I just need to live on the moon

I realize I haven't written about my social anxiety in ages (yes, I still have it) but yesterday at church pushed me over the edge and the "horrors" of yesterday have been swirling around in my head.
I need to get them out.

All the changes our church has been making lately are pushing me further and further into a corner. What used to be more of a passive experience, i.e. come to church and participate if you want to while the teachers teach, has become a much scarier place for hiders like me. Now everything is a discussion. Everything is a council. We have more small group teacher trainings. More participation. Different room layouts to promote conversation rather than passive participation. It's zeroing in on the one instead of letting us bleed into the background. I don't like it. It makes me really uncomfortable (as if I wasn't already).

I think often, if it weren't for my calling in primary, and my husband, it would be too easy for me to opt out on Sundays because of the social angst I feel every time I'm there. I finally told my mom the other day that I really don't like going to church and that I go because I know it's the right thing, instead of something I really enjoy. I was surprised that she wasn't shocked, but she doesn't really understand the whys.  I've never told her about my social anxiety because I would feel way too judged. She's a harsh critic.

I often wonder though, as I see my husband actually smiling during church, how it would feel if being afraid of all the people wasn't part of the equation? Would it be uplifting? Would it be something I looked forward to instead of dreading?

Ok, so back to yesterday. We found out that the last hour of church we would be meeting all together for a special council. I told my husband, before we even knew more about it, that if we were sitting in semi-circles, I would leave. ha! And if there was even a hint of small group discussions I would leave. For real.

When my husband came to the primary room and told me there were 3 rows on either side of the gym facing each other, I was tempted to run to the car. I decided I'd see what it looked like before fleeing, because I can get a sense of how "safe" the room feels just by seeing how it's set up.

It was strange to be sitting facing each other. Let's be honest, totally weird, but because I could opt for a back row, I stayed. They kept telling us the reason we were seated that way was to promote discussion. Discussion? I almost left, if it weren't for my back row dwelling where I felt a little more protected.

And it would have been a perfectly fine hour if it weren't for the bishop starting to call on random people to participate. I was already at defcon 3 because of the invasive room set-up and unknowns, but once you get some random call-outs, it shifts to defcon 4.99 (5 being the worst if you haven't seen War Games).

I kept thinking if I sit with my head down, he won't call on me. And don't worry, he didn't. BUT the problem was, I was afraid he might call on me the entire time, so add up that stress level! I wanted to leave so many times but kept thinking for the sake of my husband I needed to stay.

So....the end of the discussion was finally upon us and I finally felt the inklings of relief as I pictured myself running heading to the car awaiting any food at home that could take me back to my happy place, when the person sitting next to me invited us to dinner. What?!

Me: hanging on to the cliff by a fingernail.

Luckily, I had dinner cooking at home (for real) so I politely declined, and said we already had food in the crockpot. I felt horrible for saying no. She said, maybe next time. Now here's the thing, this woman is wonderful. She is one of my favorite people at church. She's very kind, has a great family, and is very warm and friendly. In an alternate universe I would have said to heck with what's in my crockpot, we'd love to join you for dinner...but in my universe, I will now have to A) avoid her like the plague, B) never talk to her again, or C) never go back to church. Sorry to tell you, there will never be a dinner.

Well this experience, of course, haunted me the rest of the day. I kept reliving the moment when she slowly turned to extend the invitation and I pretty much slapped her in the face with my crockpot. I kept trying to read her expression as I declined and hoped I didn't offend her because she's a saint. Why, why did you have to extend the meal card??! Such a kind gesture for someone who will never accept.

I was utterly defeated as I finally drove away from what felt like the longest 3 hours of my life. I let out a sigh that probably sounded more like a low growl and my husband asked if the primary kids had been that bad? I laughed and said they were the best part...and then proceeded to rant about the set-up of the room and how I thought the bishop might call on me and how it stressed me out that we'd been invited to dinner and...how in the end, I guess I just needed to live on the moon so I could be alone and never have to deal with the stress and anxiety of people again. 
And I meant it.