I already had the 'travel bug' in a different way.) Nevertheless, I have regained a lust for life and I can’t wait to return and start living again. 

Finding a work/life balance is a cliche, but it’s a cliche for a reason. Before I went away I’d worked myself to exhaustion, and I was telling myself that it was ok because it was more like a vocation - I cared so much about what I was doing and it seemed ‘fair’ for me to suffer when I was fighting for the rights of girls much less fortunate than myself, who were suffering much more than me. But that’s not sustainable, and being away has helped me to see that - and helped me to see that I’m no use to anyone if I don’t allow myself to enjoy what I am privileged enough to have. This trip has helped to change my direction: I am excited to give myself time to be creative again, to look after my health and fitness better and to prioritise exploring the city I love as much as I did when I first moved to London. In fact, I now have a long list of things to do before I’m 30! 

However, it turns out that there are some things that even travelling just cannot change… Despite the ‘evidence’ to the contrary, the large number of angry, scary stray dogs we’ve encountered in every country means I still hate dogs. Yes, all of them. (Except maybe this one).

Travelling: Expectations & Achievements

Before I quit my job, gave up my flat and left the country I had so many expectations of what this time away would entail. Choosing to essentially walk away from your life, particularly when you're settled with community and 'a place in the world' can be scary, however I was consoled by the fact that I had great big plans for this year 'out' of my life; that this time wouldn't be a waste or a lazy thing to do. I found comfort in the fact that I would have space to achieve things unrelated to a job - I would grow and expand myself and my skills. I would have time to get creative. I would have time to reflect and think about my future. I would have time to achieve things for me, rather than for my career. I imagined myself writing every day, spilling my heart and soul onto paper as I discovered new things about myself and was captivated by the world around me. Ha.

Four months in and my blog is empty, still stuck on my wedding speech from August 2015 (except for this now, obviously. I do see the irony). I am about a quarter of a way into one Masters application, stuck on what to say to convince academics that I deserve to come to their University and study. While I am reflecting every day none of it is quite making it into coherent words like I hoped it would. I feel tired, rather than inspired. I'm severely lacking sleep, rather than having paid off my sleep debt with tons to spare. I miss the adrenaline of work, despite the fact that bouncing between full-on work trips and taking days off in lieu to sleep it off was killing me. I am angry, and disappointed, and wondering where I went wrong.

...


As a person pretty good at introspection I need no help in answering that question. I know exactly where I went wrong. It's the same reason I spend 90% of my time in my 'real life', (as I've started to refer to before-travelling) being disappointed in myself rather than enjoying the moment. It's being on the wrong side of the line that divides ambition from obsession. It's having unrealistic expectations of yourself, and ultimately those around you; expectations that constantly buy into the lie that you are not doing enough. And no matter how much you can recognise this about yourself, intellectually, or comfort others who feel the same with mantras about 'being enough', it doesn't stop your every waking moment being driven by a clawing feeling in the bottom of your stomach that tells you you are not 'doing enough', that you are not meeting expectations.
So I knew this about myself, and naively thought that changing the rhythm of my life, changing the activities within my life and disappearing to the other side of the world would help to solve this. I would have time and would be able to re-prioritise.
Except it doesn't work like that.
Changing your surroundings doesn't change you. Changing how you spend your time doesn't change you. It's all just a well-meaning distraction. All that has happened is I've just set myself a new list of unrealistic expectations that have simply been leading to more and more disappointment the further I've got into the trip, stealing from me the joy of the moment. Blinding me from all the seemingly small things I am achieving on a day to day basis.

Travelling with anxiety, Dan says that I'm the strongest person he knows, but I don't feel strong, I feel weak and angry. I feel angry that travelling around India is so much more exhausting than when I lived here, and I just didn't see it coming. For example, living in the safety of Sangam I was shielded from how noisy people are at night. I don't mean road noise - I live in London after all. I mean playing the TV full blast at 2am or letting your kids run up and down corridors at midnight banging on the doors. While in the past I'd liked the Indian attitude of not worrying over the small things, when you can't sleep because someone's got their TV blasting at 2am you just start to see it as rudeness and you get exasperated that Indians can't seem to think about their impact on others (this is not true, it's just part of viewing the world and your place in it in a different way - I just can't be that reasonable at 2am). Another example: it's so hard to find what I need for self care here. I knew I would lose routine but I didn't predict how negatively not having my church or my weekly yoga class would affect my mental state.
I'm angry that this trip is not what I expected. I'm angry that my expectations have not been met, of myself, of the time I'd have, of the drive and creativity I'd feel, of my surroundings. I'm angry because I wasn't kind enough to myself to make allowances for days I would need to just sleep, because I didn't think that overnight buses would wipe me out as much as they are. I'm angry because I didn't anticipate how much time is taken up by figuring out how to get to the next place, and how to spend our time, despite prior research. I'm angry that I wasn't kind enough to think that maybe my anxiety would mean I couldn't stay in party hostels because talking to people I don't know, without common ground or values, is too difficult for me. I'm angry with myself for not taking any lessons I've learnt about myself in the past (in my 'real life') and applying them to this trip, and now I still don't have the kindness within me to forgive myself for making these mistakes in the first place.



Expectations and goals can be great to drive us forward, foster our ambitions and give us something to aim for. However, when we set expectations and goals we need to understand the environment we're setting these goals and expectations in. Just surviving out here is something that I should be proud of myself for, but I'm not because I thought I'd be able to achieve so much more. (There are separate reasons for why I think I feel the need to have these expectations - something around feeling I have to 'earn' this time off, probably.)
It's also hard when people you love and admire seem so able to achieve so many things on a daily basis, and are setting exciting goals left, right and centre. I feel adrift because some days it's an achievement to even get out of bed and I can barely think about what I'm going to have for dinner let alone set a New Year's resolution. I think knowing our limitations can help but I don't think that relieves the pressure of what we feel we could achieve if we were just as 'good' as someone else. If we could just push ourselves to be 'more motivated' or 'more creative'. If if if we could just be more more more... And when you're only ever thinking about how to be 'more' you stop noticing what's around you. You stop being kind to yourself. You stop finding the joy.
These were all issues and realisations that I'd explored within myself before, and thought I'd made good headway in getting past, however I guess that when you're vulnerable everything comes back up to the surface and you can't quite let go of the feeling that you're failing.


So right now, I'm trying to redo my expectations of this trip, now that I have more information about what it's like to be here, and I'm trying to look back at what I've achieved since we left home. The problem is that nothing feels like an achievement because the frames of reference have changed. I can no longer measure success by the number of emails I sent, or the number of hours I volunteered for, or how often I practised my guitar.
I can't help thinking that I'm setting myself up to fail because I'm trying to measure the wrong things. I'm trying to measure success by the things I did at home that felt like achievements, rather than recognising what an achievement looks like out here. Maybe an achievement is surviving an overnight bus, lugging your bags across a country border on no sleep, finding the next bus and then navigating your way to your hotel successfully - all with no food in your belly - rather than whether or not I wrote a blog post about where we visited or completed another day on Duolingo.
Maybe the 'learning' looks different out here too, and I won't be able to reflect and see what I've gained, how I've changed and what I've achieved until afterwards. Until I can look back and, literally and figuratively, see how far we've come.
I don't think I will ever be at the point of accepting that maybe I don't need to 'achieve' anything while I'm away - I'm just not ready for that radicalness! But I can at least start by accepting and recognising that my old expectations were unrealistic and stop beating myself up for not having achieved them. Maybe then I can stop being so angry and disappointed, I can move the goalposts and start enjoying the moment.