I don't come from rich parents, didn't get it thrown into my lap and I don't have any cash under my mattress. Nevertheless, I still made the choice to work on myself. I've talked about my challenges before, like:
- Needing help but not having the financial resources to get it;
- Having to indicate boundaries, ad nauseam;
- Needing rest and wanting rest, but being constantly pressured by UWV;
- The need for understanding from authorities, but no willingness to look at the situation from a less proces oriented perspective;.
- Endless waiting times for assistance.
It feels like I have to fight constantly. My recovery has been overshadowed by financial pressures for 4 years. Whenever I solve a problem with pain and effort, another new problem seems to pop up. When I just got into sick leave, I thought I would need 1 year to recover. Not surprising, considering that I still had to develop myself from ostrich to pombo. In practice, it turned out to be something else
My recovery, however, is the best learning experience I've had so far. I experienced first hand, how nice; but also how clumsy the system is set up in our little country. All systems work with indications. Indications that should ensure that the system knows in which box I fit. I am personally not a fan of labels, boxes and indications. But I have noticed how important it is to know where I belong according to the system. But what if I don't belong in one box, but in several?
As a double blood, I am at home in 2 cultures “I am Papeda and stew” as Nusa Ina says. I am Moluccan & Dutch, but as a Moluccan in the Netherlands, I was not raised Moluccan. Because of this I had the idea that I have no right to speak within and/or about the Moluccan community. I didn't grow up in the neighborhood, knew nothing about the RMS, Adat or how history turned out. This ensured that in addition to my recovery, I also learned about my own history. What I didn't know then was that these two things would merge together and change my whole view of the world and myself.“In this way, problems traditionally disappeared under the rug”
My ancestors know war, sorrow and pain like no other. Grandpa Bert (Dutch side) was a KNIL soldier, he worked on the Burma railway line during the Japanese occupation. The punishments he received daily for being quite tall are inhumane. He had to crawl, was beaten, humiliated; and I, his granddaughter, I cringe at the thought of this, for my grandfather and many others, this must have been terrible. My Oyang Paul (Moluccan side) was a KNIL soldier in Indonesia at the same time. When I saw his KNIL reports I burst into tears. Not because I didn't know, but more because I only then realized that all the bloodlines that flow through me have had to deal with enormous traumas. Trauma that was not allowed to be discussed, disappeared under the rug and was passed on from parent to child, consciously or unconsciously.
I recognize myself in this, I didn't dare to talk about my traumas and so problems continued to disappear under the carpet, traditionally. It was so bad that I was convinced that I would be a burden to family and friends. Because of shame I did not dare to restore the diluted contact with family and friends, I avoided all contact. This changed when I was told in 2020 during the lockdown that the health of my grandfather, my Oyang's eldest son, was deteriorating. With nodding knees I came back to my family after years. The door was opened and I was welcomed with open arms. It felt like coming home. I felt the togetherness, we ate together, sang lagu² and the warmth and love was everywhere. Tears of happiness streamed down my cheeks on the car ride home that night. This felt like step 1 in my recovery.
I then started to delve even more into the history, only this time much more focused on my own family. I felt connected to my ancestors and their life course. I've asked my aunts and uncles questions, dug through the national archives, and gone through old photo albums. I only saw snapshots and documentation of their lives. I got the feeling that as a granddaughter I was given the task of breaking through old patterns, learned behavior and other (silent) sadness. Where my ancestors often chose not to air their dirty laundry, I went to talk to complete strangers about my problems.
When I asked for help, the municipality rightly asked the question why? But I experienced this question as offensive. I sometimes said “what is that to you” or “why the f8ck do you need to know”. My reaction was quite spicy and that must have partly to do with my own anger. On the other hand, it is a perfect example of how poor the understanding is of the aid agencies I had to turn to. Everything turned out to work against me and I missed and still miss the humanity in this world. I very consciously say the world and not the agency, because at the end of the day it is a person who helps me. Not wanting to look further and interpreting rules as if every person is the same appears to be a major obstacle. I noticed that my “why” became a critical part of my recovery. The authorities that asked this why question naturally had to know in which box I had to be in order to get the right help. But because of my PTSD and the way these people communicate, I couldn't do this alone or vouch for myself.
Yet I often went to appointments alone, because I was still ashamed of my situation. I was not taken seriously and went from pillar to post and from wall back to pillar. I fell between two stools and didn't fit in one box but in several. Because I live together and the "joint" income is above the norm, I miss out on special assistance, I am not entitled to supplements and I was, for example, coolly told by the municipality that I only had to borrow money from family or friends if I wanted to exercise to get better. Right in those words and right in the callous empathyless tone you're probably hearing right now in your head.
My pride, independence and self-determination were ravaged. Now I am playing openly about my situation and clashes with agencies that existed 2 years before the lockdown. I now live on a WIA benefit and can only just pay my fixed costs. Because of this system I was excluded from society, I was forced to say goodbye to my super cool phone, Netflix, Spotify, Pathé and fitness subscriptions. I used to go to Starbucks regularly for coffee and could occasionally shop and get something nice for myself. am i missing it? Yes, I sometimes miss the space and freedom, but absolutely not the burdens. The real question is do I need it? To which my answer now is, No. I do think there are better and healthier ways than social isolation, and that my recovery should not be made more difficult than it already is.
It was therefore not easy to make these choices, but I am still grateful that it turned out that way. If, like me, you find this topic difficult to discuss with your family, friends, or anyone else. Don't worry, every municipality has agencies / foundations where social miracle workers want to help you with love. You just have to persevere and keep looking until you find the right person. A real person and not a robot who can only read lines of text 😉
Ik heb geen zicht op de toekomst maar ik heb wel hoop, een stille kracht. Ik kan de stille kracht nu omschrijven alsof de voorouders mij begeleiden en de krijger in mij aanwakkeren. Ik hoor ze schreeuwen:
“APA DATANG DARI MUKA, DJANGAN UNDURÉ!"
Because no matter what comes my way, I will persevere.
The most important life lesson from all of this is that I have taken responsibility for my life. I decide what my life looks like and with this responsibility comes a little bit of freedom.
Freedom that my ancestors fought hard for!
Betty
Insured you know