Success or Failure Defined

I have spent a year and a half at my current job. I experienced a period of extreme anxiety at the start. It has calmed down quite a bit but still leaves me exhausted and dissatisfied. Since starting this job I haven’t had the energy I used to have. Excitement has suffered. I don’t remember the last time I read a proper novel or done actual research, two things that were my bread and butter in the past. Art making has suffered. Cleaning and baking on the weekends have suffered. Trips to the bookstore have suffered. Going to the gym has gone from 4 times a week or more to 2 times a week. There was a period of time I became hyper focused on the litter box habits of my cat, clearly differed anxiety from work stressors. If she is not regular I still get nervous. I had never had panic attacks prior to starting this job, even at my most stressed. I had never had panic attacks. But things are starting to calm now. I am still dissatisfied overall. There are many things I am missing that I had in my previous job. Socialization, team work, coworkers I could trust to a greater extent, a sense of commonality, excitement, art making, humanity…using art making to work with clients.

What my outpatient position does offer is a greater variety of clients, a wider range of experience, but it is a community mental health setting, stressed, trying to do the best we can to meet the mental health needs of a suffering population. It is quite a bit more wearying seeing client after client back to back. There is not the time to process these interactions. And I think another problem I am not quite used to is that at my previous job I was used to doing more case work type duties. It is not a possibility to do that in an outpatient setting. I do quite enjoy many of my clients and would miss talking to them.

I am considering what it would be like to go back to where I used to work. A concern I have is that I would be seen as a failure. A previous coworker left and came back to the facility and there was always this sense that she was unable to handle the outpatient drug and alcohol setting she had gone to. But she was overwhelmed with drug and alcohol patients who varied in their investment in treatment. Her case load was something crushing. I don’t want to be in the same position. I can do this work but life outside of work, enjoyment of the work, has seriously suffered. I am left with the question of “why?” The boss I left was right: there were other benefits to working at the facility besides pay. I still firmly believe the pay should be more regardless of the quality of life benefits.

I miss the camaraderie. I don’t feel like I fit in in this outpatient setting. I didn’t really feel like I 100% belonged at my previous job either. There were pairs and groupings among the coworkers. I always felt just outside the sense of belonging. At least there there was more friendship to where I could at least pretend to belong…

I hesitate to see myself as a failure in the outpatient setting and I do not want others to see me that way. What am I trying to prove and to whom? I do not think there is any shame in finding a setting in which I am better suited both in supporting clients and the life I want to create, whatever that may be. I do not like to think there is any shame in saying I do not like this or this is too much for me. And yet the expectations of others or my perceived expectations others have of me, hover on the edge and nag at me. Now that I am licensed and board certified I need to define what I want personally and professionally. Up until a year and a half ago my life and education has been geared towards preparing for and working towards a goal. Now what?

They are asking for me back. Why? Do I really have anything to offer or are they hoping to take advantage of my dissatisfaction. Are they trying to bring me back because they can take advantage of my desperation to prove my ability and identity as a therapist, my usefulness. My worthiness. And yet there is a part of me that says “They chose me. I am not a failure. I don’t have to go back. They chose me.”

The Future: Changing Jobs

Of course, the extra money excites me. Money to prepare for the future. Money to take on even more responsibility for my bills. Money for a future house. But even that comes with a little fear. What if I lose it all?

The potential for new experiences excites me though still I doubt I will ever be a great therapist. My social deficits are too strange for that. I live in my head and I am frequently lonely. I am without a confidant and now that I am moving out of an environment where I have some comfort with my coworkers, I won’t even have that socialization, at least for a while yet. But each experience gives me more to write about, think about, integrate, and learn from; all from my isolated, somewhat distanced, perspective of course.

I hope the extra money will give me more freedom to travel. But because I am new, I will be a slave to the company for a while.

I was comfortable at the LTSR (Long term structured residence). Frustrated sometimes. Tired sometimes. A feeling of futility, often. But comfortable. Money wasn’t great, but manageable. Money was pitiful, in fact, but I was comfortable. And maybe that is part of the reason why I had to leave. I need to grow, to learn, to expand beyond the comfortable and the futile. But I regret never really feeling effective, integrated. We, I, knew what role “M” played, how essential “AM” and “J” are, how useful “AS” was, but what purpose did I have? I tried to stay out of the way when I could, tried to be helpful when I could, tried not to cause any problems. Debated and discussed things with Boss-lady. I turned my mind to reading, research, and investigation. I hunted down information and tried to make sense of client histories and experiences. My flaw – though a strength in other areas- is that sometimes I am somewhat calculated, distanced, and analytical, possibly cold, about it. Later, later, I will be warmer about it, more human about it. It is then that I can shed a tear of empathy or frustration.

But this was supposed to be about what excites me. What excites me about the future is hopefully creating that future. I have written about this before: making my identity less about my career, less about the grindstone I keep my nose to, and more about who I am, how I want to live, what I enjoy and cherish outside of work. What excites me is the potential – the struggle I’ve often faced- for making my self-worth independent from what I do or don’t do or can’t do. My value is not how much I work, what I work at, how much money I make, or even how good I am or not good I am, at what I do for a living. If I truly embraced that though…how much could I expand into what actually gives me worth and value?

I’ve alternately seen myself two ways; crowded up into a library overflowing with books and papers and an oversized wooden desk with a cup of stale coffee that has been there for God knows how long. Wooden bookshelves. Windows with the light streaming in to highlight dust motes and the steam from a fresh cup of coffee leaving a ring on the desk. Papers that haven’t been attended to because I have been too busy reading and writing and researching. The faint smell of cherry over everything.

Then alternately, I see myself in an old VW van migrating east and west across the country, stopping and writing or taking pictures, or just mucking around a diner or bookshop for a few months before moving on. Living along the coast where the trees are wind and sand and salt blasted, listening to sea gulls, getting crappy coffee. I’d bring home cool rocks or something obscure to give to my nieces or my younger brother and sister. I’d go north or south to some dusty town and make friends, see the stars at night, and sleep when I want. I’d go to Maine or Massachusetts to some small fishing village and gather rocks, fish, and whale bones. I’d go clamming and not care about how cold, wet, and miserable I was. People would wonder when I was going to settle down and get a real job. And all the time I’d be moving back and forth like the waves.

• 

Fitting for me this week

I took a few days off from work this week because I needed to work on myself. It has been stressful at work lately mostly because I am not sure how best to work with the current clients I have. They are who they are; I just don’t know how to help them sometimes. Honestly, I am not even sure I am cut out for the Serious Mental Illness population (SMI) anymore. So because of work stuff and professional stuff I have really had to look at my core beliefs while I’m off from work this week. I am also trying to answer the questions, “what do I really want professionally and personally? How do I create meaning for myself? How do I change my own core beliefs?”

I have this intense core belief. I always remember having it ’cause it’s kinda how I’ve centered my entire world. Let me tell you, it’s been exhausting. You know what a car sounds like when it is stuck in neutral and revs its engine? Kinda like that. My core belief goes towards worthiness. I have never known “inherent self-worth.” Self-worth has always been dependent on something, grades, socialization, not being too annoying, too needy, too lazy, whether or not Mom was happy…purpose, focus, effectiveness in professional life, etc. So given that my self-worth has always been dependent (in my perception) on external factors I have worked extremely hard (and yet still not hard enough…funny how that works) to “prove” my worthiness. It’s why I am anxious almost all of the time.

When I struggle so much to help my clients and it still not be effective I begin to question my suitability for…everything. I know, I know, I can’t change someone who doesn’t want to change or, in some cases, doesn’t recognize the need for change. I am recognizing the change I need in me. But how do I cultivate “inherent self-worth?” When I experience a really bad day, week, month, or year (cue Friends theme song), how do I change my mindset from “I fucking suck,” to “oh well tomorrow will be different and I still deserve all the good things in life?”

I noticed something else this week too. A friend of mine invited me to go to Pittsburgh with her one day this week. Instantly my emotional mind seized up with anxiety first, then a sense of wanting to withdraw, and a sense of dread. I could literally feel my body wanting to close in on itself, like the fetal position as far away from my phone as I could get without leaving the apartment. But I am also almost constantly wishing I had friends to do stuff with. It’s been so long since I had someone I could just talk to without having to worry whether I was talking too much, sharing too much, being annoying, needy… you see where this is going? Anyway I remembered the encouragement my therapist gave me back when I was still seeing her. “Reasonable risk taking” I also have to work on building my tolerance for the inevitable discomfort that most socialization causes in me.

Don’t anyone ever tell you therapists don’t have their own stuff they’re working on. We are by no means experts in the human condition. We are flawed individuals just like you are.

I’m not sure I’m done with this yet. Stay tuned.

Okay to Ask for

I’m writing this because someone said they wanted to know more about me…

I think about other people, a lot. I also think about myself, a lot. When I see something online that I think a friend or acquaintance would like I tag them in it or send it to them. Sometimes when I am out at a store I find myself thinking, “so-and-so would like this” and sometimes I have to talk myself out of getting it for them. Sometimes I wonder if I am trying too hard. Do I try too hard to fit in? Do I try too hard to be important? And then, do I not try hard enough to develop the relationships I sometimes find myself longing for? I always feel just on the edge of things, not really a part of things, not exactly wanted but not exactly not wanted either. There. Separate. No one really seeking me out, no one excited by my presence. I hesitate to make myself a part of things, to ask, “Can I come?” I try to figure out where I belong but then I wonder, “who gets to decide that?” And if I was a part of “things” would I be able to fully be in the moment? Would I be able to leave the role of vigilant, outsider, observer, and feel safe, embraced, present, outside of time?

I try to make myself a part of things but do it awkwardly, the way a third wheel does. I suppose that is why I feel badly for Peter Pettigrew in Harry Potter. He is slimy, simpering, but so desperate to be included, to be valued. You just know he never really fit in with James, Remus, and Sirius. And he was despised by Voldemort but had a purpose. A half life. Just like drinking unicorn blood. It’s sad and I feel sorry for him. I relate to Peter because he plays that outsider role.

I am not often thought of. When family tries, it is awkward and not accurate. “Misattuned” if you will. I remember once liking a teddy bear at a local vendor type show. I wasn’t dedicated to it by any means. I just commented that it was cute or pretty. Mom insisted on buying it for me and was more enthusiastic about it than I was. Now granted she was probably trying to do something she thought I would like as I so rarely expressed an interest or need she could meet.

Another time, the tv I had in my room, one I had brought to college with me, broke. I didn’t care much because I didn’t watch it and it was just taking up space at that time. It was just one of those old small tube tvs. Mom replaced it, bought me a new one, another small tube tv, for Christmas that year. I was mad, sad, and disappointed about that. But it seemed spoiled in the extreme for me to complain so I swallowed my disappointment.

Anyway, another point, I don’t always know what I want. I remember one year, the year before last I think, one of the Christmas gifts I was most excited about were the “Truly Yours” bath bombs I wanted. Then there was last year that Mom made me new microwavable rice bags to keep me warm. I don’t always know what will make me feel included, important, worthy of existing, worthy of my thoughts, feelings, preferences. I am tired of feeling wrong, like I have to justify myself, that I won’t be 100% accepted for myself in any relationship I am a part of, friendship, family, or romantic. I don’t even know how exactly to make that acceptance happen except for time and repeated reinforcement from myself and my relationships.

I remember one year wanting to go to The Melting Pot for my birthday but Mom and my sister couldn’t get reservations until like 7:30pm. I hate hate hate hate eating a big meal that late and I like my time to relax before bed. I hate being out late like that and do it only rarely or at least I did at the time. I complained but Mom insisted I be more flexible and was almost angry with me. Needless to say, I didn’t enjoy myself as much as I would have liked. I went to bed too late and too full.

Another birthday, in Chestertown, MD, at another restaurant, Mom insisted I order something more than I wanted…I ordered a Caprese Salad and didn’t see much else that excited me. When Mom insisted I order something more I ordered some pork dish.

Maybe it’s not so much or as much about not knowing what I want but what it is okay to ask for.

“If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” – Anne Lamott

100 Years to Live

I will be 37 years old at the end of the month, in 20 days exactly.  This morning I was sitting on my bed and wondering what I had to show for it.  When my mother was 37 she had a 9 year old (me) and an 8 year old (my sister), not that whether a woman has children or not is a measure of success.  But…I’ve never had a boyfriend or companion, just a fwb for a little while.  I haven’t had a really close friend since middle school.

It’s only been within the last 2-3 years where I’ve felt like I’ve made some progress professionally and financially.  Still I feel like a major fraud and compare myself constantly to therapists who are so much more competent than I am.  I feel like such a poser and a fake sometimes.  But on the other hand, I am managing my bills and think little of being able to pay them on time.  I have a near new car that I am paying for.  Haven’t set up a 401k yet but…

I am messy in the absent minded professor kind of way and at least I’ve sort of accepted that about myself.  I like being alone most of the time.  My brain is so active that I hardly miss it.  Until I do.  Since the pandemic, the most socialization I get is at work.  I still go to work and associate with some pretty smart, fun, and special coworkers.  And yet I feel separate, I’m the “oh yeah I forgot about her” kind of person in a friend group, the third wheel, the one no one really thinks about, and the one who doesn’t really make herself a part of things.  I am not a part of things.  Even when invited out somewhere I think it to death.  If it is not something I really want to do or see or experience I don’t go, even if it means connecting just for a little while with another person.  Even if I “should” go, it takes a lot for me to go…Once in a while I will make an impulsive decision to go.  I’m thinking of a Kentucky Derby Party at a bar I was invited to a few years ago.

At 37 what do I have?  At 37 I still feel like I am trying to figure out what life, relationships, and being a grown-up is.  At 37 I am still trying to figure out what I have to offer and who I might share it with.  More importantly, I am trying to figure out how to share it since I am so inept at relationships.

The Narrative

There are many life and cultural events that shape us individually and as a society.  One of the first events I clearly remember is the first Gulf War and joking with my Elementary aged friends about Saddam “Insane.”  We thought we were so clever.

Another more personal memory I have from around this time (or earlier, 5? 6?) is an afternoon where Mom is making snow peas in the kitchen.  Dad comes in from the backyard and he says something about not liking peas or not liking what we were having for dinner.  Somehow, I am old enough to know this and other things.  All of a sudden Mom is knocking the near boiling pot of water off of the stove.  The peas are flying.  She’s mad.  I hear her slam the front door.  I run to my room to grab my shoes.  In passing the kitchen I see Dad trying to pick up the spilt peas and I say something along the lines of “now see what you’ve done.”  I’m terrified she’ll leave.  I run out to the car and get in.  I don’t know whether she invites me in or whether I just open the door.  I ask her where she is going.  She says, “away.”  I ask if I can come.  Meanwhile, she is struggling to get the car started.  She’s too upset.  In a moment she gives up and we get out of the car.  This is the first time I can clearly remember this happening, taking responsibility for someone else’s emotions (needing to keep Mom happy), being terrified of Mom being mad and yet being aware that this has happened before, and that there are consequences to be afraid of to making Mom mad.  At the time, as a kid, I didn’t have the ability to make sense of this.

The next cultural event I really remember being impacted by was the Columbine High School shootings.  I remember feeling empathy for the shooters as much as the victims.  I remember this as the year my high school had so many bomb threats that we started speculating on what period of the day we’d be forced out of the building.  I remember the bomb threats all but stopping after Columbine.

I see Columbine as my first awakening.  It was my first, though not my last, experience of collective confusion, shock, empathy, sympathy, then righteous anger.  I think it was my first real encounter with curiosity about the mental health of others.

Of course I was aware of the Oklahoma City bombing, how could I not be?  But I was 10 at the time; the perpetrator, an adult, a bad man.  Columbine was committed by teenagers, on teenagers, the same as I was.

My true loss of innocence came on 9/11.  I was 18.  I was in Western Pennsylvania for school, my first year of college.  I was home for the day.  It was Tuesday and I only had classes on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.  I was half watching The Today Show, wrapped in a red and blue quilt my grandmother made me.  I saw the planes hit.  I saw the news as the day unfolded.  And when we heard the news of the plane crashing in a field just across the county from us, I saw my Uncle put his revolver on the dining room table.  This, and the following days, weeks, and months, were my second experience with collective confusion, shock, empathy, sympathy, and righteous anger.  This was a period of time I feel truly altered my consciousness forever.

As a country we didn’t know how to react.  We were united in our anger.  We were united in our care and concern for our fellow countrymen and women, those who were like us anyway.  On order to regain some sense of control and feelings of safety we lashed out at those different from ourselves, especially if you were Middle Eastern.

Eventually a new normal returned and I’d like to think many of us were more inclusive, more neighborly, less aggressively anti-other.  I think of the shooting at the Pittsburgh synagogue not too long ago…and the violence against mosques.  I have seen members of different faiths stand guard so that others can worship in peace. This is as it should be.

Now we face a new kind of threat and I worry about the narrative that is being created as we are in the middle of all of this.  There are those that are clamoring for the economy to reopen.  There are those desperate for jobs.  If only the economic systems put in place after The Great Depression still worked efficiently…but no.  We’ve gotten too complacent to worry overmuch about the least of us.  Programs intended for the greater good have been defunded and labeled as “wasteful spending.”  I worry about what this is doing to us as a society.  I worry that we will revert back to suspicion, isolation, and every man for himself policies.

I worry that concentrating on the negative will inure us from the good, positive, and altruistic parts of ourselves.  Will we become hyper-vigilant to threats to our security?  Will we be less likely to extend ourselves?  Will stocking and hoarding and isolating become our new normal?  Will our essential social connections become wired in our collective unconscious as a threat?  Is the an entirely new kind of loss of innocence?

You see 9/11 was an immediate and drastic event.  This pandemic and the narrative created by the media and those visible representations of mores and memes, is ongoing and more unpredictable in many ways, and certainly much more elusive.  It is something we are fighting on multiple fronts and we are not even all that sure we are fighting well. It is as if we are shadow boxing with ghosts.

There is nothing decisive or even anything much that gives the illusion of decisiveness;  That is where the long term effects of change come in.  There is nothing yet to allow us to build consistent meaning around because meaning changes from day to day, week to week, with many of us just trying to get by, to survive.  So my question is, what will all of this mean in the end and how do we go about finding the answer?

hearts have all things

On my way to the gym this morning “Angel” by Sarah McLachlan was first up on my playlist and I thought of my step-mother.  I thought of the abruptness of her illness and death.  I thought of all the lives she impacted.  I thought of Dad struggling to be a single parent.  My heart hurts for them…

I think my PMS is making me more emotional this weekend…

The next song on my playlist was “One Sweet Day” by Mariah Carey.  It not only made me think of my step-mother but about the conversation I had with my Supervisor during Supervision yesterday. (22 hours to go!)  I told my Supervisor that I always compare myself to “K” and “M” and how intense they are.  My Supervisor said that my personality is different from theirs and what they offer might not always be what a client needs.  The same goes for me.  It is just an idea I’ve always found strange to get used to.  Personal and professional identities don’t have to be the same.  For a long time I have felt that if I wasn’t just like “K” I wasn’t a “real” therapist; I wasn’t a real Art Therapist.  I do wish I was more strongly and assertively psycho-analytic with the art though.  It, as usual, leaves me wondering what I have to offer.  What is my identity, personally and professionally?

There is still a part of me that is fearful.  But there is also a part of me that feels more personally and professionally developed since joining my current company almost two years ago.  I am happier.  And, at times, I feel I have the space to consider, “who am I?”  And it scares me, now that I have the time and the space to consider wonder, “who I really am?”  I’m 36 years old and really still wonder who I am as a person.  What do I like?  What am I good at?  Will I ever stop seeing myself as some mediocre forgettable?  How do I fill my time?  What makes me a person?  What do I value in myself and my time?  And, How do others see me?  I know they say it is not something we should consider, but observing those who attended my step-mother’s memorial service, I can’t help but wonder, “did she know how big a part of her community she was?”  I can now understand Tom Sawyer’s need to spy on his own premature funeral.

I can’t help but think how nearsighted we are- how nearsighted I am- when we lose sight of how much we are a part of others.  This is why, I think, I feel kinda sad when I feel disconnected from others, when it is not my office my coworkers chose to hang out in.

I really wish I knew my step-mother better.  I wish I had been more comfortable in her presence, and she in mine.  I wish I had made more of an effort to be a part of her community too.  It was hard, considering my sister and I were practically adults when my Dad remarried.

And so, what is my identity in my eyes and in the eyes of others?

To live free

I keep thinking about my performance review meeting.  It was on Wednesday and it went well.  Lots of praise.  But there were moments I felt awkward, less than, strange, not quite as socially in step.  When my boss made mention of the fact that or her observation that I can take criticism and “have the hard conversations” and that she noticed me “breathing through” a couple of these hard conversations, I felt uncomfortable, as if such an observable use of coping was weak or shameful.  She praised my becoming more conscious of my body language too, which when she first criticized it, months and months ago, irritated me to no end.

It really was a positive performance evaluation and I left work on Wednesday feeling really good until my mind had to pick out and nit pick any little thing it could turn into a negative.  Sometimes it’s like my mind really will not let me feel good about things.  It has to find something negative because if I feel happy, safe, and relaxed something bad will happen.  I’ll miss something; make a mistake that is or becomes a problem I’ll be value judged by either by myself or others.

Old patterns die hard.

But it was very true when at the end of my evaluation I told my boss I was very grateful for being at the facility and for everything I’ve learned.

Be Present

I went to my mother’s for Christmas.  My sister, brother-in-law, and nieces live not far from her.  I looked forward to the visit and time off from work for weeks.  While I am glad I went – it is good to get away for a while and I enjoy the intellectual conversations Mom and I have – I always have a sense of disconnection.  It’s like I’m there but I’m not.  I don’t really know how to describe it let alone what to call it.  It is like feeling, emotional connection, is muted, more often than not.  Sometimes it is like there is a glass pane between me and everyone else.  For example, I was present on Christmas eve with everyone eating and drinking and playing with the girls but was I really there?  Not really.  It is like I am stuck in the state of the observer, outside looking in.  I was able to appreciate how cute my younger niece is.  I was able to express appreciation for the various toys my nieces attempted to show me.  But did I really care?  Not really. (Except for how cute my niece is; she’s adorable.) And when she chose to sit on my lap…I was excited and happy.

I am nostalgic at times for the most mundane things.  I went on a couple of walks while at Mom’s, something I used to do quite frequently.  Where I walk there are a lot of pine trees and the pine trees always call to mind many memories, impressions, and feelings.  Strange things.  Remembering holidays and every days with Grandma.  Catching a whiff of the cold air brought to mind the occasional visits to hospitals towards the end of her life and walking out of the hospital catching the same cold air.  Memories of the pottery show Mom and I went to once.  Seaford maybe?  Memories of a cultural, history, exhibit at a local park one year on my birthday not too long before I moved to PA.  Trips to Carboro and Hillsboro.  Hot days at the timeshare in Florida.  Days when Mom was more active, healthier… The day after I got back to PA I was driving back from the gym and passed a Walgreens.  I had a nostalgic longing memory of Mom and I wandering the aisles of one, God knows how many years ago.  I can feel these things but in the moment?  It’s like I’m concentrating too hard.

And I always find it hard to really enjoy myself with Mom when she’s clearly not feeling well.  I know her health, her body, her discomfort, her responsibility to manage.  But I am hyperaware of every grimace, twitch, breathing irregularity.  Every outing it is like there is a timer set before Mom’s energy runs out, before her pain, nausea, visual disturbances, are just too much to bare and we have to go home.  I was the same way when I lived with her.  Every time she was up in the middle of the night, though she does her best not to disturb anyone, I was, I am aware and cannot relax.

Years ago when we would get together with my sister and her then boyfriend, now husband, we would spend hours upon hours upon hours with them during the holidays.  I would be ready to leave far far far before Mom would be.  My introversion meter would be dangerously low many times.  Now I am grateful for the fact that Mom’s ability to spend time doing pretty much anything is lower.  She used to spend hours upon hours upon hours doing yard work too and I hated being corralled into “helping.”  Then being made to feel ashamed for not being more willing.  Now it is easier to help knowing she won’t last as long as she used to.  Our energy levels are more equal which leads me to conclude or perhaps wonder whether Mom’s body is rebelling precisely because she never cut herself a break when she was younger.  She never allowed herself to rest and now her body is forcing her to.

But, my original problem…I was observing my sister, her husband, and her in-laws.  I was blown away by, baffled by, her connection to them, as if she has always been part of their family.  To see my sister and her husband work in harmony and discuss the mundanity of raising a family, I have trouble fathoming the connection, the emotional, physical, connection between them.  To seemingly trust and feel that trust and emotional connection, vulnerability with someone seems so foreign to me.  I do not know what it is like to be purely myself with another person without some part of me worrying about saying or doing the wrong thing, of being misunderstood.  And it is this I think that leads, at least in part, to my feelings of disconnection from people and events.  It is very rare that I ever really feel like I am a part of things, that I belong without question, that flaws and quirks aside I belong…Maybe there is some…thing about me that has never really allowed myself to be a part of things…Some part of me is the observer, constantly on alert.

And so, my goals for the new year are to be more present, more in the moment, to try and give up being on alert, to devote more time and energy to social relationships (I may not ever be as close to someone as I wish to be.), and to create a better sense of identity and worth outside of work.

In a world alone

So yesterday I was walking into a local chain restaurant and I ran into my neighbor from across the hall.  I said, “Hey! If I knew you were coming to the same place I would have given you a ride!”  He had walked.  I drove.  Obviously.  He thanked me and we chit chatted for a little bit.  His girlfriend is sick and I asked after her…anyway.  After a while he let me know that one of our other neighbors “has the hots for you.”  Nice?  I guess.  But I was seized with anxiety.  I kinda muttered, “well with work and supervision and everything…”  (There was once, years ago, some guy asked me out and I said, “I don’t know.  I’ll have to ask my Mom.  I was a grown adult…)  I don’t even know who this guy is, other than what his car looks like.  Leaving my apartment and coming home I simply don’t pay attention to that kind of thing.  I don’t notice who else is coming and going unless they are in my way or I am in theirs.  I might exchange pleasantries if I pass someone.  I behave the same way when I am in public as well.  Unless it is obvious, I am usually in my own little world.  This has made it difficult to make friends or establish relationships with people.  Yesterday, I was stuck wondering why my first reaction was to pull away as if I had encountered something dangerous.  I was anxious just contemplating interacting with this guy and I don’t even know who he is!

Wondering who this neighbor is that supposedly likes me, I think about my lack of closeness with anyone.  The amount of discomfort I feel fluctuates, but it makes it difficult to get close to anyone.  I think frequently of my therapist as I drive to work each morning.  Her office is not too far from my workplace.  I miss her.  I miss her because she is the person I’ve been the most honest with and even with her, there have been things I’ve been afraid to talk about.  Like my fear that I am really not cut out to be a therapist because I am stuck in my head (I don’t even know how to develop appropriate social relationships for goodness sake).  And somehow she or I would think less of myself because of it.

I overthink encounters with “friends.”  I even overthink my supervision meetings.  Living alone, with Piper, my cat, I at least don’t have to analyze every little thing.  At home I can do my own thing without constantly worrying about someone else.  Living with someone has a lot of emotional feedback for me.  (This actually makes a lot of sense.  When coworkers are upset at work and being toxic, I feel ill and have to leave the area.  When I lived at home my Mom’s emotions would frequently cause me to leave the house.  Library, bookstore, a walk…)  Living with someone is exhausting.  Even thinking about a friendship or a romantic relationship with this mysterious guy is anxiety producing….And I understand even better our residents’ (at work) default state of “I don’t know what I am supposed to do.”  I don’t know how to friend.

My head understands that in relationships there is no “supposed to” (besides human decency) and that there are two people being individuals together.  My heart is full of fear of being rejected, of my most essential fears, hopes, dreams, silliness, pettiness, flaws, being rejected and, worst of all, invalidated.  Heck, I’ve never really been in a “relationship” or had ongoing ebbing and flowing friendships.  I have people I am friendly with.  I have acquaintances.  There is no one I am really intimate…or perhaps vulnerable is a better word, with.  The last peer friendship I had, that I was closest to, was when I was a kid, a young teenager.

I am amazed at the level of objectivity I am able to maintain at work and yet I still feel others do it so much better…Every encounter is a mixture of analytical decision making and “I shouldna’ said/ did that. (To be read in Hagrid’s voice.)”  As a result I am not as smoothly intuitive as I’d like to be.  And after a day at work or a few hours with people, I am tired.

TL:DR  I don’t know how to make friends.  I miss my therapist.