A few years ago a friend pointed out to me that I was breathing incorrectly. My response was something along the lines of: What the hell? How does a person not breathe correctly? I’m alive and kicking, right? His response was something along the lines of, Breathing isn’t something that just happens, Meghan. And it wasn’t happening with me because I was holding my breath like I hold my purse in shady neighborhoods. And probably for the same reason—I worry, excessively. So, I was taught the art form of breathing and told with enough practice I would one day master this technique (still trying). This whole notion of inhaling and exhaling consciously pissed me off because breathing seems like something we should fly out of the womb just knowing how to do, kind of like blinking or crying. I’ve never struggled with either of those. In fact, I’ve kind of got the two working as a team now. Anyway, I finally came to terms with this nonsense and accepted the whole breathing mindfully thing, just in time for the universe to toss another enigma at me: communication.
Lo and behold, I hold my breath when I should be talking. I can’t help it, communicating for me is more difficult than solving a physics problem. Not that I’ve ever tried or anything, but you get my point. I’m fairly certain my communication paralysis comes from a place of fear. I’m afraid I’ll hurt someone’s feelings. I’m afraid I’ll be rejected. I’m afraid I’ll look stupid. I’m afraid I’ll be ridiculed. Blah, blah, blah. My lack of speaking up and sharing my feelings has landed myself into some real debacles. I found myself engaged—twice—because I felt bad for the guys. I mean, they spent all that money on a diamond and then had the nerve to pop the question. How rude of me to say no. So because I was super worried about sparing their feelings, I did the kind thing. I said yes—both times—donned the ring and then retracted my “yes” a few weeks later. Talk about feeling crappy.
Then there was the time in junior high when the really popular girl wanted to be my friend and gave me the choice of either going to the movies or out for pizza. Besides the fact that this is an ultra difficult question, I am insanely indecisive and want to please everyone. So, I offered her one of my favorite answers, “I don’t care.” She was annoyed with my passiveness and told me that, in fact, I did care and I must pick one. I painstakingly chose the movies, for obvious reasons. It was the last time she and I ever sat next to each other, not talking.
To distance myself from further humiliating encounters, I found a safe place behind my computer. But, this electronic veil doesn’t work in every situation … or most, really. I mean, I can’t have a heart to keystroke with my boyfriend—he deserves more; and although having an email throw down with my sister is probably safer for both of us, it’s uber immature; and my way of telling my mom I love her with emoticons is simply unacceptable; and blogging about job grievances is in no way professional. I can’t continue to go around sounding like Kenny from South Park, well not without the parka at least. And come on, I live in Arizona.
So where to start? I suppose I should take a hint from Nike and just do it. But, Nike should be sued for false advertising because it’s not that easy. It’s super debilitating. Maybe communication classes should start early, like in kindergarten. Maybe my issue started then. I mean, what’s with shoving graham crackers in our mouths and putting us down like injured pups on those stupid yoga mats? Shouldn’t we be learning how to express ourselves like Madonna or something? And seriously, I could have done without the games of Red Rover, and Amelia Bedelia only further complicated things.
