Anxiety: A story about Christmas Cookies

I spent time with a gaggle of guy friends in High School. They were always at my house eating leftovers, (my parents are really good cooks), drinking Mountain Dew (my mom bought just for them), and watching cable. They were never boyfriends, maybe an unrequited crush or two. 

When you grow up chubby, with PTSD from early childhood trauma, and regular teenage anxiety you don't realize that these boys are at your house because they are your friends.  You think: "They come here because my mom always has junk food and Mountain Dew" "They come here because we have cable and my parents don't care if they say fuck" or "They come here and act like they are having fun and then leave and talk about you" 

One night when I was 16 and a senior in High School two of the guys who had graduated the year before (one that I could not believe was my friend because he was so handsome and smart, and the other I could not believe was my friend because he was so creative, mysterious, and kind) came over with a plate of Christmas Cookies and I hid in my bedroom. 

I was having a full anxiety attack and I could not face them. I did not have the energy to worry about what they were thinking about me, thank them for cookies, and wonder why I deserved this treat. I wanted to be invisible. I remember sitting on my bed crying hearing my mom tell them that I could not come out. I could hear the disappointment and questions in their voices. Two boys that I adored standing in my living room, a wall away from me, with a plate of cookies. 

I don't know if I ever talked to them about this night. I don't know what excuse or lie I may have made up on why I could not come to the door. I know I did not tell the truth, which was I couldn't. This was the first time I remember making a decision that was focused on my care and not the care of others. I needed to sit on my bed. I needed to breathe. I needed to be invisible. I needed to cry. This does not mean I did not feel guilt or pain as I heard my friends in the other room. But I did not get up. I did not betray my feelings. I sat. 

I was thinking about this story over the past couple of weeks as I was at my parents house for Christmas. I used to think that I would see those guys every year. That their families would live in the same town my family lived in forever. That we would all get together as adults. That's now how growing up works. 

I do wish that I had another night when my anxiety was not drowning me. When I could greet them at the door. When I could laugh and eat cookies that my friends made for me. That I could feel that warm belly feeling that the comfort and love of being with true friends gives you. That I could bask in the joy of being special enough to have cookies made just for me.

And, I will always be grateful for the winter night where I chose to honor my feelings. 

It would take years and hours of therapy to understand why I feel anxious often. It is a daily battle to remember that my anxiety can take time away from people I love, and can give me time to learn to love myself simultaneously. I am still learning to listen and untwist the lies that you tell yourself when you don't believe that you deserve the kindness you are being offered. When you don't feel worthy. When you can't get off your bed. 

So why this story tonight? I needed to be reminded that it's okay to sit. It's okay to stop and breathe and even disappoint someone, even if they brought you cookies. More importantly you deserve to be without obligation for a moment. Let's take our moment before anxiety requires us to. Let's find the kindness in sitting still and wrap ourselves up in it, and breathe, and wait. You have always been more important that a plate full of cookies. 

Oh and those friends came to your house because they liked you. They liked the leftovers, the cable, the Mountain Dew, and the ability to say fuck. But they also liked you and think you are kind and funny, and ridiculous in all the right ways.