This All Feels A Little Yikes To Me
Last weekend, Bill wasn’t going to be around, and I didn’t have much going on, which felt a little yikes to me going into it. I couldn’t help thinking I should be doing something. I should have plans. I should be busy and productive. Should…should…should…
And then I took a deep breath and life-coached my way through it until my brain had a clear understanding that I don’t have to have plans. There are a lot of times when I do, and having free time is a luxury, not a criticism.
Some of that ‘I must be out socializing” thinking comes from living where we live - in a master planned community where you’re supposed to be running from one group activity to another with your people - laughing, drinking wine, and immersed in friendship and fun. The other part of it comes from my insecurities and believing it’s weird and embarrassing to occasionally have an open dance card.
It’s like there’s a part of my brain that believes my worth as a person is tied to a busy schedule. (On a side note: Do you ever feel like you and your brain are two separate entities? Especially when it tries to make you believe some of the dumb shit it thinks?)
But here’s the thing. If both Bill and I were home all weekend, doing nothing, it wouldn’t feel weird or wrong. It would be like: We didn’t do shit all weekend. It was so chill. Oh, girl, that is so nice.
I enjoy being alone (not all the time like a reclusive weirdo, so don’t get the wrong idea). At the same time, I feel like society - or at least this place where I live - expects or pressures me to always be busy with some group activity. So, in that sense, I sometimes feel conflicted.
I did, however, get an invite from a few friends to join them for happy hour on Friday night, which was technically less of a drinking thing for me (I had one vodka and tonic because I’m a lightweight) and more of an eating spree. We ate at two different restaurants - appetizers at one and entrees and dessert at the other. I had zero complaints about that…until Monday morning when I deathmarched myself into Peggy’s body abuse class and half-assed my way through it while everyone else was jumping all over the place. There are always a few super-fit women in that class who do quadruple what we’re supposed to be doing and just COME ON NOW.
More than once during class, I wished for a cyanide pill so I could quickly put myself out of my misery. But once we finished, the torture was almost instantly forgotten, and I basked in the accomplishment. I hadn’t gone to that class since pre-sickness, which was before Christmas, and I struggled. But I did it!
And then I went home and spent the day alone scrubbing the house. You might think I’m crazy, but I enjoyed a day of solitary cleaning. It was oddly satisfying, and when I went to bed, I felt quadruply accomplished. I returned to body abuse class!! I’m almost healthy again!! My house is spotless!! I got 21,000 steps in one day, according to my FitBit!!
And then the demons crept in. I don’t have much going on this week, especially in the evenings, and there is a sense of loneliness thinking about it. I’m not good at reaching out to people and inviting them to places because of a crippling fear of rejection.
Maybe I just accept being alone to avoid feeling rejection? Maybe this whole fear of rejection and of being alone is what drives me to stay visible, write this blog, take photos, and post them all over social media, or else it will feel like I was never even there?
I do know that thought process is pretty freaking cowardly, and I don’t want to be cowardly. I want to be brave and bold. So maybe, just maybe, I’ll start reaching out to people more. But it’s scary. But..but…but…
All of that gets muddled in my mind, and, if I’m being honest, it’s something I've wrestled with since middle school but put minimal effort into fixing. Like I’ve accepted that it’s all part and parcel of who Danielle is. But it doesn’t have to be, of course. I’m capable of change.
What I do know is that I need to learn how to sink into a restful weekend without worrying that some unseen entity is shaking its head in pity at me, and I could really do a better job reaching out to people.
Life goals.
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