To put this in context – I don’t go out much.
I go out with my boyfriend, and occasionally my best friend (she lives in another county), and very occasionally with my boyfriend’s family (my family live in Scotland). This is really hard to write as I know that people I have kept this from will be reading this, but here goes.
I avoid going out because I get really nervous. I get nervous to the point of feeling physically sick about it every day until the event, and then bottling it at the last moment because it’s all too much. The more important the event, the harder I try, the bigger the hurdle becomes. This has included every work’s Christmas meal for the last decade, my best friend’s wedding, well, everything really. The more I avoid, the harder it gets to go out, and the smaller the things that become insurmountable. It’s the classic vicious circle, and all my own doing. I am so ashamed at the excuses I have made up over the years. To everyone I have made excuses to, I am so so sorry.
It all seems to stem from a meal out with friends where I panicked, out of the blue. I became unbearably hot, and I couldn’t eat a thing. The more I tried to eat, the more I couldn’t do it, and the more obvious it became that my plate was still full. I felt so embarrassed. That night I had an enormous migraine, the worst in a very long time. Now, in hindsight, perhaps that is why I couldn’t eat, and I should have explained that I didn’t feel well instead of failing miserably at covering up, but I really didn’t know what was going on.
To cut a long story short, from then on I avoided meals out (in case the same thing happened), which in turn became any kind of going out, particularly anything with food involved. To make matters worse, I LOVE food, but I physically can’t eat when I’m anxious. I worry so much about what people think of me, what I look like, what I’ve said, it just makes a night in on the sofa look so much more appealing, and so the vicious circle goes on.
But, and this was a recent revelation to me, I actually enjoy going out and being with people. For years I’ve been telling myself that I prefer my own company, that I choose to stay in, which is much easier than facing the reality that to be happy I have to conquer this.
I think I’ve mentioned in a previous post that I struggle to tell the difference between events I want to attend, and events I don’t want to attend. I am so used to telling myself that I don’t want to attend anything that I’ve managed to convincingly fool myself. Apparently I need to go with my initial reaction – a quick flutter of excitement means I should go.
One of my dearest friends invited me to her leaving do, at a pub I hadn’t been to, with people I only knew a little bit, with FOOD. My initial reaction – I’d love to. I love this friend to pieces, and I wanted to do this to show her how much I care, and to show myself that I can do it.
A HUGE tick in the motivation box.
This is going to be a long post, so please bear with me while I write the next bit…