Two steps forward, one step back

Oh, isn't life with social anxiety just a bundle of surprises?!

Just when you think you might be moving forward something lays you flat on your back.

I have two words for you: Visiting Teaching.

For those of you who are not familiar with the visiting teaching program of the LDS church, I'll explain. The women in our congregation are assigned a partner. The partners are assigned a certain number of women (usually 2-3) who they are responsible for visiting each month. The visits are usually 1/2 hour - 1 hour long. The purpose of the visits are to check in with the women to see how they are doing, see if they need any help and share a spiritual message with them. It is basically a program to watch out for each other. When you see the way it is outlined, it's a wonderful program. For those of us with social anxiety, however, it can become a trigger for major anxiety every month.

I had a visiting teaching appointment on Wednesday of this week that triggered major anxiety for me and I'm sharing this as I work through it.

As I'm working through my feelings I realize visiting teaching in and of itself is just a way for women to take care of each other, to look after each other, and who have each other's best interest at heart. And I cannot forget that it is the Lord's design to have us look after each other and that He is the one who implemented the visiting teaching program.

If this is all true (which it is) then why do I cringe and become physically ill at the mere mention of VT and stay up at night worrying about the dreaded visit that must take place every month, both for me as the visiter and me as the vistee?

As I've mentioned before, visiting teaching is what threw me over the edge almost five years ago when I had the most horrific anxiety attack ever. And we all know how associations go...enter: Pavlov's dog.

With that said, now every time I even hear the words visiting teaching, instead of drooling on myself I want to throw up on myself.

Back to Wednesday's visit.

For the past few weeks I had been trying and trying and trying to convince myself that I would be able to be a visiting teacher again. I haven't been able to visit teach due to my major social anxiety around it, for the last 5 years.

Since moving into my new ward I figured it was like starting over and that I would be able to do it because I could be a new person in a new ward, leaving my demons behind me.

After being assigned to someone initially who didn't follow through on doing our visits, the VT coordinator reassigned me to a much better route. I thought it would be a safe one for me. No one was too overbearing or overly charismatic. Plus I figured since I started doing my therapy again that it might be different this time. I wanted so badly to be able to conquer this fear and be able to do visiting teaching again just so I would be normal.

Wednesday, 4/28/10. Visiting teaching day.

All day long I kept putting the thought out of my head that I had to go visiting teaching that night after work. I kept trying to convince myself that I would be okay. I vacillated back and forth a million times about my feelings, but kept convincing myself that I would follow-through and be fine.

As I finished my shift at work I felt relief wash over me that I was done for the day but almost immediately, I remembered where I had to go next and my stomach sunk. At that moment I almost called and told my companion I was sick and couldn't go. But then I reminded myself that I didn't want to keep living like this and I would go. I would be fine. I reminded myself that this girl was someone I would probably enjoy getting to know, and if nothing else, I was obeying the Lord's commandment to be a visiting teacher.

Well, you know how the story ends. I've become good at excuses. I've become good at avoidance. I've become good at shame and guilt.

From the minute I sat down in my visiting teaching partner's car I felt my anxiety heighten. I didn't know her very well and just the thought of having to get to know two people that night made me start to get anxious. I began battling the dread while trying to convince myself it would be okay.

We arrived at our visiting teachee's house. The lighting in her front room was fairly dim, and for me that is a plus. I know how to size up a setting and immediately diagnose whether it feels "safe". The dimmer the better. I even joke with myself that if I could wear a bag over my head or the visit could be done completely in the dark that I would be fine [I'm sure that gives some insight into where my fear is coming from]...but anyway, back to the story.

Our vteechee flipped on another light, which perked further evaluation of the lighting in the room, but when I realized where we would be sitting, my panic jumped to the next level. The couches were in very close proximity. A small loveseat was perpenticular to a chair. I would be sitting mere inches from her. I couldn't get away. She would see how red my face was getting. She would see my face contort. She would see how strangely nervous I had suddenly become. She would wonder what was wrong with me and why I was acting so odd. My body heat doubled.

That's when my protective inner self completely took over. I had to leave and I would figure out how. "Oh sorry," I said as I stood up from the couch, as normally as the next person, "I need to put my phone on silent. I'm afraid it might ring."

And as the two ladies continued their conversation and I held my phone in my hands, I knew I had found the answer. It was time to interrupt them. "I'm so sorry, I just realized I'm supposed to be somewhere right now." After a few questions and looks of disapproval from my companion, I rambled about how I was supposed to babysit someone's kids and I had forgotten.

I was embarrassed and kept apologizing and lead the conversation right to a halt by saying I really needed to go. It was humiliating. It was mortifying. But it saved me. The protector inside of me got me out just in the nick of time and as I walked out her door I knew I'd never be back.

It was a humiliating ride home. Inside I was thinking to myself that I'm not a flakey person. I would never forget to babysit someone's children. I am dependable and reliable. But now my companion thinks I'm a flake. Enter: shame and guilt.

I remembered the last time I visit taught and came home bawling to my husband, and how horrible I felt. I wondered, as I drove home, if I would act like everything had gone fine or if I would tell him the awful truth. I looked at the dashboard clock and wondered if my husband would be confused at how short the visit had been.

When I walked in the door, all it took was my husband to look at me and ask how it went. I didn't break down and bawl this time. I was more solemn and stunned. I couldn't believe it had happened again. I felt so defeated.

We sat on the couch and talked for over an hour as I tried to explain the shame of the evening's events and the complexity and senselessness that is social anxiety. I tried to explain about why certain situations trigger anxiety, while others do not. I tried to explain that getting up in front of a crowd was somehow easier than sitting one-on-one with someone, talking about myself. I tried to explain that it might be the fact that I couldn't face it if people really got to know me and didn't like me, so not letting them know me at all was easier and safer. I tried to explain so much, but sometimes couldn't even think of how to explain at all. I know he tried to understand and in some small ways I think he gets it to a degree...but I realize that if it's hard for me to explain it, it's even harder for him to understand it.

He talked about medication. I told him I didn't want that because of it's side-effects and the fact that you're not supposed to use it when you're pregnant and we're trying to have a family. I told him I needed to stick to the therapy, although if there is a chemical/physical component to all of this, would the therapy really work? I had to believe it would.

I told him I was angry with God for making me suffer through this, and all because I was trying to do what He wanted me to do. And then immediately I felt bad and knew that wasn't fair. It's not about what God should take away from me, it's about getting through it with His help.

I told my husband I would need to contact the right people at church and stop being a visiting teacher again. I just couldn't do it. And the thoughts of having to disclose this to people in my ward again made me sick. But having to face another visit made me even sicker.

There are times I just want to disappear. Move out into the middle of nowhere and never talk to anyone again. Be on my own where I just exist as I wish, with no stress or care. Once in a while I think of what it would be like to die so I wouldn't have to feel this anymore. Where every day wouldn't have to be a chore. But I wouldn't ever kill myself. And I know that I'd just take myself with me anyway, so what's the point.

It's a hard road, but one I have to continue down. I will continue my therapy on session two and write my way through it.

My story has to have a happy ending or it isn't worth reading.