“A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.”(Proverbs 17:17)
“There is a proper time and procedure for every matter, though a person may be weighed down by misery.”(Ecclesiastes 8:6)
“He who meddles in a quarrel not his own is like he who takes a passing dog by the ears.”(Proverbs 26:17)
“You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” — Anne Lamott
One of the most profound lessons I have learned, one that is now deeply ingrained in my subconscious, is that sometimes, we are crippled at the exact point where we received help.
i.e. Sometimes, the help we render and/or receive ultimately cripples us and/or the recipients. It becomes a crutch, a stumbling block, or a deterrent to our growth, or to the growth of those who received it.
I’ll tell you why.
Twelve years ago, I arrived in Canada as an international student with $45,000 in my account. $10,000 was the recommended proof of upkeep for a year; the $35k balance was tuition for my Master’s in Management program at the University of Windsor, Ontario.
I lost all my luggage during the relocation, so I was sore from the loss, and every encounter thereafter made me question the move. I had quit a pretty good job to start over. In retrospect…. I digress …
2014 was the same year that I realized I was Black. Prior to my relocation, I was just a regular human being, like everyone else. Younique, yes, but one among many.
Migration introduces mirrors you never asked for.
Needless to say, I was shaped by the losses of my luggage and identity. But the most critical factor was my six-month supply of medication, which my psychiatrist had painstakingly prescribed, and which I had proactively purchased to ensure I could maintain my mental health and remain stable in an unknown land.
Years earlier, when I first initiated the plan to study abroad, I was warned that the isolation of foreign study could trigger more than it healed. So I grudgingly aborted the dream, all the while watching friends leave and return, as graduates, professionals, and earners of better pay.
It came to a head when my sister passed in 2013, and it felt like all my career moves had landed me in the exact place I dreaded most. I felt like a failure (I blamed myself for her perpetual illness, quality of life, and ultimately for her death). I switched from Medical school to Psychology to try help her faster, better, quicker… and still, she died.
In that mental state, without vision for the future and without solid ties to the present, I became suicidal and wanted to end it all. By this time, 2013, it was no longer news that I was often depressed and suicidal.
As grace would have it, fortune smiled on Mee, and a friend broke my fall. A random phone call reminded me of my why, and together we brainstormed the how. That tiny exercise triggered a chain of events that eventually led Mee to Windsor.
It’s interesting that the friend and I no longer talk, or see eye to eye, lol. “People come into our lives for a reason, a season, and a lifetime.” Know this, Know peace. I digress…
As a personal covenant, just before I left the shores of 9ja, and as a defense from my shrinks constant warning about the perils of relocating alone, to the isolated West, without a support system, I decided that I would join the workforce in a church and serve.
After all, Scripture promised healing to those who serve:
“You shall serve the Lord your God, and He will bless your bread and your water; and I will remove sickness from your midst.”(Exodus 23:25)
Men and brethren, the decision to serve, in itself, was noble, just as the intent was pure.
Church was fun. It gave me community. but boy, . . I was deceived.
Acquaintance gives insight into character. , , and from deTALEs that I learned of the doings of some of the people . . . OMG !!!
“Church isl a hospital, but hospitals also have infections.”
Please shAIR Your Thoughts :-)