Saturday, January 27, 2018

my crazy

I don’t know why the things that stress me out are so stressful. Everyday things that don’t bother most people send me right over the edge. And I can’t explain to you why. I’ve only recently been able to express that they do put a strain on me. It was so hard for the last 40 years to admit that the idea of bringing my car in for service or planning an event for someone or making particular phone calls  inspired days of hand-wringing anxiety.


Perhaps I can’t tell you why because there is no good reason. What I have been coming to grips with is that there doesn’t have to be a good reason. I feel the anxiety and I have to work through it.And sometimes, I just can’t. The anxiety exists, good reason or not.


The stress of driving a car that should have work done is somehow less than making
arrangements to have the work done. It doesn’t make sense. But does anxiety have to be somehow justified?


Doesn’t that, then, make it something other than anxiety?


And, what people don’t understand is that I can thrive in certain stressful situations and still falter in these mundane ones.


I go to a stressful job every day, often with a positive sense of anticipation. I prepare by reading, talking, assessing student work, and writing lesson plans, but I know going in that nothing will ever completely match my plan. I try to anticipate who will struggle with a certain concept or activity, I plan alternatives and “what ifs”, and still have to think on my feet to address my students’ needs in the moment. Several researchers have talked about the stress in professions where we have to make hundreds of little decisions every day, constantly assessing, choosing, and then reassessing.


But, that I am able to work in this stressful environment and make decisions doesn’t make buying, or not buying, Christmas presents any easier (Should I buy for this person? Oh no, how did I forget to buy for them? Will they like it? I’m not going to give it to them, they won’t like it. Am I overstepping my bounds? Did I misread the signals? I hate Christmas.)


But someone loves my crazy.


I know that loves comes with its own frustrations, and I won’t lie to myself that it’s easy living with me. Nor do I think that it gets me off the hook to try to work through my anxiety and participate as much as I can in our life of servicing cars and planning parties.


But it feels good to be accepted, warts and all.

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