Let’s be so for real. Change and life transitions can be exhausting. In fact, ‘can’ isn’t the right verb there. They outright are exhausting, even with 8+ hours of sleep, movement, fuel, and friends. Or at least this has been my experience. I was honestly miserable during my first month of study abroad two years ago, so before moving to Spain this time around, I was expecting the first month to be particularly difficult. Of course, no two experiences are the same, and thus far the peaks and dips of my emotional roller coaster have compressed, arriving consistently one after another.
As my friends and family back home have quickly learned, my highs are very high and my lows, well, pretty low. Within the span of an hour, I can go from feeling on top of the world—confident I’m exactly where I’m meant to be—to spiraling into an existential crisis.
In crisis mode, the remaining eight months feel utterly impossible. It’s in these moments that I feel the vastness of the ocean between Madrid and home. It’s in these moments that I’m pissed at graduation as a concept for forcing me to leave the life I was so content in and the people who made me feel so loved. Suddenly I’m questioning everything from why I moved to whether I’ll ever feel fully settled anywhere again.
Gradually though, I’m finding the little things that pull me out of these slumps. Sometimes, I just need a real good cry. I’m talking about all of the water works—an ugly cry. Other times I need to hear a familiar voice, so I give my parents or one of my best friends a ring. Similarly, as the dramatic, overly emotional eldest daughter (yes, that’s a tswift reference), I get so much out of an introspective journal session. I’ve found that fighting or ignoring the dark emotions rarely works, so turning to one of these activities helps me look my feelings in the eye and remind myself that I know me best, and I can do this.
A major contributor to the wild route of my emotional roller coaster is the fact that absolutely everything is new. First there’s the location. I now live in a major city, not on a small college campus in a small town. Second is the people. Aside from three familiar faces, everyone I’ve interacted with since being here is new in my life. Third is my job. I had never taught English before two weeks ago, nor have I been trained or given instructions at all on how to teach.
I’m grateful that the Spanish language immersion is less of a shock thanks to my study abroad experience, but it still adds a layer of effort to nearly every interaction. Simply conversing with my colleagues in the teacher lounge takes more mental energy than it would if I were home in the states.
And yet, despite all of this newness, the majority of my ~on cloud nine~ moments have come from leaning into it—meeting new people, solo-exploring new neighborhoods, and saying yes to things that feel slightly uncomfortable. Take right now, for example: I was dreading how much alone time I’d have today and the long commute to school, so I decided to take myself out to a coffee shop to write this post. I bought myself an overpriced freshly squeezed OJ to fight the illness my students have given me, and I’m having a great time sharing a table with six other working students.
Yesterday was another reminder of the beauty in my new life. I felt like my legs were going to fall off when I got home from work at 5:30 PM, so the last thing I wanted to do was run. Nonetheless, I’d made plans with a new friend, and that run ended up being the highlight of my entire day.
All of this to say, I’m learning how to balance embracing change and trusting everything that I’ve learned about myself in my 22 years of life. I find so much comfort in routines, and there are many that I’ve decided are important to maintain while in Spain. However, I am challenging myself to try out new routines and to even break the ones I’m building every once and a while.
You might be thinking, “Wow, Semma, you’ve really got it all figured out.” NO to the no. I’ve really gotta work on patience. I’ve got my plans, and gosh dang it I’d like them to happen now. But especially as I try to teach my four year olds the color red, I have to be patient. Laughing at myself is another silly thing I’m trying out. Between falling up the escalator as I was running against the downward motion, to facing the consequences of choosing not to bring a towel to the swimming pool, I’m making dumb decisions every day. Because of this, I’m learning how to laugh at myself and be patient with all of the uncertainty.
And of course, all of this emotional chaos has been paired with one of the most confusing bureaucratic systems I’ve ever encountered — but that deserves its own post entirely. So to conclude, my advice to anyone embarking on a new life chapter is to lean into your support systems and be patient with yourself as you find the balance between new and old routines that works for you.