I just wrote about the 51%-er mentality and wouldn't ya know it-it came up with force this weekend. Funny how a certain level of awareness and insight can mean baloney in the real world!
I went to my first Saturday CrossFit workout. They're different from the weekly classes because they allow anyone and everyone to attend instead of limiting the class size. It's busy and a bit confusing, at least for this newbie. The workout of the day was quite intimidating and considering how much the veterans were groaning made me feel like I had no chance at all. Not to mention the stress and anxiety of a new, challenging social environment.
I felt isolated. Alone. Delusional and highly doubtful that I had any chance of making a complete fool of myself. Before we even started talking about the workout I noticed my heart rate was heightening, my breathing shallow, my eyes tearing, and the familiar desperation of panic creeping toward my chest. I managed to pull it together-including the other opportunities during the workout when I was ready to breakdown.
The workout as prescribed involved such:
>1 mile run
>1 mile run
I had to modify since I can't do pull-ups yet or very many full push-ups. I did jumping pull-ups and box push-ups. I also partnered up with someone so we could each do half the prescribed numbers. We did that for most of it except we got mixed up with the pull-ups and we each did 100 of those.
I did. I was slow. I was hurting. My last mile was in slow-mo and even though I was alone and trudging, I never stopped shuffling. I didn't stop and walk, I kept going. Reminded myself it was a competition. At the end my partner returned and cheered me on and encouraged me enough that I could whip up all my last energy to run faster to the end.
After it all, I was proud of myself. It hadn't been perfect. I still felt exiled from the "official CrossFit gang." Still, I tried to focus on the fact that it had been my 7th day at CrossFit and I hung in there during a notorious workout.
Getting home and sharing with my family was disappointing. They seemed dismissive and not interested in details. I felt like a failure again. I felt alone again. I showered and tried to be productive, I was just too spent from that morning's workout. Rested up a bit and then got back to chores and such.
Unfortunately, the fancy cake I was gonna try to make again blew up in my face. The fucked up sponge was enough to rankle me quite thoroughly. Then I ruined the first steps to my buttercream and gave up. I had been so agitated when I started baking. The hubs said I had said the f-word more in five minutes than I had in two weeks altogether. He was right!
My mind found every little thing to be mad at and whipped up a rage in me. That angry mixed with deep sadness left me in quite a state. After I officially bombed the cake and gave up, I took a sparkling water and wandered out to the side of the house to breath and try to let it go.
Really struggled today embracing that 51% mentality. I'm afraid of where this mood instability is going. Not convinced that I'm making any progress in trying to radically accept my family.
I think the growing pains with the CrossFit gym and navigating a new social arena (extra stress) on top of the ongoing stress of living with my family has destabilized me, I was hoping the new gym situation would help give me relief-and to a degree it does-there are also a lot of stressful facets to it.
Whew. Basically, I'm still learning. I'm still trying. Many moons ago when I started at the Y I was the nervous outsider without a clue and then I became a memorable face. I have a chance at doing the same there here, it's just gonna take some time.
Willingly took Ativan this morning. Usually its the hubster that suggests such a thing. This morning I was struggling and becoming highly agitated so quickly, I knew I couldn't manage without something drastic. On top of the Ativan I turned on Pandora on my phone and plugged my headphones in to drone out the noise around the house. It was all too much. A slammed cabinet or a dropped child's toy sent me into shakes and agitated breathing.
At one point after cutting into a bag for a baking project I got the urge to cut. Thought that just a little scratch on my wrist wouldn't be a big deal. Then I thought that any scratch was a big deal. I started shaking and closed my eyes against a flow of tears. I struggled to discard the scissors and ended up tossing them toward a counter and backing toward the freezer to put iced sponges on my face. My mom noticed and I told her to get rid of the scissors. After a few minutes I got back into my recipe and calmed down a bit. Still afraid of what could be coming if that urge was that strong.
One day at a time. One damned minute at a time.