It's not the alcohol

Funny that I finally put out there that I’d decided to stop drinking and then all of the sudden, boom, it hit me that it wasn’t the alcohol. That has never been the problem. Well, it’s been A problem in the past, but not in a long time. I stopped overserving myself when I became a mom. Suddenly, there was too much to lose. I couldn’t drink too much, black out and potentially do something I’d regret. Do something that would put my family at risk. Do something that cannot be undone. I’ve done those things before. Some of them I don’t even know about because of the loss of time from blacking out. Yes, I DID have a problem drinking too much for a time in my life. But that’s not why my panic attacks came.

I took The Class by Taryn Toomey this week and a clarity hit me so clearly and a light bulb was turned out. Instead of wondering why, I knew why. All in a single moment I was shown the reason.

“What are you holding on to? What have you been holding on to for FAR FAR too long?” That was, more or less, the question posed by Taryn in the last 1/3 of the class. I’d already been emotionally torn open, but this question allowed the flood waters to rush forth. Something about the music playing at the time, or the way she asked the question, or the way she repeated the question - it all aligned in that moment.

The first time she said it I thought I was holding on to guilt for working long hours when my first child was a baby. Guilt for not balancing life those first 4 years of his life (which included 1 year of my second child’s life). That was my first thought of what I was holding on to. But quickly a voice inside said, NO. That’s too easy. That’s not it. You’ve actually let that go.

The voice told me to dig deeper. Allow the truth to come. “What have you been holding on to for too long?”

Boom. A match was struck and the spark burst into a flame. It’s all related to moving. It all goes back to that lunch table and sitting all alone and not feeling like I fit in anywhere. That feeling of being alone. That desire to be liked. That desire to be seen and ACCEPTED for me. That want to be part of something else. That empty feeling that comes when you don’t belong.

My first panic attack happened the day we closed on our house in Macon. We drove down here to sign the papers for the closing and then I drove back up to Atlanta to go out to dinner with 4 of my closest friends from law school. Women I’d known for 10 years. Women who DID accept and love me. Women who were so important in my early career, my early days as a mom and every other facet of life. I was leaving them (well, the two that lived in Atlanta), to move to a town where I would know no one. Where I would be starting over…again. Where I would be the new kid on the block…again. Where I would potentially be sitting alone at the figurative lunch table…again. And it all came crashing down. Yet I have never made this connection. It seems so clear now. How have I missed this?

Since I realized the one panic attack wasn’t an isolated incident, I’ve tried to pinpoint the trigger for my attacks - to see a thread connecting them all - but have always come up empty. A huge weight has been lifted now having unearthed the why behind them. It all relates to unresolved issues (God I hate that phrase) from moving around often as a child and having to always reinvent myself and find my place over and over again. And those times when finding acceptance wasn’t a smooth path have shaped me. In many ways they’ve shaped me to be compassionate towards others, to invite them in to the circle and to not judge what I do not know.

But I now see that those formative years of feeling so alone have also put up a big armor around me. I don’t want to feel that despair or loneliness again. So I created a persona - I decided I didn’t care. Take me or leave me, this is me. I have lived out loud and put all my issues front and center so that I am in control of them. Someone can’t gossip about you if you’re beating them to it. Someone can’t exclude you if you already have your guard up saying, I don’t care if I’m not part of your clique. Someone can’t make you feel like an outcast if you decide you don’t want to belong in the first place.

But clearly there are holes in my armor. It’s been chipped away over time. Because the truth is, we all care (to a certain extent) what people think about us. We all WANT to be included, and accepted and liked. Not because we have transformed ourselves to be a cookie cutter image of what we think others want us to be. No we want to be accepted for who we are. Exactly as we are.

So I believe that when we moved to Macon it all came back. The fear of making friends and being accepted. And because I have so boldly proclaimed that I don’t care what people think about it, I’ve not been able to see the truth. I’ve always cared, because there was a time when I really was not liked. There was a time when I was so rejected and alone. And it fucking hurt. It was so very lonely. And so I have built up walls that I didn’t even know were there.

This is the clarity I gained this week. The why behind it all. It’s not done. The work is just beginning. I foresee a lot of healing ahead and possibly some walking back in time to make peace with the girl I was and the girl who walked around for many years after that move trying to find her place and her acceptance, which led to lots of bad decisions and questionable choices.

I believe there is a space to live where you care what people think, but are not affected by those who don’t like your brand of tea. We won’t mesh well with everyone. I know that. I’ve always known that. But pretending I don’t care what anyone thinks is a lie. And the funny thing is, when I sit back and objectively look at the last 5 years of my life since we did move to Macon, I have more people in my corner than I ever have in my life. The number of genuine friendships I have is shocking. The acceptance I have felt is overwhelming. The women who have welcomed me in with open arms is more than I could ever have hoped. And that’s not just here in Macon. That extends to women in my job all over the country. That extends to the friends from my past who have stuck around - and others who have resurfaced and with whom a new friendship has blossomed as adults and cheerleaders for one another.

I have known loneliness. I feared it would descend when we moved to Macon. The panic began. Yet this time, there was nothing to fear. So it’s time for the walls to come down. For the panic to roll away. For the true healing to begin. I’m not that scared little girl anymore. But for some reason I think I needed to go through all this to get to the other side. To own that I do care. And to know that there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

“When the student is ready the teacher will appear.” Apparently, I was finally ready.