Coming home for Christmas

#036 The introverted expat

I am a curious and sociable person, and an introvert. This means that whilst I enjoy close emotional connections with people, social contact, particularly with people in states of high energy, can be draining. This is more challenging in new relationships, where there remains an element of performative anxiety- we don’t yet know and trust each other well enough to relax into ourselves. The need to be accepted is there, conscious or not, and drains the social battery a little faster. Whilst some people gain energy from being with people, it can have the opposite effect on others. Introverts still enjoy social contact but need time on their own to recharge, and may do well in activities where they can be alongside other people, without high demands on social communication.

I write about it every week, I marvel at the wonderful things here in Grand Cayman that are new and different to me, but it is still easy to forget how much change you have to navigate when you move to another country to live.

‘I think you’re being a bit hard on yourself’, a friend repeatedly tells me, drawing attention back to everything that I’m adjusting to. I appreciate her bringing me home to reality, because whilst you are in the depths of adjustment, it is easy to forget to be self-compassionate, and the need to step back and acknowledge how many changes we are navigating every day, and the significant accommodations that we make without always realising it.

One thing that hasn’t changed, is my need for a home sanctuary, and this week has raised a few challenges.

Boundaries

Boundaries are the limits we place- the imaginary but powerful lines that we draw between ourselves, others, and demands through our actions and words. It is like having a fence around our physical, emotional, and spiritual space, protecting our feelings, needs, and placing limits on our responsibilities.

These are mine, we communicate, verbally and non-verbally,

and these are not mine.

You can expect this of me,

but not this.

We all need them.

Through our boundaries people know what we need, what behaviour is acceptable to us, and what isn’t. They can choose how they respond to these, and come to know what the consequences will be if they disrespect the boundaries. It is our responsibility to enforce them, and if need be, to assert them again and again. If people do not respect them, we can choose whether we continue to remain in the life of those people.

For some of us boundaries are something that we’ve had to work hard to learn what they are, how to create them, how to firm them up, and how to maintain them. We may have grown up with people pleasing tendencies, and fear that setting limits and saying no will lead to conflict or rejection. Rather, it typically leads to being taken advantage of, and relationships where our needs are neglected. These kinds of relationships are draining, not enriching.

One of the easiest ways of creating boundaries in life is through our physical space. Back in the UK one of my favourite things to do at this time of the year involved shutting the door on the world, putting on the fire, curling up with my cat under a blanket and reading a book. This is the first winter that I do not have my lovely cat, and the first winter that my bones are going to be warmed by the sun, not the Longleat logs in the wood burner. It’s also the first time in 17 years that I have shared a living space for an extended period of time, where I have not been the homeowner. It requires some adjustment and ingenuity in how to establish the safe and restorative space that I need. How do we create the feeling of coming home?

The abandoned shopping trolley strangely made me think of home. I captured an image of this one enjoying a day trip to the beach. I hope it put on enough factor 50.

Coming home

One of the most powerful trainings I have received and delivered involved a video about understanding the needs of people with intellectual disabilities and dementia (Down Syndrome more specifically). I wish that I could remember who it was by because I always try to reference things, and this was an especially brilliant video that I’d love others to go and watch, but I can’t locate it. It was possibly by Downs Syndrome Scotland, who produce lots of useful resources, but they’ve updated their website since I last looked, and I can’t see anything similar. Maybe someone reading will know, and link it.

In the video a man with Down Syndrome (DS) acts the role of someone in the middle stages of Alzheimer’s Disease. It shows the curiosity that carers need when trying to understand behavioural changes that they might see, and how important it is to get the environment right for people with dementia. In one sequence the man with DS tries to leave the house. He no longer recognises it as his home, and repeatedly asks for his mother, and home. The professionals report on the research that indicates that these are the two core words most often used.

When everything around us is unsafe and unfamiliar, the two things asked for are-

Mother

Home

It highlights how ingrained these relationships, and our concepts of them, are to establishing safety.

As adults we cannot always go back to mother for safety, in the way of early attachment relationships (if they were safe and secure), and we need to find ways to create these places of safety in ourselves, in our environment, and adult relationships.

It isn’t true of everyone, but the aspect of my life that I have historically had the most control over, is my home.

Coming home had always been something I have looked forward to. Home was my sanctuary. It took time for me to realise it, but 2020 changed that. Like many others I spent months in my home feeling isolated, and scared. Work moved from the social contact of an office, to a screen at home, and the work life boundary blurred in ways that were hard to re-establish. Moving overseas was perhaps a drastic way to do it, but I am certainly no longer fused with my house! Like the hermit crab, I am trying on new houses, and hoping to find one that fits.

Adjustment

I’ve written previously about how dislocation and things being out of place can feel like being a Rubics puzzle. Wintering in the Caribbean almost everything will be different, and navigating so many changes can cause our nervous system to be on higher alert, shrinking our window of tolerance. I have noticed that I am more sensitive to sounds and smells than usual. My wonderful new friends have been accommodating of this, and a suggested night out took us to an an outdoor acoustic night rather than the confines of a band in a bar.

There was a beach BBQ at this event, reminding me that this Christmas I can act on the longstanding dream I’ve had of a Christmas meal on the beach. Doing it here rather than the UK, there will be less need for a thick coats.

Intention

I realised this morning that it’s been 9 months since I started writing on Substack. In my first post, inspired by

Beth Kempton

, I wrote my intentions for being here. Simply to share my words on Substack. To find new connections. To embrace the unknown. I wasn't sure if I could commit to a regular writing life, and gave myself the following encouragement-

To trust the consistent parts of myself are woven into my being. Some of the threads that bind me together are in my bio; nature, creativity, stories, wonder, supporting well-being, and deep authentic community.

I acknowledged that I was in a ‘time of significant endings and beginnings’ but had no idea what the next steps would be.

Whilst I am not leaving my profession, I will soon say goodbye to a time in my life in which I have offered service in a particular way, and say hello to a new one.

I had no idea that life would bring me to the Caribbean, and that my blog would contain so much of my personal life, and reflections on life overseas, but I think I’ve stayed true to these intentions, and the core of who I am.

Without expectations, accepting the uncertainty.

The uncertainty of home.

My boundaries are all over the place. I cannot always hold the boundaries around the physical spaces of work or where I live. They are not in my gift, and some days, when I need to shut the door and recharge, it can be deeply unsettling not to be able to do this. But I am lucky that I live with someone that I like, that I live in a stunning location, and have people here who I am able to call my new friends. And I have my writing, and Substack.

For the last few years writing has often been an anchor, repeatedly bringing me back to myself.

I often don’t know what will emerge when I write, but the act of writing often takes me to the heart of me. Even when it feels heavy, the reward is worth the effort. I become more fully myself.

Willow Blooms, February 2024

Another year gone by- In my end is my beginning - by Dr Jo

Home, for now, is writing.

Home, for now, is supported by you.

Songs of praise

I have shown up almost every week since February 2nd, something I was not sure I would be able to do when I started this journey. Some of you have been alongside me every step from the start, and some have joined along the way. Thank you all!

This week, on the most difficult of days, I picked up my pen and wrote new lyrics to a song. I sang them to the people in the apartment, and then again this morning into my phone, for the people that I will be singing the song with.

We’ll be singing acapella. To other people. In public.

These are not things that I find easy. But they are things that I think will bring me joy.

This week I joined the Cayman National Choir and over the next month I will be singing in a number of carol concerts. I love carols. One of my earliest memories is of standing in a village hall next to my mum, and belting out ‘Glooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooria, Hosanna in excelsis!’.

I had no idea what Hosanna meant, and thought maybe she was a person. A lady with a name a bit like mine. In one of our school hymns she brought great hilarity, as we replaced sing with ‘fling Hosanna’, and I’d imagine her catapulted across the sky and landing at the feet of the ’King of kings’ in a crumpled heap. What a joyful celebration of life. Poor Hosanna.

I hope that I will never lose those associations, but this year I have the added joy of singing the high harmonies! The eyebrows will be raised, the mouth round in its long ‘oh’, and I shall marvel at every strangely warm moment of it!

The true meaning, courtesy of Wikipedia

Hosanna (/hoʊˈzænə/) is a liturgical word in Judaism and Christianity. In Judaism it refers to a cry expressing an appeal for divine help.^[1] In Christianity it is used as a cry of praise.

Wikipedia

After almost three months of intense heat, yesterday I was aghast to consider that I might need a cardigan! Two people walking their dogs whilst I was having my usual morning swim stood on the poolside and chatted to me about the temperature, both were wearing long sleeved cardies. Later, at the beach, I felt cold for the first time. A strong breeze chilled me like overzealous air-conditioning, and whilst it will make physical activity such as running and walking a new possibility, it was a shock to the system! (As I write this, I’m aware the UK has been covered in snow, so my ‘cold shock’ is really nothing!).

Am I becoming an acclimatised expat? This question throws up even more uncertainty about the concept of what I knew to be home!

Mary Oliver, the genius- her writing always brings me home to myself xxx

The article that started Willowblooms-