The bones

Before you read, listen to: The Bones by Maren Morris.

“The house don’t fall when the bones are good.”

My bones...

They are my Dad.

Lately, I’ve been really struggling. I’ve been having battles in my mind, been fighting my body to get to sleep, restless nights, unactionable worry, self doubt, attacks on my self worth, complete burn out, and mostly a hard hit of depression. Every time I feel myself sinking, or I feel myself lifting out of it, I reach for my phone to call him.

And every time I feel that intense void of him being gone, so strong and so nauseating, I breathe… and I channel him and deep down I know in my heart the things that he would tell me and say to me. Because he built me, us, with good bones.

Our motivations in life are all different. Our pushes, our influences, our reasons for doing things and the paths that carry us. But we all have bones. We all have a foundation, a structure, a guiding force. And sometimes I think that when the world begins crashing down around us, we tend to forget about our foundation, our internal strength, our ability to preserver and be resilient… until we are buried and survival forces us to remember. I know that that’s my own process- burn out. And I know that I’m always actively working on stopping it from getting to a place of being buried- being proactive instead of reactive. And sometimes it’s my friends, my family, my clients who remind me of this force… to remember that if we can return to our bones, our foundation, reflect on our own internal light, we can make it through anything.

Starting my own practice was… is…. HARD. Not only is owning a business a completely new venture for me while maintaining my heavy trauma caseload, but the self doubt and inadequacy thoughts that go along with being an entrepreneur are REAL. I go to a place in my mind so dark sometimes over something as simple as not returning an email in one day, or taking a day off and not fitting in those clients that week, wondering how many I will see the following week, if I’m off by one person, or I’m over by 2, that I didn’t text that person back within the hour, I didn’t finish that note at the end of my 10 hour client day. And then I spiral into am I helping people?, am I even good at this?, is everyone okay?, did I do enough that session?, will they survive?, is that child safe?, am I making a difference?. But ya know what never gets questioned in my mind… AM I OKAY?

And here’s the thing. I’m okay until I’m not. I’m excelling until I’m drowning. Because I see my purpose as something so much bigger than me and making sure I maintain simple necessities in life like eating real food for dinner, or not responding to work texts and emails on my “days” off, and scheduling an hour (shit a half hour) break in my day, those things are sacrificed. And I can do that for awhile, I can sacrifice. I can give and give and give and give, but eventually the world starts crashing and the walls start closing in.

Yesterday, I was having a really hard morning. Sinus infection, fever, 8 clients in a row back to back, 3 new clients to respond to, 3 calls to return, a pile of notes, endless texts from family and friends that go unopened all day long, a new crisis call to manage, and on top of it my own personal struggles and a cloud of depression pouring self doubt. I was overwhelmed. I broke down hard, in the quick 2 minutes I have in between clients to collect myself. And I tried to get my shit together. I walked out of my office to get my next client. As I approached her, and as a fellow empath and survivor she could see it written all over my face. I couldn’t hide it. As soon as we got into my office and she asked me if I was okay and wouldn’t accept my dismissiveness, the tears escaped me, and I cried for a minute. That shit happened.

And in that moment of doing my best to keep it together, be present for HER, she would not allow me to continue without allowing me to release. Because maybe that’s what I do for her? Because maybe that’s why I’m good at my job, because I’m as real as it gets… and sometimes my world crashes, my house is under attack, and the truth comes out that I’m human. So she hugged me. Then, we moved forward with our session.

As soon as she left I talked to my Dad. Part of me felt ashamed, unprofessional, part of me felt unworthy… but I knew that we had still had an important session. That my shittyness, and my realness didn’t get in the way of us connecting and making movement, and that maybe it even encouraged some of our discussion and that it connected us on a deeper level. That despite my world crashing (literally a therapist’s worst nightmare crying in front of a client like that, what is wrong with me??) my bones didn’t break. Before I even opened my mouth to talk to him, I knew what he was going to say. Be vulnerable, be real, be humbled, because baby girl…that’s the only way you do your GOOD.

I saw a friend that night. And she reminded me that as we move forward in the storms of our lives, it’s okay to choose ourselves. To make choices that lead us to where we want to go, and the people, the support, the things that are meant for us will follow. Not only was it a good reminder for self care, but a good reminder that I am strong and worthy of my life and where it’s going. And I can be human. Our foundations won’t crack and while the winds may be treacherous, they won’t blow us over.

When my dad passed away just a few short weeks before Andy’s and my wedding, all of our worlds were crashing but our house didn’t crumble. Our community showed the F up. That entire month of June, we cried together, we broke, we fell apart, we danced, we drank too much, we celebrated. Because he built us, and WE ALL BUILD EACH OTHER. And the people and experiences that have become a part of your foundation- whether they are new or old, distant or present, conscious or unconscious, believe in them, revisit them, remind yourself of them. While our storms in life and our identities are forever fluid and constantly changing, our bones are good.

Thank you to my client who held my tears, you are my bones.

Achieng in the Rain

My African name is Achieng, it loosely means sunshine. All children are given one common surname along with their unique individual name in Eastern Africa, and as I became acquainted with the culture, I was soon honored with Achieng for my love of the African Sun. In Amor Village, Uganda I am known as Sammy Achieng Fiegel, or Auntie Sammy. There is truly nothing as magical and majestic as watching the sunset over the Eastern plains of Africa. It is a giant ball of orange, and coral, golden yellow, and burning bush red that seems to cover the entire horizon as it slowly sets below the Baobab trees. Every evening I found myself in awe of this daily transition from day to night, and I would watch calmly and patiently as the sun set below the water valley of Amor. And so because my African family thought I was a bit crazy for this, as of course for them it is simply the sun which normally sets bold and bright and brilliant across the land, they gave me my name, Achieng.

Not many people have the opportunity to travel to Africa. I have been blessed to have travelled there not just once, but twice, and hopefully soon to be a third time. Once you experience the TRUTH and LIFE of Uganda, it compels you forever. My heart lives there and will always be there.

There are few moments in life that stay with you forever- every sight, every sound, every feeling of that moment, wrapped into one visual image that when you revisit that image in your mind, you feel a wave of utter joy and despair all at once- joy for the heartfelt remembrance, and deep despair for the reality that it will never come again. For me, it was the day it suddenly poured down rain, in a rural bush village, atop a vast hill, on a crowded fútbol field, with a hundred screaming children. It was on a trip, and on a day, when my life at that time was broken and my heart was in need of healing. It was the rain that made me new.

The best part of both of these experiences- the sunsets and the futbol field rain, two experiences years apart, great distances apart, a lifetime it seemed for me in between these memories, is that one informed the other and they both bring me here today to tell the story of the latest undertaking I have begun… to build a well in Amor Village, Uganda and name it after my late father, Petey.

After my first trip to Africa, I was able to see firsthand the work of an amazing organization called Fields of Life. The soccer field was home to one of the sites that Fields of Life was supporting, a village that they had built a flourishing school in, employing local teachers, training local staff, funding sponsorships for children. The Mount Everest Primary School in Kitandwe, Uganda was opened in March 2009 after an honored friend of mine, Ian Taylor, summated Mount Everest to raise enough to officially open the school with Fields of Life. When I visited in 2011, we were graciously greeted with music, love, laughter, hope and most importantly a soccer match. And so, on a hot afternoon towards the end of dry season in Eastern Uganda with no signs of rain and no rain in months, we, the outnumbered Mzungus (the Bantu language’s endearing name for White people) played against the school children. As we ran barefoot in the rugged bush over rocks and pot holes and bugs, we laughed and fell, and chased the ball through the field doing our best to keep up. And as we laughed and panted from exhaustion, we were having so much fun that we didn’t seem to notice the ominous clouds rolling in. And all at once, the rain came down.

Yes, I know there is a song about the African rains, as yes I know the idea of rain coming down in Africa seems cliché and cheesy, but there is no memory more joyful that I have than this very moment on the field in the pouring rain in Africa. We all stopped in disbelief, and as the shock wore off the squeals and elated screams ensued, and before long, us Mzungus and the children were smushed into a big, dirty, wet, bundled mess huddled together jumping in unison, giving body-shaking thanks to the rain and to the heavens.

After my trip to Uganda, I became a dedicated follower and supporter of Fields of Life. The organization currently works in Uganda, Rwanda, Burundi, Kenya, Democratic Republic of Congo and South Sudan partnering in providing sustainable community development through education, water, and enterprise. I now sit on the newly instated USA Board for the organization- working to create more opportunities and partnerships here in the US.

A few months after my Dad died in the summer of 2016, I stumbled across an opportunity to get back to Uganda, and this time I would be merging my career with my passion. I was selected to be a part of a two person team to travel to Amor Village in Uganda, and support children and women through empowerment Art Therapy groups. The opportunity was a dream come true, and little did I know that after this visit my heart and my dad’s heart would find a permanent home.

This trip to Amor Village was truly one of lifetime. I lived in the village alongside the children with their giggles and songs and games, the matriarchs of Pearl Community Empowerment Foundation who support the village through agriculture, community building, and school expansion, and also the free roaming chickens, the roosters who woke me in the mornings, the cows that strolled across the fields to the valley every day, and the pigs that trotted about with their babies. I spent my days using Art Therapy to encourage communication, collaboration, camaraderie, a sense of hope and accomplishment, connection, and compassion. For many of the adults, it was the first time they had written anything, used paint, and cried with eachother. For the girls, it was the first time they opened up or spoken in front of a group, the first time they shared their feelings out loud. For me, it was everything. It was moving, emotional, hard, things would get off track due to language barriers, things would change and morph from our original idea, but we all moved together and we learned to be vulnerable in our similarities. We huddled together in a group hug at the end of each session and we’d sing and laugh in the hot African sun.

I spent my evenings playing games I didn’t understand, and singing songs I didn’t know with the children until my feet were brown with dirt and my shoulders were burnt from the sun. I was welcomed to dinner over the spitfire each night where we talked about our different lives and laughed about the funny things white people do. I felt at home. I felt my Dad everywhere, his love guiding my thoughts, my words, my relationships and I felt him in the strangers’ hugs and smiles that soon became my lifelong friends.

Both times in Africa I witnessed the scarcity, barrenness, and harshness of its dry season. In the bush and villages, water is what brings life and what gambles with death. Access to water, and clean water, is rare and is never guaranteed. I visited the valley water holes where villagers walk miles to everyday and gather the minimal water that comes out of the ground in order to merely survive each week of the lengthy and slow season.

A borehole well would penetrate the ground and allow for greater depth and a constant, clean, and reliable supply of water. My dream is to build a borehole for the village of Amor and the people who became my family. Fields of Life has agreed to build this well if I can raise the ≈$10,000 it costs to make that happen.

The connection of my two experiences is obvious, as my journey with Fields of Life has inspired me to support the village of Amor that gave life and love back to me after losing my Dad. But as I sat down to write this story in preparation for my first attempt at raising a portion of that money, I realized the deeper connection. As I danced in the rain on that field in Kitandwe, I witnessed the purity and immense purpose of rain. To hydrate, to bring life, to renew, to nourish, to grow, to strengthen, to GIVE WATER. And then, in Amor, I was reminded of the dire importance of the rain and of water. My first trip to Uganda changed my life- that day in the bush, on the hill, on the field, in the rain, it saved my life. My second trip to Uganda, reminded me of the importance of life… it brought me back to life. Water is the connection, the constant, the need, my calling.

In one day I will run a half marathon to raise my first $3,000 towards Petey’s well… My first run in almost 3 years, and my first year living and training in elevation. I cannot say that I’m not a bit terrified, but the little, tiny, minuscule bit of struggle I will feel is all for something bigger than me, for the ability to provide CLEAN WATER to an entire village... A village that I love and a life that I miss that will always be a part of who I am. So, I look forward to the pain.

GOOD PAIN because of GOOD RAIN.

If you are able, please donate and help me BUILD A WELL!!!!! I am, and will be, forever grateful.

Listen to: There Will Be Time by Mumford & Sons, Baaba Maal. (We never have as much time as we think we do, so do with it what makes your soul free).