Of bullies and boredom

I hate to say no to invitations but lately I’ve been doing a lot of that. I am saying no to going out, mostly at night, in favor of quiet and stillness, boredom I guess. I have always been a “life of the party” type of outgoing person. I am an ENFJ: “Found in only about 5% of the general population, ENFJs place people as being of highest importance and priority” (from this book on character and temperament types). I’ve known this about myself since as far back as kindergarten when my report card stated “Joy does very well in class but talks too much to her classmates,”

It brings me some discomfort to sit at home with my … discomfort. As I told a friend recently who had invited me to go out to listen to music at a bar we enjoy: I am just not feeling strong enough, I said. She replied “No worries, let’s go when you’re feeling 100%,” to which I replied that she would be waiting a long time. In reality, I can go out once in a while, if it’s early and if it’s with people with whom I feel safe. I don’t like the darkness right now, or driving in it, or the thought of being in crowded, loud bars. I don’t drink at all (but to my delight now a lot of places are stocking really good NA beers and mocktails). And I love listening to music. It’s one of the best things about living in Nashville. In the fall I went to a couple of amazing shows at the Ryman–the Smile band and Jason Isbell– and I’m so glad I did. But I found myself staying home again last night when I had wanted to attend a live music and conversation event put on by a writer friend and where I knew I would know lots of people. It started at 8 and that, I decided, was too late for me.

In addition to my hermetic tendencies this winter I find myself unable to accept when good things happen to me or someone does something nice for me. Like the other day, on Valentine’s Day, when Daniel said he wanted to take me out to lunch and surprise me with the location. He told me I should dress up (something a bit nicer than jeans) and that’s all he said. Since I live in yoga pants and sweatshirts these days, this was welcome advice. When he came home from work to get dressed I noticed he put on a nice dress shirt, black pants and a tie. A tie! I can’t remember the last time I saw him in a tie. And he was wearing the watch my dad gave him years ago: a Rolex, too big for his wrist but since he never wears it we hadn’t bothered to get it re-sized. I put on black pants and a new orange blazer I’d just bought on sale at Anthropologie over the holidays and the new black patent leather loafers I just bought myself at Nordstrom’s.

We took off with him driving and he headed downtown. He said, “We’re going someplace we’ve been before but it’s a new place now.” That’s when I knew it was to the Hermitage Hotel he was whisking me on this warm Tuesday afternoon. The Hermitage, at 110 years old, is the city’s “original million-dollar hotel” as they claim on their website. It is grand, beautiful and historic –and it has been our special occasion place for as long as we’ve known each other–since I moved here in 2005, long before there were so many fancy restaurants in town. Birthdays, anniversaries, Daniel’s (almost) proposal to me when we were late for the Symphony on that December night and he did it in his pickup truck after the show, snow lightly falling down around us–it has been our go-to place. A couple of years ago the hotel did some major renovations, added a coffee and pastry bar and put a new restaurant in the old Capitol Grille space in the lower level of the hotel. Called Druise and Darr, it’s a Michelin-starred light-filled, airy space now owned by celeb chef Jean-George Vongerichten.

I was FULL of emotions and memories as we walked into that spectacular lobby. As soon as we sat down at our table I could feel the tears start to spill over, messing up my makeup. I sat down, dabbed at my eyes with my napkin and then excused myself to the ladies’ room. Once in there, I composed myself, used the toilet, took some Instagram-worthy photos of the pink marble floors (one of the most photographed places in Nashville) and went back and sat down. I couldn’t explain to him what came over me except to say that I was SO happy and yet that little voice in my head was saying “You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve him and his love. You are not worthy of being this happy.” It was a miserable little moment but I managed to stay there, enjoy an excellent meal, laugh with D and chat up the servers like I always do. We had a lovely time.

I did the same thing back in October when D and I were on our little weekend getaway in the Smokies. Sitting in the outdoor soaking tub overlooking the mountains and the trees in full autumn color, a nothing-less-than-perfect moment with the love of my life, I started to cry. I felt unworthy, sad and scared and like it was all going to be taken away from me because I didn’t deserve it. Why am I like this?

When I talked to DT about it in therapy the other day she said “Is there a reason you can come up with that would satisfy you right now?” To which I immediately replied, “No.” Then maybe the question is irrelevant, she said. It’s a habit you formed somewhere in your development that maybe made sense when you were a child but not as an adult. It’s called an “internal bully,” she continued. Why do I feel like I don’t deserve happiness? Because it has been my habit for so many years. But I’m taking a different path right now. I did it at lunch and I did it in the Smokies: I sat with the sadness and the pain of feeling unworthy and got through it in order to enjoy myself and live in the moment. This is what the work of recovery is all about.

While I’m dealing with my internal bully, J has been dealing with a real little bully at school. Middle school girls are the worst. They’re “fighting” over a boy who doesn’t deserve it. This little girl made my girl cry this week and apparently flipped her off one day after school. I got angry, of course, called her a little troll and a mole rat with glasses to J in the car. I fought back the urge to confront her when I see her little face at pickup next time, following that dumb boy who broke up with J back in November. But then I told J that this girl is just insecure and jealous of her. She hates that this boy likes J and not her. Through the tears she smiled at my Las Vegas-mafioso antics and now she seems to be handling the whole situation better than I am. She’s tough, like me. And she’s learning to know her own power. This is the goal. If she can look her bully in the eye and tell her “Not today,” then so can I. Not today, Satan. Not today.