Anxiety sucks. It's frustrating and annoying and it doesn't make any sense. You know that, you understand that, but there it is.
This weekend, I drove a high school volleyball team to a tourney. I was at the bus lot 45 minutes before my pick up time to pre-trip the bus and headed out. Everyone was on the bus pretty quickly and we left the school right on time. In a car, the trip takes about three quarters of an hour, but on a school bus rocked out with a 58mph governor, we needed that extra quarter. After dropping the team off at the gym doors and giving the coach my cell number, I headed out to the edge of the parking lot.
Now, when I picked up my trip sheet from our trip coordinator the day before, I had asked if I was supposed to drop them off and then be back to pick them up. She said that I needed to stay for the day. I wanted to ask if it was ok to leave for a little bit to get something for lunch and then come back, but questions scare me. I could have called her and asked for clarification one I parked the bus. That would have made sense. I just can't seem to ask questions if there is any other option. I had already used up my stores of bravado by asking about leaving in the first place. Going for a follow up was just too much. I didn't want to look incompetent. I didn't want to seem like a bother. I didn't want to pester her. It was her day off. I could give you a dozen more reasons but the truth remains the same. I was scared.
There is no logical reason for this fear. I know that, but it's still there. Our trip coordinator is a super nice lady. I had to call her early in the morning on my last trip to ask a question and she was as cheerful as ever and even thanked me for checking in. There was absolutely no reason to be afraid.
Regardless, I sat on the bus all morning. I read most of the book I brought and I ate my snack. I wore a red shirt, to show support for the team I drove for, and I thought I might go in and watch some of the matches. I thought maybe I could grab lunch at the concession stand. I was hungry, bored and I really needed to pee, but I kept on reading just to stay on the bus. I had been sitting on the parked bus since eight. It was after one. I had quit drinking my water because I already had to pee and was hoping that the urge would pass. I thought maybe I'd wait until I got home, around five or six.
At this point, I was forced to admit to myself that I was afraid to get off the bus. I pride myself on being a good driver and I'm in charge on the bus. I know how things are supposed to work. I am in my comfort zone. I was hiding out in a gigantic, square, yellow, security blanket. Damn. :(
You would think that coming to this realization would have motivated me. Instead, it made me feel crappy and jump started the inertia. . . you know, an object on the bus tends to stay on the bus?
Thank God for my Dan. Dan was at McDonald's playplace with Livi. They were eating lunch and then he was going to read for an hour or so and give her a chance to play. He called to see how my trip was going and I shared with him my epiphany of cowardice. Dan reminded me of how Ash and Payton used to be afraid to talk to people. They would do anything together, but alone, neither of them would go up to the counter at McD's to order an ice cream or trade in their happy meal toy. We had to put them in situations where there was a greater incentive to talk to someone than to stay where they were. He told me that we, as a couple, are kind of out of the habit of talking to other people and we just have to learn again, like we taught the kids. I love how he joined me in my dysfunction so I didn't feel like such a weenie. My logical brain was convinced. I still wasn't sure it was enough to get me past my fear though, until Dan made me more uncomfortable staying on the bus than going inside.
He told me that if I didn't at least go in and use the restroom, I was going to be distracted while I was driving. He told me to go pee, grab some lunch and when I was back on the bus, I could call him if I wanted to. There are lots of reasons why I am blessed to have my Dan, and this was just one of those things . . . He understood me and my hangups well enough to help me in a practical way.
I got off the phone. I grabbed my cash, my phone and my bus key and headed inside. After I used the restroom and grabbed a couple hot dogs and a soda, I headed back out to the bus. I was halfway back, carrying my food, before I realized that I was half a step away from running and practically hyperventilating. I really needed to get back to my big, yellow blankie. I forced myself to slow down and breath a tad bit slower and deeper. I congratulated myself on facing my fears. I had talked to the folks at the concession stand and had a pleasant conversation about how the tourney was going. Next thing I knew, I was back on the bus, getting comfy so I could read some more and eat my lunch.
A big problem with anxiety is that it makes normal things seem way harder than normal. A really big problem with anxiety is that it's often best friends with depression. If you've ever had a chat with depression, you'll find that not only is he a bully, but he really enjoys a good game of King of the Hill. My teeny-weenie sense of accomplishment over going into a big, scary high school was just too much for him. There I was, standing on the molehill of pride when SLAM!! Depression knocked me right back down.
Seriously? Getting excited that you used the restroom and bought a hot dog? It's not like you overcame a REAL fear. What were you thinking? Loser! Get excited when you actually do something productive. Besides, if you weren't so screwed up, this would be a non-issue. You wouldn't even have gone if Dan hadn't held your mental little hand.
Not only did depression knock me back down my molehill to level ground, he also stomped me down in the mud on the other side so I was not even back to where I started when I was first stuck on the bus. It's so easy to look back at this and see how silly it was, but it is so scary and sad when you're stuck in the middle of it. My friend, Jenn, said to me, "Oh, no! You slimed yourself." I'd never thought of it that way, but it fits.
The fear of anxiety is a real fear. It may have started in your imagination or your chemical imbalance, but it doesn't matter how it got there once it crashed the party. Every little baby step to overcome that fear is a victory. It is worthy of your delight. It is one more reason for you to love yourself.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Help?
I don't like to ask for help. I can't honestly think of anyone I know who does. And, I wonder, is this ingrained in us as the messed up humans that we are? Or do we teach it to our kids WAY too early?
Payton is thirteen. He will struggle and fuss with a problem until he's ready to scream and almost in tears. Then he'll slam things around and stomp and cuss until he gets into trouble for his behavior. This reaction to frustration may very well have been learned . . . but we'll blame his dads for that. ;) Now, when I tell him to chill out and ask for help if he needs it, he refuses every time. But, finally, either when his brain is about to go super-nova or he's ready to curl up into a little ball and cry, he'll accept the help I've been trying to give him all along.
I don't get it. It makes no sense to me at all. It is completely illogical to turn away from the help that you know you need until you have jacked up your project almost past the point of redemption. Then we have to backtrack to repair the damage done before we can even move forward and finish the work. It's a lot more frustrating, it's harder work and it takes a lot longer
Once we are done, I'll say something wise and mom-ish, like, "Wouldn't it have been easier to just ask for help in the first place?" Usually he'll give me a sheepish grin and admit that, of course, mom was right. Sometimes he'll give me that ornery grin and say, "Nope. That would never have worked."
We have this conversation, not to reveal the great wisdom that is Mom, but in the hopes of teaching him a lesson that could make so many things in life easier for him. I know this. I'm a pretty smart momma, most days. So, when will I learn what I am trying to teach my son?
It's easy to see that we don't know all there is to know We know an athlete needs a coach. We also know the rules of basketball are far less complicated to figure out than the rules of life. Doesn't it logically follow that we will need other coaches? Of course! We get a doctor to help us stay healthy and teachers to expand our minds. We find a mechanic to fix our car. So why are there so many other areas of our lives in which we refuse, not just to ask for help, but to accept help that is freely offered?
For me, at least, there seem to be three big deterrents to asking for or accepting help.
1. I am ashamed.
2. I am afraid.
Not only do I have high expectations for myself, which I continually fail to live up to, you have high expectations for me, too -- or at least I think you do.
Our apartment is a perfect example. We live in a small, two bedroom apartment. I always say we live in the ghetto, although Lawrence doesn't really have a ghetto. It's just a part of town with cheap rent and a high rate of domestic disturbance. When we first moved here, my therapist asked me if I felt safe living here. I HAD, right up until she asked me that question. Anyway, as we have both a boy and a couple of girls, Payton has one room and the girls have the other room. Dan and I have our bed in the living room. I am a little embarrassed about our living situation, but the real reason I am ashamed and afraid is because, as the Fly Lady says, we are living with CHAOS. Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome. Most of my friends have never been inside our apartment and the ones who have been were only there because I couldn't think of a polite way to keep them out.
Our place is a mess. It's an obstacle course to walk through and it is, most likely, a fire hazard. It is depressing in its disarray. We can't put everything in its place because there are just not enough places for all of the things. On a good day, I can do a sink or two of dishes and pick up some trash. On a bad day, it makes me cry and leaves me feeling so overwhelmed that I curl up in bed, read, play games or do anything else to avoid seeing the mess. I know that cleaning and organizing will make me feel better, but I just can't make myself face it. This makes me feel guilty for being such a failure to my family. My kids don't have a problem with this mess and that bothers me, too. These are all the things that I feel are written on the walls for you to read when you come visit, so I won't invite you over --EVER.
I will never invite you over because you will see what I see. You will know I am not living up to the standards that I should. You will know that I am fat and lazy and a terrible mother. I can barely stand to see that when I look at myself in the mirror. I could never cope with your judgement and condemnation on top of my own.
Now, I would like to remind you that I DO know this is my perception and not reality. So far, no one who has come to our place has rolled their eyes, run screaming or refused to speak to me again. Knowing that these fears are unrealistic does not lessen them.
3. The final reason that I do not ask for help is that I do not want to be a burden. Taking the apartment as our example again, it is not an easy fix. If I asked you to help me clean and organize today, it wouldn't be done and I would still need help tomorrow. And the next day. And the next . . . At what point do you turn to me and say, "Clean up your own damn mess!?" How do I know when I'm about to ask for too much BEFORE I have already asked too much.
Besides that, who doesn't already have their own messes and struggles to deal with? You work your butt off to keep your house neat and organized, why would you want to help me deal with mine?
If I have this much trouble sharing my messy apartment with friends who I trust, is it really any wonder I struggle on so many other fronts? But really, where is that balance? How can I ask for help on these messes of life without feeling like I'm trying to pass off my burdens onto others? I know there are people who want to help me, but I would never want to make them feel as if I am taking advantage of them. With this thought in mind, I tend to err on the side of caution and just not ask at all. Besides, what if I ask for help now, but tomorrow I need help even more? Then I don't want to ask for MORE help, so I save up my asking until there is no other option. Does this make any sense, probably not. Have I clarified anything for myself or anyone else, I doubt it. Do I feel better for having verbalized this, sorta? Yeah, I do. Good enough. :)
Payton is thirteen. He will struggle and fuss with a problem until he's ready to scream and almost in tears. Then he'll slam things around and stomp and cuss until he gets into trouble for his behavior. This reaction to frustration may very well have been learned . . . but we'll blame his dads for that. ;) Now, when I tell him to chill out and ask for help if he needs it, he refuses every time. But, finally, either when his brain is about to go super-nova or he's ready to curl up into a little ball and cry, he'll accept the help I've been trying to give him all along.
I don't get it. It makes no sense to me at all. It is completely illogical to turn away from the help that you know you need until you have jacked up your project almost past the point of redemption. Then we have to backtrack to repair the damage done before we can even move forward and finish the work. It's a lot more frustrating, it's harder work and it takes a lot longer
Once we are done, I'll say something wise and mom-ish, like, "Wouldn't it have been easier to just ask for help in the first place?" Usually he'll give me a sheepish grin and admit that, of course, mom was right. Sometimes he'll give me that ornery grin and say, "Nope. That would never have worked."
We have this conversation, not to reveal the great wisdom that is Mom, but in the hopes of teaching him a lesson that could make so many things in life easier for him. I know this. I'm a pretty smart momma, most days. So, when will I learn what I am trying to teach my son?
It's easy to see that we don't know all there is to know We know an athlete needs a coach. We also know the rules of basketball are far less complicated to figure out than the rules of life. Doesn't it logically follow that we will need other coaches? Of course! We get a doctor to help us stay healthy and teachers to expand our minds. We find a mechanic to fix our car. So why are there so many other areas of our lives in which we refuse, not just to ask for help, but to accept help that is freely offered?
For me, at least, there seem to be three big deterrents to asking for or accepting help.
1. I am ashamed.
2. I am afraid.
Not only do I have high expectations for myself, which I continually fail to live up to, you have high expectations for me, too -- or at least I think you do.
Our apartment is a perfect example. We live in a small, two bedroom apartment. I always say we live in the ghetto, although Lawrence doesn't really have a ghetto. It's just a part of town with cheap rent and a high rate of domestic disturbance. When we first moved here, my therapist asked me if I felt safe living here. I HAD, right up until she asked me that question. Anyway, as we have both a boy and a couple of girls, Payton has one room and the girls have the other room. Dan and I have our bed in the living room. I am a little embarrassed about our living situation, but the real reason I am ashamed and afraid is because, as the Fly Lady says, we are living with CHAOS. Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome. Most of my friends have never been inside our apartment and the ones who have been were only there because I couldn't think of a polite way to keep them out.
Our place is a mess. It's an obstacle course to walk through and it is, most likely, a fire hazard. It is depressing in its disarray. We can't put everything in its place because there are just not enough places for all of the things. On a good day, I can do a sink or two of dishes and pick up some trash. On a bad day, it makes me cry and leaves me feeling so overwhelmed that I curl up in bed, read, play games or do anything else to avoid seeing the mess. I know that cleaning and organizing will make me feel better, but I just can't make myself face it. This makes me feel guilty for being such a failure to my family. My kids don't have a problem with this mess and that bothers me, too. These are all the things that I feel are written on the walls for you to read when you come visit, so I won't invite you over --EVER.
I will never invite you over because you will see what I see. You will know I am not living up to the standards that I should. You will know that I am fat and lazy and a terrible mother. I can barely stand to see that when I look at myself in the mirror. I could never cope with your judgement and condemnation on top of my own.
Now, I would like to remind you that I DO know this is my perception and not reality. So far, no one who has come to our place has rolled their eyes, run screaming or refused to speak to me again. Knowing that these fears are unrealistic does not lessen them.
3. The final reason that I do not ask for help is that I do not want to be a burden. Taking the apartment as our example again, it is not an easy fix. If I asked you to help me clean and organize today, it wouldn't be done and I would still need help tomorrow. And the next day. And the next . . . At what point do you turn to me and say, "Clean up your own damn mess!?" How do I know when I'm about to ask for too much BEFORE I have already asked too much.
Besides that, who doesn't already have their own messes and struggles to deal with? You work your butt off to keep your house neat and organized, why would you want to help me deal with mine?
If I have this much trouble sharing my messy apartment with friends who I trust, is it really any wonder I struggle on so many other fronts? But really, where is that balance? How can I ask for help on these messes of life without feeling like I'm trying to pass off my burdens onto others? I know there are people who want to help me, but I would never want to make them feel as if I am taking advantage of them. With this thought in mind, I tend to err on the side of caution and just not ask at all. Besides, what if I ask for help now, but tomorrow I need help even more? Then I don't want to ask for MORE help, so I save up my asking until there is no other option. Does this make any sense, probably not. Have I clarified anything for myself or anyone else, I doubt it. Do I feel better for having verbalized this, sorta? Yeah, I do. Good enough. :)
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Open and Honest?
Be open, don't hide your mess.
Make sure that every interaction is a positive experience for others
If I share my hardships, do I sound like a whiner or a downer?
How can I share without dragging others into my sadness?
I've been struggling with a lot of junk lately. No more junk than anyone else, really. I think we all have our own load of junk. For me, it's major depression combined with a financial drought. Our rent is behind, our car barely has brakes, it's the monthly juggle to keep all the utilities and the phones from being disconnected. We get a little in food stamps, but I just got a job and it might be just enough that we won't be eligible for food stamps anymore. We can't afford to put gas in the car and buy bus passes, but the buses don't run late enough to cover all the running we need to do. It's just a cycle of craziness that's very tiring with no end in sight and homelessness is looming over our shoulders.
It also seems that no matter what we do to try to resolve things, it's not helping. We try to set up a budget, but we suck at it. Every month seems to bring up new surprises. Dan started school to try to help us in the long run and I got a job to help cover the extra cost of that. Now, if we lose our food stamps we'll be back where we were to start with, if not further behind. And somehow, we are not able to pay all of the bills and the rent anymore and everything we are paying towards rent is actually late fees now and an eviction notice can't be too much further down the line.
I"m working really hard to not get sucked down into my depression, which is harder when circumstances are scarier, but even so, some days I do all right. Other days, I just can't seem to do it. So when someone asks me, "how are you?" I am getting stuck on the answer.
Obviously, there are plenty of folks who ask me that question and are looking for the, "I'm fine. How are you?" response. I can do that. But what about those friends who are asking because they honestly want to know? How do I answer without being a weight that works to drag them down into the depression right along with me? How do you contribute to your friends lives in a positive way when you can't get past the fear that tomorrow you'll get that eviction notice? Or next month you won't be able to feed your kids? Or that the brakes won't hold and we'll get into an accident and someone will be hurt?
I've been running this argument round and round in my poor, tired brain for a few weeks now. I'd love to give it up, but it's just stuck there. So when I went to church this morning, I was still stuck. Sure, there are some of the "I'm fine," folks here, who don't know me well enough to want to know my gory details and I don't know them well enough to feel safe opening up like that. Then one of my friends asked how I was and I said I was doing ok. That didn't really feel right, because it was a lie. I wasn't even doing ok at that very moment in time because everything was still swirling around on the inside. Still not knowing what else to say, I let it stand. But the next time someone asked, I just rolled my eyes and said "eh." He knew exactly what I meant by that. His life has been a little "eh" lately, too. We didn't get too far into the details for practicality's sake, but it was better. By the time the third person looked at me and said, "How are you doing?" I looked at her and told her the truth. I said things were rough. Not necessarily rougher than for anyone else, but not exactly looking good either. We just talked about our frustrations with each other a bit. The first friend, who I ok'd, called me on my untrue statement from earlier. She pointed out that I hadn't shared that with her and that I should have called her when I was having a rough time. She didn't guilt me, just made sure I have her number so I can call her next time.
Well, I finally have my answer. It's not that all of my troubles go away when I shared them, and I didn't dump them on unsuspecting victims. It didn't drag any of my friends down that I shared with them, it bugged them more when I didn't share. I wasn't asking for pity and I didn't cry to make people feel sorry for me. I can't say there wasn't a tear or two, there's not much I can about that. But I feel a whole lot lighter this afternoon than I have felt in weeks.
I know that this is not a quick fix. When things are rough, I'm still going to want to hide. I don't want to be depressing to those I care about and if I feel like the story never changes, I worry that others will feel the same way. I don't know why I instinctively want to run from the very people I should be running to, but I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in that either. At least knowing that my friends want the honest truth, no matter how ugly it gets, makes it easier to deal with things and easier to share them. I wonder how long it will take for this kind of honesty to become a habit?
Make sure that every interaction is a positive experience for others
If I share my hardships, do I sound like a whiner or a downer?
How can I share without dragging others into my sadness?
I've been struggling with a lot of junk lately. No more junk than anyone else, really. I think we all have our own load of junk. For me, it's major depression combined with a financial drought. Our rent is behind, our car barely has brakes, it's the monthly juggle to keep all the utilities and the phones from being disconnected. We get a little in food stamps, but I just got a job and it might be just enough that we won't be eligible for food stamps anymore. We can't afford to put gas in the car and buy bus passes, but the buses don't run late enough to cover all the running we need to do. It's just a cycle of craziness that's very tiring with no end in sight and homelessness is looming over our shoulders.
It also seems that no matter what we do to try to resolve things, it's not helping. We try to set up a budget, but we suck at it. Every month seems to bring up new surprises. Dan started school to try to help us in the long run and I got a job to help cover the extra cost of that. Now, if we lose our food stamps we'll be back where we were to start with, if not further behind. And somehow, we are not able to pay all of the bills and the rent anymore and everything we are paying towards rent is actually late fees now and an eviction notice can't be too much further down the line.
I"m working really hard to not get sucked down into my depression, which is harder when circumstances are scarier, but even so, some days I do all right. Other days, I just can't seem to do it. So when someone asks me, "how are you?" I am getting stuck on the answer.
Obviously, there are plenty of folks who ask me that question and are looking for the, "I'm fine. How are you?" response. I can do that. But what about those friends who are asking because they honestly want to know? How do I answer without being a weight that works to drag them down into the depression right along with me? How do you contribute to your friends lives in a positive way when you can't get past the fear that tomorrow you'll get that eviction notice? Or next month you won't be able to feed your kids? Or that the brakes won't hold and we'll get into an accident and someone will be hurt?
I've been running this argument round and round in my poor, tired brain for a few weeks now. I'd love to give it up, but it's just stuck there. So when I went to church this morning, I was still stuck. Sure, there are some of the "I'm fine," folks here, who don't know me well enough to want to know my gory details and I don't know them well enough to feel safe opening up like that. Then one of my friends asked how I was and I said I was doing ok. That didn't really feel right, because it was a lie. I wasn't even doing ok at that very moment in time because everything was still swirling around on the inside. Still not knowing what else to say, I let it stand. But the next time someone asked, I just rolled my eyes and said "eh." He knew exactly what I meant by that. His life has been a little "eh" lately, too. We didn't get too far into the details for practicality's sake, but it was better. By the time the third person looked at me and said, "How are you doing?" I looked at her and told her the truth. I said things were rough. Not necessarily rougher than for anyone else, but not exactly looking good either. We just talked about our frustrations with each other a bit. The first friend, who I ok'd, called me on my untrue statement from earlier. She pointed out that I hadn't shared that with her and that I should have called her when I was having a rough time. She didn't guilt me, just made sure I have her number so I can call her next time.
Well, I finally have my answer. It's not that all of my troubles go away when I shared them, and I didn't dump them on unsuspecting victims. It didn't drag any of my friends down that I shared with them, it bugged them more when I didn't share. I wasn't asking for pity and I didn't cry to make people feel sorry for me. I can't say there wasn't a tear or two, there's not much I can about that. But I feel a whole lot lighter this afternoon than I have felt in weeks.
I know that this is not a quick fix. When things are rough, I'm still going to want to hide. I don't want to be depressing to those I care about and if I feel like the story never changes, I worry that others will feel the same way. I don't know why I instinctively want to run from the very people I should be running to, but I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in that either. At least knowing that my friends want the honest truth, no matter how ugly it gets, makes it easier to deal with things and easier to share them. I wonder how long it will take for this kind of honesty to become a habit?
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