celebrate the (blank) yet to come

A week ago I was on the beach attending a retreat. It was the end of a week of yoga, meditation, walking, healthy food, massages, working out, bare feet, sharing, honesty, acceptance, sleep, tequila, playing in the waves, and being around inspiring people.

I had this planned for about a year and it came at the perfect time. (Well, it would have been more perfect if it had come a week earlier before I pissed off someone I care about, but that’s another story for another time.) I was disappointed in myself. I felt stupid. I had made dumb choices when I knew better. I relearned lessons…again. I was desperate to not have been so damn foolish. I needed a retreat. I needed TO retreat. I waved the white flag at my life and my crazy mind then threw some bikinis, my “ No Shoes Nation” cap, and my yoga mat in a bag and got on a plane.

It did the trick. I headed home ready to take on the world…and my mind. A scratched, itchy toe my only ailment.

But by the time I got back to reality I had started biting my nails, my scalp itched from stress-induced psoriasis, and I had a desire to binge. My self-punishing coping mechanisms were still intact.

I thought I needed to just rest my sore had-been-walking-on-sand ankle. But it still bothers me more than a week later.

The next morning I couldn’t bite down because my jaw hurt from grinding my teeth.

By that evening I felt bursitis pain.

A couple of days later the sore throat and runny nose began.

Then the cough and congestion.

Followed by a rash.

Within a day my mind had reverted. So within a week my whole body was revolting.

It was quite quickly obvious I need to change my life and myself. But moving to Mexico and living in a rustic casita while someone makes me gourmet food and I walk on the beach isn’t a realistic option right now.

I gave myself a day of rest. Which became a forced week of what felt like punishment. I hear myself loud and clear. (I mean I DO tend to go over the top in my efforts to be understood by others. I guess I’m the same when it’s just me listening.) So now I am figuring out how to have that beach brain and body–I’m not referring to one that looks “good” in a bikini–no matter the weather nor surroundings. And how to change where I am and what I do to rise so my body doesn’t revolt.

In my life I have only felt completely comfortable with two people: my father and my ex-husband.

People scare me. The first panic attack I remember was in my kindergarten classroom. My mother has so many of stories of my fits when she tried to take me places: gymnastics class, to see Santa Claus, eating at a restaurant. I either was a total brat or just shy, depending upon whom you asked. But I wasn’t really; at the least I was completely uncomfortable and at the most I was uncontrollably terrified. No one understood. And I couldn’t express why.

My social phobia was debilitating when I was a kid. So many plans ruined because I couldn’t make myself leave the house, go out in public, nor even visit a friend. And the phone? That was at least as bad as talking to someone in person.

My father spent hours rehearsing with me, planning what to say in a given situation. We’d sit in kitchen chairs, holding our hands to our heads pretending they were phones while having possible conversations. It was the only way I could make a call. Sometimes even that wasn’t enough.

I was “sick” for so many parties and outings while I was growing up. My version of sick was having a panic attack, refusing to leave the house while my mom got pissed and my dad begged/pleaded/threatened. Until then one of them would finally be forced to call and cancel plans. My ex-husband actually took over this horrible, unfair job later.

Now it’s less debilitating, but I am still scared to go out in public or to talk on the phone. I just have worked so hard for so long that I can usually make myself do it anyhow.  I never feel like I fit in. I almost always feel self-conscious. I so want to be liked that I try too hard. Which comes across as very unlikable.

I know. Because I often don’t like myself. I don’t like being this way; I don’t like being scared and feeling foolish. I want to be fun and serene and easygoing and light hearted. But then sometimes I wonder, “Who do you think you are to deserve to be those things?!”  You know when I said I’ve only felt completely comfortable with two people? I wasn’t accidentally forgetting myself.

I’m still working on being comfortable with me.