Category: About Me

Dealing With Pain

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Whether it’s a tattoo or a sprained foot, people always want me to gauge my pain on a scale of 1 to 10. Not to pat myself on the back, but I’ve always had a high pain tolerance. If you can tell that I’m in pain, I’m in a lot of pain.

A couple of Fridays ago I had the misfortune of landing very awkwardly into a pot hole after stepping off of a median. Luckily, I only suffered a bad sprain on the top of my foot. This experience got me thinking about my injuries abroad, and the time which has shaped how I deal with pain.

I’ve injured myself many times throughout my travels, but nothing compares to the hike I endured in my final days of studying abroad. It has almost been 6 years since that experience, but I still use it as my gauge against physical and emotional pain. The first hike own over three mountain peaks wasn’t all that terrible. I was insanely out of shape, and it took me twice as long than it should have to reach the campsite, but for all intents and purposes it wasn’t that bad.

However, the night before heading back to civilization, I tripped over a large rock. (In my defense it was pitch black at the time.) I pulled a hip flexor, which isn’t that terrible of an injury if you get to rest it. Unfortunately we were set to start our hike back up the next morning. A group of us had to move excruciatingly slow because of various injuries in the we all had.

After hours of using my other leg to put all of my weight on, both my legs felt useless. A hike that could be finished in one day had to be split into two. Sleeping on a hill with rocks digging into every part of me definitely didn’t help heal my injuries. For some reason, I was feeling optimistic that morning. We had made it that far so we should be in the clear for the rest of the journey.

I forgot that we had to deal with the cliffs of insanity. You have to climb a bit, turn a corner and there are more cliffs. And so and on and so forth, till you believe that you will be spending eternity climbing those cliffs. At this point it was excruciating to put any weight on either legs, but with the help of a tall German who was pulling me up the cliffs, I made it through that portion.

Even when we got to the clearing (the final stretch), I had to switch off an on from being carried to the car. I don’t remember how much time it took to get to the car after the cliffs, but I know that I had reached past physical limits I didn’t know existed, and if I wasn’t granted the human instinct of survival, I’m sure that I would have collapsed into a heaping pile of tears and refused to move.

On a scale of 1 to 10, that experience was a 37.

Now, whenever I bust a foot or accidentally burn myself, I get through the pain by reminding myself that I survived that hike, so I can survive this. I have struggled emotionally and psychologically since that experience, but I think there is a part of me that remembers that in the face of extreme adversity, I pushed forward and refused to give up on myself.

I’m sure I will face many more challenges in my life, but I know that I’m strong enough for almost anything if I could survive that hike.

Romanticizing the Past

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There was a four-year gap between when I first studied abroad in the country my organization works in and when I was able to return. As time went by after my studying abroad experience, I began to look at my memories through rose colored glasses. I didn’t intentionally put those rose-colored glasses on, but there were some aspects of my original adventure that go warped.

For example, why didn’t we explore the country more during the day? Most of our classes were at night and had plenty of time in the middle of the day to be outside. When my co-founder and I returned to the country four years later, we tried walking around the middle of the day for meetings. In four years I had forgotten that the weather there was either hot and humid, or just really hot, especially in the middle of the day; we weren’t being lazy students, we were trying to prevent heat stroke.

When we came back, the whole country felt different. Which makes sense after four years, but it still took me by surprise when our favorite restaurant was gone and our favorite bar installed a disco ball. These things do seem small, but they were part of the glaring realization that time had changed this country, our organization, and us.

We were no longer treated like students, because we weren’t students anymore. A part of me still misses being coddled by staff and other groups, and a part of me is terrified that these people now see me as an adult and one of their peers. It was certainly easier for me as a student. I didn’t have the responsibilities of a non-profit weighing on me. I got to take fairly easy classes while volunteering in a school (a future partner school). Some days when I’m stressed about a logistical or funding problem, I pine for the days where being a student was my number one priority.

But then, I remember what my organization has accomplished over the past 5 years, specifically all of the strides we have made in establishing ourselves internationally. I realize that I have grown up a bit when I see and appreciate the respect we have achieved in our sector, and wouldn’t trade it for the world.

I’ve learned that looking at the past through a positive lens is great, but to not let it diminish what has been accomplished closer to the present. I can learn from the past, but appreciate who I am now. Wishing for a simpler time is folly, because life was never simple and the present is not something I should resent. The past may feel like the glory days, but I have a feeling that five years from now I’ll probably be talking about 2014 with the same reverence as I do with 2008.

Just like my organization, I need to learn from my past (and not be stuck there), be grateful for the present, and get excited for the future.

Sort of Out: Coming Out Through Studying Abroad

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A lot of my LGBT* friends knew pretty much their entire lives, or at least since puberty, that they were queer. I wouldn’t say that figuring out I was a lesbian at 20 is completely late to the game, but comparatively to my queer circle, I felt like I showed up to the party pretty late.

Of course, it would take me traveling half way across the world to figure out my sexuality. In hindsight, the signs had definitely been there for me. I had considered boys aesthetically pleasing, but I thought then if I waited long enough, the physical and sexual feelings would emerge. Also, looking back on my female friendships and my obvious crushes, I still shudder and shake my head.

I finally let myself start to see the truth of things when I was studying abroad my junior year of college. There were only five of us in our program, and luckily we all got along; we all became very fast friends. There was only one boy in the program, and I started on my usual course trying to convince myself that I had a crush on him. As much as I tried, nothing more than friendship felt right. There was, however, a girl in our group that I was very attracted to, I just wasn’t admitting it to myself. This girl was smart, kind hearted, and hot, very hot. Again I tried to convince myself that a same-sex attraction was just close feelings of friendships.

The trip was life changing , so obviously I felt strong emotions toward my new friends. Afterwards geography separated me from of the group, and I almost convinced myself of my success.

It finally took an interaction with an old high school friend a month after returning that led me to my sexual revelation. Not initially of course, because that would have been too easy.  We snuggled the whole weekend while in the mountains, but it was finally that Sunday coming home that reality smacked me upside the head.

People have asked me why it took me so long for me to register, and I have asked myself the same question many times. Why did it take a study abroad trip across the world and back for me to figure it out? Why was I keeping myself blind to my obvious reality? There were points in high school that I flirted with the idea of being attracted to girls, but I buried it away from my conscious thought.  I didn’t want it to be an option, so I made myself not see it.

Studying abroad made me see, learn, and re-learn things about who I am as a person and what I wanted to get out of life. This experience mapped out my passion for education, development, and non-profit work. Most importantly, it made me feel again. For too long I blocked myself off from my emotions and the world. By traveling abroad I let myself go free, and I let myself be. It was the beginning of a long and continuous journey of learning about and loving myself.

I’ve found that when I am the most open and true to myself, the happier of a place I am at. Being true to me has been amazing, terrifying and difficult, but absolutely incredible. I am eternally grateful for the experience I had. I shudder to think about the shell of person I would be today without it. That semester was the catalyst toward finding myself through all of the facades I built.

Some people in the LGBT* community have known since the beginning, others, it takes a little bit longer. For me, I almost had to be smacked upside the head with my own sexuality. We all have different journeys. For me, it took the long way around the bend, I couldn’t be more grateful.

The Mentors in My Life

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This Mother’s Day, while I am  extremely grateful for my mother and how she has raised me, I would like to focus on the mentors in my life. I’ve been very lucky in my adult life, having mentors that have guided me through my journey in the LGBT* community and also the non-profit sector. I would not exist the way I do if it weren’t for these people, for which I am eternally grateful.

I would imagine that being out in any profession can prove difficult, but I know first hand what the repercussions of coming out in the international non-profit sector are. Honestly, I have felt like a unicorn at times, a mythical creature rarely seen. I know that other queer people work in non-profits, but unless they have worked in a LGBT* non-profit, I have never had a mutually ‘out’ interaction in my field with a peer.

Without my mentors, and specifically one of my former professors, I wouldn’t have anyone who truly understands what it’s like to travel to a different country as a gay humanitarian. Being closeted in some cases and being out in others has a lot of emotional and practical consequences. I’ve written previously about how toxic the closest can be, and it’s even more toxic when you have no one to talk to about being stuck in there.

My professor has let me voice my concerns and has legitimized my fears. She gets the complexities of weaving in an out of identities for the sake of doing something that you love, while being with someone who you love.

Some days it’s really hard reconciling my Lesbian identity with working in a country that is not LGBT* friendly. There are days that if I focus on it too much I become a big spiraling ball of anxiety heading towards a bout of panic attacks. Luckily I have people to pull me out of these funks. I have my girlfriend, my friends, family and mentors. Without these people, and specifically my former professor, I might be doomed to be rolling in my anxiety forever.

Just having someone who gets it allows my head to clear and it restores my passion and my faith in what I am doing. Even if we need to stay closeted for the sake of our work and passion, we need to find at least one person who can relate to and empathize with our struggles.

LGBT* non-profit workers aren’t unicorns and we aren’t islands. We need people who get the queer and the non-profit of us.

Finding Myself Through My Non-Profit

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I celebrated my birthday this is past week, which has put me in a retrospective mood. How did I get to where I am today? Who am I now compared to who I was last year, or 5 years ago? What have been the main components that have shaped the course of my life?

Obviously the answers to these questions are long and in-depth, and not quite relevant to this blog. However, one of the quintessential parts of my life has been co-creating and running my own non-profit.

I have learned about myself through the successes and failures, the tweaking of the mission, and learning new skills. I found out that I could build a website (nothing fancy, but pretty damn good if I say so myself).I learned that we needed a financial adviser and accountant, and that speaking in front of people wouldn’t kill me. I now have the ability to see what skills I am able to learn, and what would make sense to outsource to more talented people.

Most importantly, I have learned where my true passion lies. Growing up, I had no idea who I wanted to be; I wanted to be an astronaut, photographer, writer, and psychologist,  but none of those professions seemed to truly fit me. Even in the beginning of forming my organization, I couldn’t feel it driving me. Luckily, it didn’t take too long to click for me. I honestly don’t know exactly what was the catalyst to this revelation, but something sparked within me that changed my life for the better.

Creating my non-profit has allowed me to find myself amidst the rubble of my self-doubt and listlessness. It gave me a purpose that brought together my many passions. It allowed me to see the many talents I possess, and what I can offer to the world.

I am infinitely grateful to have this organization and the experiences that have come with it. I know that I am making a positive impact on the world.

It’s who I am.

So You’ve Fallen in Love with a Non-Humanitarian

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My girlfriend is terrified of going on airplanes, she absolutely loathes them. She certainly doesn’t understand how I fly 20+ hours at a time for my organization, or why I would that fly that far, or why I am so passionate about my cause. When it comes to a powerful news story, I’m the one crying and she’s the one looking at me strangely. I’m not saying she is apathetic and heartless, she is a very caring and loving person to her friends, family and me. Honestly anyone compared to me would appear at least mildly apathetic. Really, I am hyper emotional and empathetic.

Honestly, before I started dating her, I thought my ideal woman would be very much like myself- someone in the aid or non-profit sector, probably working in education development and/or with kids.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I’m not saying that two humanitarians couldn’t have a successful romantic relationship, I’m sure many do. (I’m in no way shape or form an expert on other people’s relationships.)

I could write a 10 page essay on all of the things about my girlfriend that I love – but I will spare you (you’re welcome) and list out a few reasons why being with a non-humanitarian makes me better at what I do.

  • She balances out my emotional tendencies – which helps me think more objectively about my work and the world.
  • She challenges my worldview. We can debate and discuss global and domestic issues; we might not change each other’s minds, but perspective is definitely expanded.
  • She cares because I care. My work is important to me, so it’s important to her.
  • She tries to understand what I do. I can talk about my day and she is truly interested and asks questions.
  • She respects my passion. No, she doesn’t get it all of the time, but she respects that part of me and allows me to feel how I feel.

Like in any relationship, balance and respect is essential. Could I have found that with a humanitarian? Sure, but other humanitarians will have the same emotional hangups and the manic bouts of passion towards a cause. Which could be good for some people (again, not a relationship expert), however, I would not be great at it. Really, I just imagine us being in separate corners curled up in the fetal position.  How could we be emotionally supportive of each other if we were stuck in our own heads, worrying over the state of the world?

What makes being with a non-humanitarian so special is that she cares in spite her worldview. I get a peek into a different worldview and so does she. She helps me draw myself out of my head. She is my rock and my balance. I wouldn’t be the humanitarian I am today without her.

Help ALL of the People…?? Don’t Burn Yourself Out

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I tend to over think things a lot. I won’t go into detail about my neurosis (you’re welcome), but one of my struggles within the non-profit sector is making sure that I don’t stretch myself too thin and burn out.

For example: In most states, the state that I live in is working toward marriage equality. I have tried getting involved and volunteering for the cause (actually have attempted to get involved in multiple states), but I never feel motivated to follow through and put all of myself into it. My head says DO IT while the rest of me resists. This dichotomy makes me feel extremely guilty – how can I not feel motivated to participate in winning my basic civil rights?

I would think that those who work in the non-profit sector outside of the LGBT* arena would  also feel guilty if they are not actively working toward their rights.  Should we feel guilty? Definitely not. We are more than just our orientation, and we have many different passions. There is no need to get burned out because we feel like we should be spending our energy on multiple issues. I’m not Super Man, and just because I am a lesbian does not mean I have to be an activist. If you want to delve 100% into education, water development, homelessness or anything else – you should! If you want to commit yourself to just queer issues – do it!

LGBT* rights are obviously extremely important, and participation is essential. But we need people who are fully dedicated to the work involved, not people who feel like they need  to participate to keep their gay card.

To be our best selves, we need to follow our hearts. We are educators, humanitarians, aid workers and volunteers. We are a complex group of individuals who are passionate about a plethora of issues. We are all working towards a common good – and weighing good deeds against each other gets us no where.

Working in Anti-LGBT* Countries

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With the Prime Minister of Uganda  signing the anti-homosexuality bill into law I feel like I need to talk why I work in a country that isn’t friendly to LGBT* individuals. The country outside of the United States that I work in is not on the same level as Uganda or Russia, but it would be hazardous to be openly gay there.

It’s a complicated issue. I have heard professors, teachers, and friends refuse to financially support organizations that are working in anti-gay countries like Uganda and Russia. Which is very understandable.

I’m lucky in the sense that the country I work in isn’t extremely anti-LGBT*. Yes there is a culture of homophobia, but I cannot personally draw a line in the sand and say I’m not willing to work there.

Is there a line that we as gay humanitarians have to draw? I’ll give/volunteer/work in country X only if the government doesn’t discriminate against the LGBT* community and if there isn’t a culture of homophobia? Does a country like that exist?

Sometimes, it is hard to justify working in a homophobic country (especially to myself). Why work in a country that would kick me and my organization out if they knew I was a lesbian? For a lot of the LGBT* community – they wouldn’t participate, and that makes a lot of sense. Supporting your own discrimination does seem counter intuitive.

For me, my reasoning lies with the people I am working with, the constituents. I have an emotional connection to the families, children, schools, and communities. I am constantly reminding myself that the people are not the government, and the government is not the people.

I won’t be outing myself there anytime soon. I don’t want to find out whether people would still like and accept me regardless, and I don’t want the government to kick my organization out of the county. I guess that is cowardly.

Maybe I’m also naive – but I believe someday I’ll be able to talk about my girlfriend to the people I work with here and abroad.

Will I be donating to a Russian or Ugandan aid organization any time soon? Probably not. Will I give up my organization? Definitely not. What is driving me despite everything is the emotional connection I have to the people, the country, and the mission.

We all have to draw our line somewhere.

The ‘Hat Theory’ : How I Deal with My Anxiety in the Non-Profit Sector

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Working in the non-profit sector means that you have to network, talk to volunteers, educators, constituents, and donors. A lot.

Right after starting my non-profit, I couldn’t talk to a new person without reminders to breathe. Speaking in front of people or with large groups of people was borderline debilitating. Even now, years later, my co-founder and I usually divide tasks into what requires talking to people, and what doesn’t.

When I have to talk to people about the non-profit, I do enjoy it- but it drains me considerably. I have tried various techniques and coping skills to help me through these situations, and I have finally come up with something that allows me to enjoy the networking and social interactions required of me.

I call it the Hat Theory.

The Hat Theory let’s me go into specific characters in specific situations. The hats in this theory are invisible, but if real hats work for you, great!

Need to talk to a donor? Without my hat I am extremely anxious and shy, but when I wear my Financial Hat (which I usually imagine as a top hat), I can answer any questions with enthusiasm. Need to present a workshop to volunteers? My trusty volunteer cap turns me into a pumped up motivator read to rally the group together.

Get the picture?

In a perfect world, I wouldn’t need my Hats. But as someone who has Panic Disorder, these Hats allow me to step outside of ‘myself’ to do the work for the organization that I have created and fallen in love with.

Being anxious doesn’t need to stop you from making a difference.

You just have to find the right hat.