Socially Unsocial

For someone who doesn’t like crowds or parties, I seem to be knee-deep in them lately. My friend, Karen, recently told me I’m the most social unsocial person she knows … And I think she’s right.

As you probably know by now, I have social anxiety. I’m also an introvert. The combination makes me awkward and a bit antisocial, so parties and big group settings are not exactly my jam.

However, for the past two months, I’ve been forced to socialize at college lacrosse pre-game tailgates and post-game dinners twice a week. I also hosted a series of dinners for some of the boys and their parents. And the season’s not over …

This weekend is Senior Day at Middlebury. In addition to another pre-game tailgate and post-game dinner, there are on-field activities followed by a cocktail party and dinner later that night—which, of course, means even more fraternizing than usual.

That’s a lot of peopling in one day.

So why am I also hosting an Easter brunch the next morning for 30 people in our rental house? Because marriage involves compromise and parenting often involves sacrifice. That, or I’m a glutton for punishment.

My husband thrives on social interaction. He’s gregarious and outgoing. I, obviously, am not. I know hosting those dinners and the upcoming brunch makes him (and my son, who’s also very social) happy, so I do it even though it stresses me out.

When I’m hosting, I can manage the people part a little easier because I can busy myself in the kitchen when I need a break. But the added stress that comes with hosting—cleaning the house, setting the menu, preparing the food and drinks—is a whole new layer of anxiety and overwhelm for me. Let’s just say I’m not at my best before people arrive.

The ironic part is, I was raised by two generous people who constantly opened their home to others and threw house parties regularly. They were the hosts with the most and they set the bar high. Maybe that’s why I have so much self-imposed pressure to go above and beyond, even though nobody is expecting it. (Not that I’m blaming you, Mom and Dad!)

As I head into my socially-packed weekend, I’m trying to focus on H because, after all, this weekend is about him. I know I’ll get through it, as long as I remember to breathe. But I also know I’ll probably leave the dinner party early and I’ll most definitely freak out at some point setting up the brunch, pissing off my husband in the process. But I will get through it … Even if it kills me.