I am not the hostess with the mostest — unless the mostest refers to the one with the most anxiety about hosting. If that’s what you mean, then I’m your girl.
But it wasn’t always like this.
Back in the day, I worked in sports marketing and sponsorship. Party planning was part of my job. Hosting big dinners and luncheons for hundreds of clients, and smaller events for VIP clients and athletes, I worked with scores of professional caterers and florists, talented design teams and swag makers, and an eager-to-please volunteer staff — all of which made my job easier, as did the big corporate budget I had access to.
Bottom line: I was good at my job and I enjoyed doing it. I really was the hostess with the mostest.
I had a rule that governed all my events: No matter how crazy it got behind the scenes (and it was always crazy behind the scenes), as long as it looked seamless to the guests, it was a success. And it was always a success. Like I said, I was good at my job. But I was also always a mess. I just didn’t show it.
I should probably point out that this was during my twenties, and I handled stress the way most underpaid, overworked twenty-somethings did: I drank (after hours, of course). But regardless of how hairy it got at times, I really did enjoy hosting. And in case you missed my not-so-subtle humble brag, I was good at it, too.
My professional hosting skills easily translated into personal hosting success. I often organized celebrations in NYC restaurants (my apartment was TINY, like maximum-capacity-8-people-tiny) and at my sister’s suburban home on Long Island. When my husband and I bought our first house, I regularly entertained a group of toddlers and their mothers with weekly playdates/luncheons. When we moved to Pennsylvania, I continued to host birthday parties, playdates, luncheons, dinners, and cocktail parties. Again, I was good at it and I enjoyed doing it.
The irony is that despite being the hostess with the mostest, I was still a socially-awkward introvert. On some level, I was faking it, being the hostess with the mostest. Sure, my proven track record gave me a level of confidence to push through, but I was always insecure and overly concerned that I wasn’t doing enough. Plus, too much peopling wears me out (I wrote about that a few weeks ago. You can read it here.). To manage, I relied on alcohol to numb my nerves. In the end, I always regretted hosting (and drinking).
Somewhere along the way, my social awkwardness turned into full-blown social anxiety. I’m not entirely sure, but I think it was around the same time I stopped drinking (118 months ago). Without alcohol as my buffer (or numbing agent), I am a hot mess when I need to host anyone at my home. And I’m not even talking about having a party. Just an overnight guest or even a quick drive-by visit. I still feel the need to go over the top with food and drink options (despite not having that corporate budget) and cleaning the house. I become easily overwhelmed, putting a ton of pressure on myself, which ultimately results in me turning into a screaming lunatic, yelling at everyone around me (read: my husband and sons). It’s not a pretty scene.
Case in point: My sister-in-law, brother-in-law, niece, and nephews told us on Saturday that they wanted to “stop by” on Sunday on their way home to NYC from a weekend in Maryland. I know they’re family and it was going to be a quick visit, but did I still stress about it? You betch’a.
Remember, we’re still living in a construction zone, so my house is (1) a dirty mess and (2) a baby-unfriendly danger zone. I was overly concerned about the appearance of our home — partly for safety, but also vanity (ridiculous, but true). In my mind, it required all-hands-on-deck to prepare for their arrival, and I told my family so. Unfortunately, they didn’t take me seriously, or at least that’s how I interpreted it because when I came home Sunday morning from the grocery store and found that nothing had been done (and that the boys weren’t even awake yet), I lost it. The overwhelm of what needed to get done (and I can see now how the idea of “need” is the root of the problem here) in such a short time was too much for me. I barked orders at them, cursing up a storm, making everyone miserable. Including myself. And that was just about the cleaning part.
As for the “entertaining” part, my SIL kindly told me not to worry about food, but that’s just not how I roll. Given the time of day of their visit, I struggled with what would be “enough.” Ultimately, I kept it “simple” with fruit, cheese and crackers, pretzels, cookies, donuts, iced tea, and strawberry lemonade because … Options. Of course, because my boys had only stumbled downstairs at noon and were then forced to clean the house, they were hungry. I wouldn’t let them mess up the kitchen or eat the snacks before our company came, so needless to say we were one salty bunch.
While I take full responsibility for my poor pre-event behavior (and my personal brand of craziness), I do partly blame my parents. After all, they are my example of how to host guests. As frequently party-throwers and guest-hosts, they had a clear division of labor before and after, and always way too much food. As a result, I, too, always feel the need to have a spotless house and lots of food options for my guest — and I expect my spouse and children to help out, too.
I know this is a ridiculous standard to uphold, and I know my anxiety around hosting is unnecessary, especially when the people I’m hosting are family. But the worst part is, I don’t handle the stress of it well. I try, but feelings of inadequacy creep in, my anxiety builds, and overwhelm takes over. The result: I lose my shit, taking everyone down around me. By the time I’m done yelling, I’m spent … and not exactly in the right frame of mind to be the hostess with the mostest.
In the long run, on Sunday, I was able to settle myself before my in-laws arrived, and all was good. I still had too much food for such a short visit, but at least they had car snacks for the drive home. I know my nephews were happy about that.
-LJDT
