A somewhat jarring but often necessary start to the workday
Being on time is problematic. I’m good at time management once I’m at a place but getting there in a timely fashion is always a challenge – a challenge I usually don’t win. This is confusing to people who experience me as focused and efficient – it doesn’t seem to fit. Their reasoning is understandable. But getting there and being there are two different animals
Especially in the morning. No matter how early I set my alarm (which I usually don’t need to actually wake up the first time because I wake up before it goes off) or how many alarms I set (see above), the actual act of getting out of bed is hardly ever as easy as I expect it to be. Mornings when this early wake-up is 5 minutes are good, though. I can usually get through my morning routine generally as planned and make it out the door at a reasonable time.
The wake-up is a wild animal, though. Easily spooked and quick to lash out if it perceives threat, either real or imaginary.
If I wake up more than 15 minutes early, it’s usually in a panic. My brain somehow knows that time is wrong and immediately registers consciousness as a defense mechanism. It takes a while just to escape being practically immobilized by my consuming concern about what Very Important Thing I must be forgetting. So I either have a panic attack or shut down and fall back to sleep (which really? Just a lazy panic attack. It doesn’t always look the same), and it takes a few very annoying alarms to jolt me to action.
At this current moment, I recognize, as I’m sitting safely and cozily in my favorite coffee shop in the daylight as a light rain falls outside, that I’m never actually forgetting a very important thing. But my brain seldom seems to grasp that in the morning. It can’t. Anxiety won’t let it. Anxiety’s job is to keep me ever vigilant about the myriad of ways I could (and probably am going to) ruin everything. Anxiety is a liar but it sounds so reasonable when it speaks that it’s hard to remember what it really is. And it knows I’m not a morning person, so that’s when it likes to attack.
Anxiety is an asshole. And it’s the very worst kind of asshole – the kind that tells you that the horrible things it says are for your own good or because it knows what’s best for you. But it doesn’t know what’s best for me. It’s lying.
In the evening, anxiety is more social. I’m not just failing at my to-do list. I’m also a failure at relationships. Why else would everyone leave? If I dare to declare to anxiety that their choices are not about me at all, anxiety is quick to reply, “But wouldn’t they be – at least a little bit – if you were worth considering?” This anxiety is the meanest liar of all.
So social occasions, especially ones that are relatively new to me or are unique, standalone events, almost always start with convincing myself that it matters to anyone there whether or not I show up. Does my presence actually add anything to the situation? I honestly don’t know. This is one of the reasons it’s best if I go to events with another person. If someone is depending on me to accompany them, it’s so much easier to roll my eyes at anxiety and dismiss its taunts.
I have a few friends who recognize the times I show up late after I’ve gone a few rounds with anxiety. I may look calm but I am often still buzzing right below the surface. I’m always exhausted but I won. I may be compensating with cheerleader mode where I flit through and get right to my seat or desk or say something that I hope doesn’t sound super rehearsed (it is).
On particularly bad days, the residual tunnel vision may still be in place, making eye contact and small talk excruciating. The gift these friends give me is a few moments. Just enough of a pause to give my eyes time to drag up to theirs where I can see that they’re not mad or disappointed. They really are happy to see me. This feels good, and I’m grateful for it.
It makes me feel lucky.
I’m writing about making my own luck for 31 days. See the master list here.
M. Suzanne Terry 