the body knows

walking into a refugee centre for the first time felt familiar. i had grown up in uganda and ethiopia, moving through intercultural spaces as a child without thinking twice about it. the languages, the food smells, the way people held themselves in unfamiliar situations: none of it was foreign to me. i felt at home in a way most of my dutch colleagues didn't.

the work began part time. within weeks i was hired permanently. my managers told me i was good at it, but whatever i did never felt like enough. more responsibility followed and i took it.

the first centre was filthy and residents had little purpose or structure. i set up cleaning rotas, organised repainting and tried to return some dignity to the space. colleagues said it would not work. it worked.

over the following years i moved through several centres. during the syrian refugee crisis i helped establish an emergency centre in a former prison. i stood in those corridors and tried to explain to people who had fled detention and violence why they were being asked to live there.

i kept going.

my body started reacting long before i was willing to stop. the migraines worsened. i gained weight. my stomach tightened on the way to work. i needed more recovery time after each shift. i was angry more often and couldn't settle.

the work could be difficult. people were carrying war trauma, family trauma and years of uncertainty. sometimes that came out as aggression, manipulation or distance. goodwill wasn't always enough.

i kept giving more because being useful never seemed to be enough.

eventually i noticed that their crying no longer affected me. stories that had once moved me passed through without leaving much behind. i'd watched colleagues reach that point and continue working. i knew what it meant.

i kept working too.

then i was on the hard cold floor of my apartment and couldn't get up.

i went back to work too soon. i minimised what had happened and returned still numb.

i could not keep living like that.

after the burnout, i went on an ayahuasca retreat in brazil. during one ceremony i saw my hands differently. they were buzzing and pulsing, almost as if they weren't solid. the image stayed with me.

some time later i came across an integrative massage course and signed up.

sports massage had come first. then holistic massage and holistic pulsing. the work was quiet. there was no need to fix anything or find the right words. i could stay with another person without taking responsibility for what they were carrying.

i left the netherlands eight years ago. i met shaun, left my job and apartment, and started again.

some things from that period are still there. my stomach tightens in crowds more easily than it used to. i need more distance from people than i once did.

the massage practice never really started again.

neither did social work.