Her face tells it all. The way her eyes narrow in at you pointed in accusations. Her brows follow suit creating an arrow that points directly inside you stripping away at any veiled privacy you thought you had. The lip is pursed to one side slightly downward. But the biggest tell is the nose, and the way it crinkles just ever so slightly. She feels no remorse, no fear, and just waits. Her face unchanged from the hardened glare.
I stand in awkward silence attempting to gather the words, but nothing arises to the surface. I can feel my face glowing warmer with each passing second of silence. I feel suddenly lightheaded and oddly embarrassed.
“Nooo?” I respond with too much inflection after what sounds like the third “o”. In a small flicker of courage or perhaps stupidity, “Why?” I add before I can change my mind.
“No reason.” She dismissively waves her hand as she walks past me.
I am left standing in the hallway frozen by the terrifying interaction and left to wallow in endless thoughts of my last unanswered question. My socially awkward self will be forced to focus on that crazed interaction for the rest of the day.
Petite (adj.)- Often thought of as a woman who is short, small, tiny, skinny, thin, dainty, and many other similar adjectives.
Petite. I hate that word. I do not consider myself petite. I am short, yes. I have small feet, small hands, and a young face (but that’s a whole other topic). But I am certainly not petite, at least by modern standards. Although petite technically just means someone who is shorter, it certainly comes with a connotation of being super skinny or dainty in today’s world. I have played sports all of my life and have the body to show for it. I am not fat, but I have the arms of a swimmer and the legs of a soccer player. I have hips and boobs to match.
The “petite” that everyone tries to label me as just doesn’t fit in my mind. It feels almost insulting like they are basing this decision off of my height alone. They are trying to force me into a box that I will simply never fit into.
As the bride or groom, I imagine it’s normal to feel a bit nervous before that walk down the aisle. All eyes are on you, and it is your day. But what about as a guest? It is only me? For some unknown reason, my anxiety can creep in just sitting on the sidelines.
The last wedding I went to, I had a short moment of panic where I felt the need to escape. I was sitting toward the front and in the middle of the chairs so leaving was not an option. A sudden pang of “I need to get out of here.” A few moments of an uncontrollable shaking leg to distract myself. And the all-consuming feeling of anxiety.
It was short-lived thankfully, but why should it have happened at all? Then again during the reception, my anxiety slowly creeped back in. Maybe it was the pressure to catch the bouquet. Maybe it was my boyfriend’s attention-grabbing moves on the dance floor. But once again, I found myself having to take a mental timeout to calm down.
Another Wedding, More Anxiety?
This weekend I went to another wedding in the San Francisco area, and I was all too aware that my anxiety might make another unwanted appearance. For fear of an attack, I dragged my boyfriend to the back of the chairs for the ceremony and made sure I was on the outermost one away from the aisle. An easy escape route as I saw it. Continue reading “Wedding Guest Anxiety”
On Wednesday, my worst fears were realized… well not entirely. I found myself escorting someone to the emergency room. For those of you that are not aware, anxiety and hospitals are not a good mix. I do my best to avoid anything medical. Just driving to the hospital, I could feel my heartbeat quicken and my mind beginning to wander.
Immediately, I told the nurses that “I don’t do hospitals.” How horrible I felt to be a source of anxiety rather than comfort for my boyfriend who was rocking in pain from a dislocated shoulder. My boyfriend is nice enough to try and calm me down, but my spirit crumbles at the thought of him having to be there for me once again.
The anticipation is the worst. It’s like sitting in a rollercoaster cart as it slowly creeps up that first hill. As the nurses buzzed around the emergency area, I found myself shaking my leg uncontrollably and specifically turning my head away from any sounds. My mind convinces me that the tray cart rolling down the hallway is actually a person being rolled in on a stretcher as a trail of blood falls behind them. Continue reading “Emergency Room Roller Coaster”