Why I hover around the fringes in a large crowd

I went to my first indoor social event since the start of the coronavirus pandemic this past weekend for the marriage of my cousin-in-law. What started as an anxiety-filled journey, ended as another wonderful lesson in compassion and community.

My husband and I travelled by air to a remote corner of British Columbia. I can’t speak for anywhere else in Canada, but let’s just say I will be driving from now on to any destinations within my home province. After over 13hrs navigating flight delays and airport connections we arrived at our destination exhausted and me with the beginnings of a pain flare-up.

The following day was a welcome BBQ to show hospitality to the roughly 50 guests at the wedding’s venue. I found myself caught between wanting to socialize and wanting to be horizontal, as far away from the excitement as possible. It was challenging to both come down from the intensity of the previous day’s travel and also be part of the celebration, the reason for the trip in the first place.

Though it can be overwhelming at times, it’s precisely this kind of event that shows me just how much I’ve benefitted from my time away from work this past year. The many hours of therapy for my body and mind have given me tools and strategies that I can turn to when I’m placed in these situations, whether they be planned or unexpected.

Staying on the fringes

One of the most important strategies I have is to ensure that, at all times, I can hear myself.

At one point in the evening, I needed to escape to a quiet place and ended up sitting beside a man and young child I hadn’t met yet. The three of us sat, each on our own sofa that was setup outside on the patio, in relative calm and away from the main crowd. I was intending not to interact with too many individuals on this night, instead, focusing on enjoying from afar, but since I walked into their space, I introduced myself. “Hello, my name’s Samantha.”

The man introduced himself and his son and we exchanged how we were connected to the bride or groom. “My son is having a bit of anxiety at the moment. We came out to get away from the excitement. It’s been a bit overwhelming for him.”

“That’s why I’m here too!” I said. I explained to them that I suffered from a lot of anxiety and was still coming down from the travels of the previous day. We all recognized that this was the first time since the start of the pandemic that we’d been in such a large crowd. Our bodies must have been ringing alarm bells after all of the effort we put in over the last two years training ourselves to be cautious around others in an attempt to keep each other safe.

“Do you have any suggestions you could share with us?” The father asked me. “This is new to us.”

Where to start

Where to start? I thought. Though I write about my experiences on this blog, it was another thing to be asked for help from someone, specifically for a child experiencing the fear of anxiety for the first time, in person.

“You know, I’ve been learning strategies for a long time, and I’m just getting the hang of it now. The most important thing that I’ve found is to make sure you can always hear yourself. That’s why I’m staying on the fringes this weekend. If I get too involved in the celebration, I won’t be able to hear my body’s messages when I get too tired or am in too much pain. Learning to listen to myself, to what my body is trying to tell me, has been the most valuable lesson for me so far.

“It does take time. And I think you’re doing the right thing by coming out here to give yourself some space, well done! Another important thing for me is that when I learn something about my body, I make sure to tell my support network. For me, that’s my husband. This was really important yesterday while we were travelling. Sometimes, when I’m dealing with severe anxiety, my brain will stop working. It kind of feels like my brain turns into spaghetti, all jumbled up in my head. My husband could tell that I was not well as I sat hunched over with my head in my hands. He was asking me if I wanted something to eat, offering me a list of options, but I couldn’t come up with any answers. But, because I share my findings with him, he knew that asking me more questions wouldn’t help. He walked away, gave me space, and came back with food. After two bites, I immediately started feeling better.

“I also write a lot and keep a journal of everything new I discover about myself so I can help myself as best I can if I’m alone.”

While I spoke, the boy sat on the edge of the couch looking forward, stealing glances at me if I said something that I think resonated with him. When I’d finished, his father reached over and put his hand on his son’s knee, patting it in a comforting gesture. “See bud, it’s totally normal,” he said.

Simple act of validation

Something about that interaction struck a chord deep within me. It was all I could do to not burst into tears and shout “I understand you!!! We’re going to be alright!!!” I’m glad I thought better about giving this poor child and his father any new traumatic memories of the crazy cousin of the groom.

The comfort that the father showed his son was the exact thing that I felt I’d been missing for most of my life. Partly because I never knew how to articulate what I was feeling, and partly because the medical system I sought out for help consistently dismissed my complaints of pain after tests routinely came back negative. The simple act of having someone validate what you’re feeling is so powerful in the healing journey. It gave me so much hope for our future generations that they might face less obstacles to care than what mine and those before me have faced.

I gave the father and son my most comforting smile while we chatted, answering any questions they had about tips and tricks, then we eventually drifted away from each other. Soon after, I made my way to my room for an early night, where I promptly sobbed the pent-up emotions into my pillow.

The next day, the day of the wedding, I kept my eye open for the family so I could check in with them. I was delighted to see that the boy had brought with him a Rubik’s Cube to fiddle with. “Great idea,” I told him. I watched him finish one side of the cube in what seemed like seconds. “You have much more integrity than I did when I tried that at your age. Want to know my trick?” I asked. He nodded at me from the corner of his eye. I leaned over and whispered in his ear, loud enough for his parents to hear, “I peeled the stickers.”