Jenny McDonald was part of a family of six missionaries and lived in cramped trailers growing up. She blames her unusual childhood for her anxiety.
Jenny McDonald
This as-told-to essay is based on a transcribed conversation with Jenny McDonald, who grew up in trailers and vans while her missionary family traveled throughout Central America. It has been edited for length and clarity.
After birth, most babies go home to a house, but my home was a trailer that doubled as a means of transport for my family and me. I was born a van lifer and had very little choice in the matter.
Two years before I was born, my parents became evangelicals. They quickly began missionary work in Central America and were constantly on the road, traveling through the seven countries. Eventually, I was born in Nicaragua.
It was just us three for a while, but within a few years, my parents had three more kids, and we became a missionary family of six. For several years in the '70s and '80s, we sailed through different towns, preaching to the locals and trying to convert as many people as we could — all while sharing the cramped spaces that trailers offered.
There were some pros to living that way — the unique travel experiences and having access to different cultures, for example — but the cons greatly outweighed the pros.
My parents tried to shield us from this reality, but there was only so much they could do. Several times, we had knvies and even guns pointed at us. You could never tell when things were about to go south, and we were always on high alert.
One of the most dangerous situations ensnared us during the Sandinista Revolution in Nicaragua in the '70s. A lot of fighting was going on, and hundreds of people were trying to evacuate the area. We were trying to escape, so my dad tried to drive us through a dry riverbed. Within a matter of minutes, Sandinista soldiers surrounded our vehicle with guns pointed at us. There was a lot of yelling and threats as they tried to steal all our stuff, including the trailer.
After we managed to escape, fear and uncertainty stayed with me.
My family never had a home base to fall back on. All we had was the cramped van and the offerings my parents took wherever they could. Everything was endlessly changing.
I exhausted a lot of emotional and mental energy trying to adjust to every new place we visited. Every country had its own culture; every city and every little town was different. It was wild attempting to adapt to all these situations while trying to be on my best behavior, as my parents expected of me.
The lack of stability and a routine made me an anxious child. After I grew older and moved out on my own, a feeling of restlessness followed me. I expected it to go away after I got the home and stability I had always craved — but it persisted.
In my 20s, I settled into an apartment but constantly thought of ways to get out of it. I got a new job and was filled with the urge to quit. I was filled with the need to just do something. There was no rest.
I still feel that way sometimes, and after years of therapy, I'm now to the point where I'm like: I have a home, and I can live here as long as I want. I'm still wrapping my head around it.
Besides having trouble switching from culture to culture, the constant moving around meant that I did not get a lot of chances to make friends. This and the strict discipline from my parents meant I was not properly socialized.
Our mother homeschooled my siblings and me. It was kind of hit-and-miss education, but my mom instilled a solid base of grammar and English in us. Because of safety concerns, my parents didn't want me or my sister to go outside much, so we never learned Spanish fluently. This language barrier played a part in my inability to make friends.
I wanted to be brave and more outgoing, but I just couldn't. I also was wrapped in a tiny bubble, and I did not get a chance to just be a child and be around other kids. My father always said that children who were around their peers too much learned bad habits, how to rebel, and might see inappropriate TV shows.
As an adult, I still have trouble socializing and reading the room. I'm working on how to handle various peer situations at work, and I have only just mastered the art of small talk.
I truly am grateful I had the opportunity to visit so many places growing up. I had the chance to interact with Indigenous communities and even learned a few phrases in Mayan languages. The travel life also instilled in me a desire to see the world, which has motivated me to visit dozens of countries.
I've got mental-health issues because of my time traveling as a kid, but I've gotten therapy and a good psychiatrist. My healing journey has been amazing, and I'm finally starting to get to know myself as a person, outside the expectations that were put on me. That has been awesome, and I couldn't be happier.
