Frosty the Anxious Snowman -or- Jingle Bells, anxiety sucks, Robin laid an egg…
Much like Frosty anxiously trying to find the
right temperature so he doesn’t melt, I anxiously navigate through holidays
trying to avoid situations that will throw me into a panic attack.
I seriously despise holidays. (Though I suppose
Martin Luther King Jr. Day is okay. It doesn’t typically involve large family
gatherings.) You’re in a small space filled with a bunch of people. You’re
expected to contribute food and make small talk. You have to put on a happy
face and wear a mask so your family doesn’t see who you really are and judge
you… or is that just me?
Don’t get me wrong, I love my family. Most of
the time, once I get there and get settled in, I’m okay.
Most of the time.
The exceptions were holidays with my soon-to-be
ex-husband’s family. There are so many of them, and I never felt like I fit in.
I basically spent every holiday with them trying to be invisible.
The thing I hated most about holiday gatherings
at my ex’s grandparents’ house was trying to use the restroom. They lived in an
old farmhouse. The family would be packed into the living room, dining room,
and kitchen.
To give you an idea of how many people there are
in this family, there was a large table set up in the kitchen, one in the
dining room, another smaller table in the dining room, and a card table in the
living room… just so everyone had a place to eat. The problem with this layout
was that in order to get to the bathroom you had to squeeze around the people
sitting at the kitchen table to get to the other side of the room, and then had
to knock on the bathroom door, which stayed closed to keep the toddlers out of
the toilet water. That involved interacting with so many people… and because of
my social anxiety, I typically ended up just waiting until I got back home to go
to the bathroom.
Yes, I know it’s stupid to be afraid of asking
people to excuse me while I squeezed through and knocked on a bathroom door.
Anxiety does not make sense.
My worst experience there was the Thanksgiving
my ex was sick. He couldn’t go to his family’s Thanksgiving dinner, but my
mother-in-law still wanted me and the kids to be there. I was terrified. My son
has the same anxieties as me, so he stayed right with me the whole time.
I sat at the kitchen table when I got there.
Part of coping with my anxiety is finding a safe spot where I feel more
comfortable. I don’t leave that spot unless I absolutely have to. My son wanted
to sit with me during dinner, so I made extra sure that we kept our safe spot
at the table. When we started eating, though, my mother-in-law said the kitchen
table was for adults only. She made a big deal out of it and eventually got up
and moved my son to the dining room. As with so many Thanksgivings, I went to
the bathroom and cried. There wasn’t enough room for me to sit with my son in
the dining room. Not only was my seat in the kitchen my safe place, but he was
my safe person since I didn’t have my husband there to seek comfort in. I
wanted to grab the kids and run, but being rude would draw attention to
myself...and trigger my anxiety a different way.
Another awful Thanksgiving was this year when I
got into an argument with half of my mostly Republican family regarding
President Cheetoface McTwitter-Thumbs. I had settled into my safe spot and felt
mostly comfortable when someone pointed out my grandfather’s Trump bobble head
and asked what I thought of it. I typically have a strict “Don’t Engage in
Political Discussions with Family” rule, but on this particular day I’d
forgotten to take my medication and didn’t do a very good job of avoiding the
topic. I tried to play it off and just not say anything, but my grandfather
said “Oh, you don’t like that?” and kept asking questions until I was forced to
answer, no matter how much I tried to avoid the topic. It ended with me crying
in the bathroom, yet again.
Thanksgivings always seem to end that way.
Christmas is nerve-wracking for all the same
reasons, except you have the added anxiety of exchanging gifts. During white
elephant gift exchanges I never take a gift from someone else. That’s
terrifying. What if I upset them?!
I’m always worried about my children being happy
enough with what they get. This year is especially panic-inducing because it’s
my first Christmas as a single mother, so I can’t afford to get them as much as
usual. What if they realize Santa isn’t real because he’s suddenly not bringing
them as much as previous years?! Then there’s the fact that this will be my
first Christmas in a decade without my husband. What if I cry and scar the
children for life?
Basically, any holiday involving family
get-togethers reduces me to an anxious mess. My family thinks I’m weird, I know
they do. They think I’m weird because of the anxiety, because I’m atheist,
because I’m liberal, because I’ve been married three times and am working on my
third divorce. They don’t even have to say anything - my anxiety has
already said it for them.
So I go into every gathering imagining all the
things they’re judging me for and imagining all the ways I could possibly make
a fool of myself. I know, I shouldn’t care. But I do. Anxiety won’t let me not
care. It makes me vividly imagine every possible scenario, basically until I go
crazy.
But I keep hoping that, one day, with a lot of
work and help, I’ll be able to find the right temperature and wear my magic top
hat all through the holidays.
Spoilers...
Next time I'll talk about how anxiety has affected my relationships and possibly been at the root of multiple marriages... or the failings of those marriages...
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