It seemed fun a week ago.
“Dress: Festive feel!”
In the RSVP comment box, I wrote, “I can’t wait to see your home!” That's what I meant.
But now, on the morning of the holiday party, I'm feeling nauseous, lightheaded, grumpy, tired, and restless.
Groaning in unspecified pain, I slouched toward the kitchen. I like to keep my coffee black so I can absorb the caffeine before throwing up.
This happens. Maybe while I was sleeping my brain told my body what was planned for that night and they didn't like it. This physical pain discourages my brain from participating in rapidly approaching social events.
When I started treating my social anxiety with both prescription and illegal drugs, parties meant thrilling anticipation. Who will you meet? What kind of drugs might they have? And what kind of adventure will it lead to?
However, my behavior under the influence became increasingly erratic, and my social gatherings became more erratic.
For a while, I didn't get invited to anything.
Photo: Alexander Dummer/Pexels
Social anxiety affects many people.
A large portion of Americans (19 percentaccording to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America, September 2023), have some form of anxiety disorder.
Research shows coronavirus-related isolation is to blame Anxiety increased nationwide.
Before the pandemic, during the pandemic, and after the pandemic, I was a mess. Now I have been sober for 3 years and am working on it emotionally.
I minimize my use of anti-anxiety medications, which can be habit-forming, but utilize cognitive behavioral therapy tools, such as exposure, to address my fear of social gatherings.
At this stage in my life, I liken attending parties to practicing hormesis. hormesis stress This is a good variety that, when applied in manageable stages, can build strength and tolerance to discomfort over time. It's like gradually increasing your running time or gradually increasing the weight of your barbell.
I can't take that nervous breakdown anymore me as I am.
Me too, nownewly free from years of substance abuse and denial of proper mental health care.
But over time, I aim to be someone who thrives at social events, dominates the room with grace and confidence, and doesn't bark beforehand.
I envision my future self as a strong, stylish, charismatic, mature woman who absorbs and radiates goodwill and positive vibes.
But getting closer to that ideal requires specialized training.
When preparing for a marathon, my practice sessions may be terrifying, excruciating, informative, inspiring, encouraging, or demoralizing. A single training session can reveal weaknesses, build confidence, or even cause an injury that requires a few days of rest. Each comes with a level of risk and probability.
Yes, social gatherings are like training for me. Admitting that might reveal how much I don't enjoy attending parties these days.
But this is how we change.
The emcee for tonight's soirée is an emergency room doctor, a black belt who teaches my karate class, and a true badass. She wants to be her friend.
As I sip the bitter and lukewarm java, my mind goes into overdrive.
I'm going to buy some flowers at the farmer's market downstairs and bring a bouquet to the party. Snapdragons, zinnias and marigolds have a very pleasant aroma. After work, I go for a jog, take a shower, scrub, apply lots of lotion, put on makeup, and blow dry my hair.
I'll wear that new-ish dress. Or no. Maybe vegan leather pants with a silk top. I'm sure you'll look fine. Anyway, it's in the mirror. In the proper light.
But someone takes a photo. Hmm. However, the photo proves that I attended the event. Perhaps they can capture me at a good angle from a distance or from under a very bright lamp. You can expect it.
A few weeks ago, I made the terrible mistake of looking at photos of an event when it was still in progress. I was surprised. Is Christopher Walken here? I wondered before realizing it was me.
And then the coffee came back.
Throughout the day, I play little mental tricks on myself to help me get through the discomfort.
For accountability, I tell my friends I'm going to a party.
“Who’s at the party?” I ask my running buddy Paul, in disbelief. “You don’t know her girlfriend,” I said. “She comes from a karate background.”
When I joined a local marathon training group years ago, I arrived on time but had the habit of sitting in the car until a large group of 26.2 hopefuls departed. Then I jumped down and sprinted to catch up. Once everyone got used to the pace, we had no problem chatting non-stop.
One day, I happened to run into Paul, who was running a marathon in the 3:15 range, and he approached me.
“You can't stand socializing, can you?'' We've been friends ever since.
Promise yourself that you won't have to overstay your holiday party. If you buy flowers, wear a dress, look after yourself, drive to the location, or run errands, you can leave right away even if you don't feel well. If you succeed, you can bribe yourself and sleep tomorrow, buy new shoes and eat cake.
I give myself a pep talk. More precisely, read things that inspire confidence and self-esteem. Keep this quote from author John Irving handy for quick reference:
“If you don't feel like you might be humiliated, that you might lose control of everything, then what you're doing probably isn't that important.”
And this is what Joan Didion said to me:
“Self-respect is a discipline, a habit of mind that can never be imitated, but can be cultivated, trained, and tempered.”
“No matter how long we put it off, we end up lying alone in the notoriously uncomfortable beds of our own making,” the essayist added. Whether you sleep there or not depends, of course, on whether you respect yourself. ”
Because I'm nervous, I sometimes talk too much, too loudly, or say things I shouldn't, so I've created a quick list of common small talk questions for people I meet. doing.
“How long have you known your host?”
“What have you been watching, reading, or listening to lately?”
“How do you spend your holidays?”
“What are your travel plans for 2024?”
Being prepared will reduce your stress to a reasonable degree.
But tonight, I happen to discover a wonderfully effective way to crush my insecurities and become the life of the party. The secret is to do something very embarrassing right away.
Please stay out of the way.
Photo: Anastasia Shurayeva/Pexels
Enter the address into Google Maps at 8 o'clock.
They live in a vacation-decorated mansion in Dallas' affluent White Rock Lake area.
When you walk into their street, you immediately see the place. It's a vast Tudor-style building with twinkling lights surrounding a dozen windows. Through one of his, you can see guests walking around, smiling and laughing, plucking flutes of champagne and hors d'oeuvres from trays. Despite the crisp December weather, sweat accumulates at the hairline.
I breathe.
I park my Subaru on the street behind my Audi R8 and walk down the long driveway, distracted by its beauty. Before I could ring the doorbell, a cheerful, red-faced man opened the door and yelled, “Merry Christmas!”
He held my shoulders, took the flower, and inhaled it. “Bellissima!!”
He hurried away, taking in the scent of the plants. I follow sounds and smells from opposite directions, music and chatter, nutmeg and cinnamon. Looking around the crowd I didn't see the host or any other familiar faces, so I went to the bar. There, a young mixologist prepared me a not-strong drink with ginger ale and some bitters.
As I turned around, mocktail in hand, a well-dressed older couple raised their glasses and said “Cheers!” at the same time.
“cheers!”
After a quick introduction, they ask, “Do you live nearby?”
“No way,” I say. “But I live in a nice neighborhood called Oak Cliff, and I’ve been there for a few years, and I love the area, I love the lake…” I started rambling. It's my turn to ask a question.
“How long have you known Teresa?”
They exchange confused glances. “Teresa?”
“I own the house,” I said clearly with an exaggerated gesture. “Party host…”
“I've known Mel and Marcia since they moved to this area four years ago,'' the man said.
“Mel? But Teresa…Banks…” I start, and we all share a moment of confusion.
I think my wife and I realized that right away. Both of their mouths open and they each take a deep breath.
Mine says, “This isn’t the Bankseys…” but I know it before the thought is verbalized.
The woman started laughing.
“The Bankses' party is across the street,'' she said, placing a motherly hand on my arm.
I screamed, high pitched and breathless. “Oh my god!”
Adrenaline floods through my body. I placed my drink on the passing plate, said goodbye to my merry companions, and ran out the front door, laughing all the way back down the winding driveway.
“Haa. Ha. Ha!”
By the time I get into the actual house I've been invited to, I'm already over the hump. I feel dizzy. Or become hysterical. I feel good.
Teresa came here with my coat and said how happy she was that I was successful.
Other familiar faces flocked to greet me, and when I told them what had happened on the street, they all cracked up. The story of my mishap at the wrong party provides plenty of suspenseful entertainment.
I get home late, exhausted and satisfied, and sleep as peacefully as any high-strung sober party-goer.
On Saturday, Teresa Banks' Instagram was filled with photos from the party. I'll take a look. My face is there. It's still strange to see lines and dimples instead of the smooth, youthful beauty of past parties.
But my smile is genuine and reflects genuine joy and freedom.
A million times more than conventional beauty and eternal youth, more than mansions and luxury cars, I want them in the women in the photos. She works hard for it. she earns money
Christina Hughes Babb He has been a journalist for 15 years and has published thousands of articles in Dallas Advocate Magazine, Texas Monthly, Salon, Dallas Morning News, and more. Her essays have won national awards from the Long-form Journalism Association and the Mayborn Literary and Nonfiction Conference, and can be found on Medium.
This article was originally published at: Moderate. Reprinted with permission from the author.
