Doozy

Last night was my once yearly "spend time with my colleagues and our spouses" holiday dinner. My department has 3 people in it, so it's a very intimate dinner. My boss knows a hell of a lot about food and wine, so she picks the place. She's pretty kick-ass, so she picks a BYOB (Oh, Philadelphia! How I love your BYOB restaurants. The idea of buying an overpriced drink with my dinner seems so foolish at this point!) AND she brings the wine. This is great for many reasons - 1. We go to restaurants that are way out of my league in terms of fanciness, price and coolness. 2. I get to drink really nice wine (Apparently, it also comes in bottles? Who knew) and have it paired perfectly with the food.

So last night was the dinner. I'd filled Pete in about it, reminded him diligently, texted him to pump up his excitement for an evening of yummy food and near strangers. I'd covered my bases. I figured that everything would go swimmingly. We'd go, we'd eat, we'd be charming. I'd get to live out my fantasy of living a swankier life than I actually do.

Things didn't go according to plan. Pete had a panic attack. His second of the day, to be precise, although number two was more of a whopper than the first. He sounded weird on the phone when I called upon leaving work. An hour and a half later, WHEN I WAS STILL DRIVING HOME (if you can call crawling along the highway and yelling at PENNDOT and every other driver on the road driving) I called him to say I'd just park out front and he could hop in the car. That way we'd still make it to the restaurant on time. That's when he told me about the panic attack and dropped the "I don't think I can do it" bomb on me.

I tried to keep my cool. I tried to stay calm. I told him I'd come inside, not to worry. In my head, things were less than cool. I was a roiling tornado of emotion. Most of those emotions, I'm sad to admit, had everything to do with ME. I was concerned about Pete, but more than his comfort and well-being, I was concerned about how the consequences of his bailing would reflect on me. Ugh. Not my brightest moment.

The thing is, I'm the kind of person who tries to let things go. Little things are easy to let go. You never remember to empty the coffee grounds? Eh. Whatever. Big things are harder to let go, but I try to do it. I figure, why start a fight, it's not a big deal in the grand scheme of life, so I'll just let it slide. One of those things I try to let slide is Pete's (occasional) habit of bailing on things. This habit is nothing new. He has been doing it since the early days of our relationship. He bailed on me and my friends on our first New Year's Eve. That took some heavy drinking for me and a hearty apology from him, but I've come to terms with it.

Thing is, I HATE when people bail. It takes me right back to adolescence when friends would bail and I'd be left with nobody to hang out with. In my house, that was like be marked with a scarlet L, for loser. If my time was not spent doing fun, exciting, adventurous things with my friends I was clearly failing at the whole "being a kid" thing. So I made a lot of friends and I made a lot of plans. I never really learned how to do things by myself, other than spend hours reading. I realize that the reading was just a way of fooling myself into companionship. I have a problem with solitude, it seems.

Anyway, my friends bailed on me all the time. Is that just what kids do? I don't know. I was a hyper-responsible child who always fulfilled her obligations. Getting bailed on was crushing. I ALWAYS took it personally and part of me still does.

So I was really upset that Pete was bailing. Tonight of all nights, right? I got home and there he was, dressed and spiffed up and looking adorable and terrible at once. My heart went out to him but deep down all I wanted to do was yell "Snap out of it! It's a dinner! They're nice people! JUST DO THiS FOR ME!" I didn't quite lay it all out there like that, but I made it clear that while I wasn't mad at him for having a panic attack, I was very upset by the situation. Cause come on, I have a wonderful boyfriend! I want to show him off and do coupley, grown-up things like this with him.

I don't ask Pete for very much. Maybe I should ask him for more? I should. No maybe. I have it in my head that by not asking for many little things I am completely entitled to have him pull through on the few big things I do ask for. That's not entirely fair to either of us.

Anyway, we stood there and looked miserable at each other. I was trying and failing to understand what was happening inside of him. And try as he might, he couldn't explain. I tried cajoling, he held his ground. I gave up and felt defeated and cried. I cried! I cried and made the love of my life who felt terrible and didn't know why, who felt guilty enough for bailing - I made him feel worse. Do I win the best girlfriend ever prize, or what? So I left without him. I went out to my car and called my boss and told her I'd be late (it was 7 as I was leaving, the exact time I was supposed to be arriving at the restaurant, which was 30 minutes away. Great.) and informed her that I'd be coming alone.

As I drove along, feeling sorry for myself, I FINALLY had a moment of clarity. What the hell was wrong with me? I'm throwing a hissy fit because he can't come to a god damned work dinner? Who cares! Pete is at home feeling like "a ball of raw nerves" which sounds about as awesome as getting a root canal performed by a blind Parkinson's sufferer. I had a paradigm shift. My priorities lined up normally again and I called Pete. I apologized and told him that the only thing that mattered was for him to feel better. That phone call made us both feel better.

Now my big question is, who was that girl last night? I am NEVER that girl, that drama causing, crybaby, me-me-me girl. But I was. I was her. And somehow, I think it was important that I saw that dark side of myself.

Recently I've been trying to be more honest with myself. I've been trying to actively deal with emotions rather than stuffing them down into the pits of my being and locking them up to fester forever more. So last night I was upset and I acted upset. I am not perfect. I am selfish. (This will not come as news to my folks, rest assured.) But sometimes I forget that and feel pressure to be the best partner of all time for Pete. Because he deserves the best I can offer. BUT I also deserve to act like an asshole sometimes, as long as I'm willing and able to admit it.

Wow, long story. I didn't know who to tell it to, so I wrote it down. I have a hard time telling my friends my shit. Mostly because I am afraid they will judge Pete. Mostly because I already feel like my family does judge him. Ouch. That's clearly something that needs to be addressed. I'm not ready to do it yet, though. Maybe next year.