By Sarah Helms
Ask anyone who knows me, and they will tell you a few standard, upbeat responses regarding my one-year relocation to Tennessee for my husband’s orthopedic trauma fellowship.
“How great to have a year to be with the kids while they’re still so young!”
“Live it up! You’ll never get another chance to just pick up and move like this!”
“What an adventure this year will be!”
Ask anyone who truly knew my heart before we left, and you will hear a different story. This story was less shiny, and more real. It was more honest, uncertain, and far less graceful.
The truth is that we loved our home in North Carolina, and by home, I mean far more than the four walls in which we lived. After five years of residency, we had built a village around us of friends, colleagues, neighbors, and loved ones. I had established a career as a psychologist, doing what I love on projects that were meaningful to me. During residency, our two children were born, as were the children of many of our friends. There were trails on which we pushed strollers, parks at which we played, restaurants in which we ate, space that felt like ours. No one was more fortunate in the amount of love that surrounded them. We had friends who brought us meals after the births of our children and the passing of our fathers. Friends who took care of our children when we needed a moment to breathe. Friends who held our hands through some of the best and hardest days we’ve yet faced. In five years, we had built a life with roots that ran deep.
The truth is that leaving behind that life and embarking on the uncertain was scary. Dare I say terrifying? And so, I built around me a great wall of achievements for my year away. I set goals. I made plans. I determined that I would conquer this year, or die trying.
Don’t get me wrong—the goals have been hugely helpful. The plans have gotten me through weeks that were long. And the achievements have been incredibly rewarding. I decided to run my first marathon, trained all fall, and completed my 26.2 miles last month. I decided to write a cooking blog, which has been enjoyable for me and well received by my small readership of mostly family and friends. I have gotten some academic work published and acknowledged in my field in a way that far exceeds any goals I had set for myself. I have traveled to spend time with friends and family at strategically spaced intervals to get me through the year, thus far.
Indeed, I’m sure that my dear friend and blog editor who asked me to write this piece, had just these types of outward-appearing successes in mind…tips from someone who has done it so well, as she put it in her email request. And as I sat down initially to write, I was guided by just this premise. Tips for surviving a year in a new city: set goals, break things down into smaller pieces, try things you otherwise might not, live out an adventure for a year…
All of these “survival tips” would be true. Many of them would have been grounded in my own experiences. And all of them would’ve helped you to “survive” a year, as I have.
But for me, the truth of this year has been in my experience of grace.
Grace: unmerited divine assistance. An instance of kindness.
This year, I have absolutely been the recipient of so much unmerited divine assistance and so many instances of kindness. In some cases, this grace has been big—friends and family who have traveled far and sacrificed much in order to support me. But in many cases, the acts have been small—a kind grocery store clerk who knows my children’s love of stickers, a stranger at church who offered a word of encouragement, a preschool administrative assistant who greets me by name every single day in the carline, even in this city where not another soul knows my name.
Even more, this year has been a year of growth for me—a year of learning how to extend more grace to myself. All the voices of self-doubt that crept into my presence were right here. I did not have a busy work schedule in which to escape. I did not have my village of friends to support me every step of the way. When I feared that my running pace was too slow or that my writing style was too mundane or that my professional contributions were insignificant, I had some very real moments in which to decide: How would I treat myself this year? When every ounce of patience had been drained from my exhausted body and I screamed at a child or left them in their rooms for too long: How would I judge myself?
There has been something very special this year as I have confronted a great deal of aloneness. When no one else was looking, who would I choose to be?
At this task, I have probably failed more than I have succeeded. But I will say, that in those rare moments when I was able to find grace for myself, this year has been unprecedented. It was that forgiveness that pushed me to try things I otherwise wouldn’t have tried, and to stick with things when I feared that I was not measuring up.
I did not break any speed records at the Walt Disney World Marathon in January, nor has the Southern Living editor come knocking at my door with sponsorship requests and professional blog opportunities. My small professional successes have not led to any job opportunities for next year. And so far, no one has called about that Mother of the Year Award. But the goal for me, this year, was to do some living in a place where I otherwise might never have gone—both geographically and existentially. And for me, that living has happened in the space where I have been willing to allow myself to grow without so much fear about who’s watching or how it will all turn out.
I don’t know how you all may feel about an upcoming year in a faraway land, brought to you by a medical training program. Whatever fears or reservations you may be facing, my hope for you is that you will find some grace along the way—from others, but especially from within yourselves.
Sarah Helms is a mother of two and a pediatric psychologist, taking a year off during her husband’s orthopedic trauma fellowship in Chattanooga, Tennessee. When she isn’t busy chasing after her two preschoolers and mischievous mini dachshund, she enjoys running, baking, and exploring the outdoors in her new city.