Personal Narrative: My Life In Cork

Fall of 2016, I was living in Cork, Ireland. For those first few months, I felt so incredibly lonely, and not just because I was literally alone. My identity had been my constant companion, but here, there was no place for the events that shaped me. For years, the very basis of who I was depended greatly on an abusive relationship, and the emotions that came with it. It took me years to even realize that that relationship even had been abusive, years to discover that emotional abuse leaves its mark for a long time. I used that mark to shape who I was, but not in a ‘strong, empowering female’ way. But in Ireland, that relationship had no power. So, I lost my identity, and forced myself to choose who I was, what parts of me I was going to bring …show more content…
During a short, hour long walk outside of the city turned into a six-hour trek into the farmland of Cork, I found myself staring into the most serene picture. The sun was setting, and a golden hue fell over the grassland and touched the River Lee. It felt like someone had plucked a fabricated memory of Ireland from my childhood and placed it in front of me. I felt no anxiety, for the first time in a long time. I could see clearly. That clarity followed me the following two hours it took me to find a bus stop and get home. I hadn’t eaten all day, but that wasn’t forefront on my mind. I went to my bathroom and studied the mirror. I did not know the …show more content…
I’m not the girl who believed that everything that went wrong was my fault. I’m not the girl who people called cold hearted, heartless, or any other colorful description of a girl who couldn’t show emotion. I’m nor the girl who couldn’t feel for three years. Those things, and so much more, held so much power over me, and now I can hardly believe that I gave them that power.
I wrote this essay originally as a plug, a way to guilt so-called Irish Americans who know thing about their culture other than green beer and Saint Patrick’s Day to feel something for the foundation of what makes Ireland Irish, but as I began my edits, it became far more personal. I began to think about who I am, how I became the person I am today. I like who I am, I’ve fought to become her. Having said that, I still don’t approve of many of my past choices, but I no longer feel the need to blame myself for the messes those choices put me in. Choosing to learn to speak Irish did not save me, but it did set me down a path where I could learn that I didn’t need saving, I just needed to let some things go. For such a complicated situation, the key to fixing it was pretty simple. I only had to go halfway across the world to learn