Embarrassment in New Beginnings

I have a fear of embarrassment. Ironically, considering much of my childhood (and adolescence), I’d expect to be used to it, but I’m not. I realize exactly what I need to do to be more emotionally and mentally healthy. I need to be more outgoing. I need to try new things where I meet new people. I live in a rather metropolitan area, so there are plenty of opportunities to do so. However, whenever I start to entertain such a possibility, the same thoughts start chanting in my brain. “Don’t do it. Don’t do it. It’s going to be bad. You’re just going to embarrass yourself. You’re going to do something stupid. You’re going to say something offensive. You’re going to be too afraid of doing or saying something stupid or offensive, so you won’t say anything making everyone else feel awkward with the silence. You’re going to ruin everyone else’s time. You’re going to waste a free evening. Just stay in. Read your book. Watch Netflix. Play games on your computer. Nothing bad will happen if you do one of those things. You’ll have more fun doing those things. Why risk humiliation, when those things are enough for you to be happy?”

I think the voice in my head that says those things is the same character who forces me to relive all my embarrassing moments. Often times, when I’m going about a normal day, perhaps working at the office or watching a video on YouTube, an embarrassing moment will shoot up to the forefront of my memory. Sometimes it’s triggered by a random word or phrase, but sometimes it doesn’t seem to be triggered by anything at all. Sometimes, it’s not even a memory, but a thought about how bad things would have been if something else had happened.”

I’ll give a specific example. Years ago, I attended a friend’s wedding. I arrived appropriately early, and found a seat in the sanctuary. The groom was standing at the alter with the minister, and eventually the wedding march started. We all stood up and looked at the bride as she began her walk down the aisle. I realized at that moment that I had mistakenly sat on the groom’s side even though I was attending because I knew the bride. It wasn’t until after the ceremony that I started thinking, “Wow, Rob. You know what would have been a disaster? If you had stepped across the aisle to sit where you were supposed to while Pauli was walking down it. You’d have made a complete spectacle of yourself. People would want to know if something happened. Maybe they would have thought you were trying to disrupt the ceremony. Maybe they’d have correctly concluded that you’re just socially retarded. That would have been bad, wouldn’t it?” Yep, I get humiliated from remembering embarrassing things that didn’t even happen. Every time I’m reminded of a wedding, whether I see it on T.V. or someone mentions one in conversation, that hypothetical incident runs through my imagination. I’m a serious head case, aren’t I? Sometimes, the embarrassment makes me shudder or I engage in some other physical tick like rapidly slapping myself in the head a few times. It’s like I’m trying to shake the memory out of my mind, but I’m sure it doesn’t do much for my appearance of sanity.

It’s all the more incentive to remain reclusive. After all, if I never go out, I won’t add any more embarrassing moments to the list to be randomly tormented by. Of course, I’m starting to realize that’s probably not the best way to live. I made myself go golfing recently because of that realization. When I went on that company retreat a couple of weeks ago, my company organized a golf tournament. I think it was mandatory, but I probably could have opted out of it if I asked. Of course, that voice started saying, “don’t do it, it’s going to be bad…” and so forth, but I chose to fight it. I tried to focus on the fact that while if I don’t go nothing bad will happen, I might miss out on something great happening. I had never played golf before. Maybe I’d have a knack for it. Maybe I’d be great at it. Maybe I’d be so good, that I’d start playing regularly, get even better, turn pro, and become a multi-millionaire. Wishful thinking, I know, but not so much less likely than bending over to pick up a ball and my pants ripping off entirely like I was kind of expecting.

Well, I’m not going to be the next Jack Nicholas, and something embarrassing did happen. I was teeing off on one of the holes. I raised my driver high into the air, focused on the ball, and swung as hard as I could. I didn’t hit the ball directly, though. It popped up into the air and landed just before the ladies’ tee. The other two guys in my group started laughing. Apparently, there’s a joke that when a guy fails to hit his ball past the ladies’ tee, he’s required to play without pants to prove that he’s a man. I laughed it off outwardly, but on the inside I was dreading that I had added another moment of humiliation to my mental list. After the moment subsided, I realized that it wasn’t a big deal. No one else who witnessed seemed to care about it enough beyond a momentary laugh. I wonder if they’re even going to remember it. I wonder of all the embarrassing moments that intrude on my thoughts, how many people besides me actually remember them?

Not only that, maybe those moments of emotional anguish can have a positive side. I never would have thought that I’d share this story, but I suppose I will. As mentally and emotionally unhealthy as I am, I’m in quite good physical shape. That wasn’t always the case, though. As a child, I was somewhat portly. Combined with my haircut, fashion sense, and general dorkiness, I was not well received by the rest of my peers. When I was in sixth grade, I had five particular bullies on my bus who liked to make sport of me. I even remember their names: Brad Fletcher, Brandon Barnes, Amanda Snow, Rebecca Ruiz, and Jennifer Almand. Brad and Brandon sat behind me, Rebecca and Jennifer sat in the seat across the aisle, and Amanda sat in front of Amanda and Rebecca.
I tried my best to ignore them. Most days, I would just stare out the window on the ride home while they basically jeered at me trying to get a reaction. Parental wisdom told me that if I just ignored them long enough, they’d eventually get bored and leave me alone. I suppose I lucked out by getting committed bullies, because in nine months of riding the bus, they never got bored.

I’m digressing, though. One afternoon, I didn’t get on the bus early enough to get the window seat. I don’t remember Brad and Brandon riding that day, but they may have been sitting towards the back of the bus that day. Anyways, Rebecca and Jennifer decided they wanted to arm wrestle…me. I don’t know why they decided they wanted to do it. Looking back, I think they figured out they could beat stronger people by goose-necking, but in my physical shape back then, they didn’t have to goose-neck to give me a challenge. I tried to ignore them, but they just kept pecking over and over and over. “Come on, Rob. Don’t be a wuss. Why are you scared? Come on. Arm wrestle me. Come on, Rob. Come on. Just once.” They went on and on and on and on. Of course, I didn’t want to do it because if I lost, I’d have to endure the shame of being beat by a girl, and if I won, I’d have to endure the shame of picking on a girl. Eventually, I agreed to wrestle if doing so would shut them up. We gripped hands, balancing our elbows on our respective knees since we didn’t have a table. And we started. I forget who I was arm wrestling, but I remember we were locked in stalemate, each trying to pull the other’s arm down. All of a sudden, the kids in the back of the bus realized what was going on. They started cheering. I started getting nervous from the fact that I suddenly had an audience, and started losing my strength or my focus or both. She started pulling my arm down, and the other kids started cheering even louder. “Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!” My anxiety is going off the charts. My arm is going down. I’m trying to tune out the other kids while wondering why I’m not getting a sudden surge of adrenaline. Then I’m trying not to think about why I’m not getting an adrenaline boost since it’s distracting my focus. My arm is going down. I’m trying to force it back up, but they won’t stop cheering. Why won’t they leave me alone? I just want to ride the bus in silence and not be bothered. Why can’t I just disappear? Why won’t my mom just drive me to school? Why…it’s over. She pins my arm down. The other kids erupt. The last thing I remember about that incident was one of the other kids saying, “Ohhhhhhh, beat by a girl; he can never show his face ever again.”

That’s another one of those moments that randomly intrudes upon my thoughts. Although, that rock bottom was also a turning point. That was the moment that made me commit to getting in shape. I didn’t know anything about working out at the time, but if all I could do was ten sit ups and one push up a day, that’s what I was going to do. Twenty one years later, I almost never miss a work out. Maybe this is the comparable moment for my mental health. I hope so. I didn’t realize until recently that most other people don’t relive their most embarrassing moments nearly every day. The thought of not being plagued by it sounds like paradise.