The Authentic Eclectic

Sweaty Palms and Speeding Heart Rate— Anxiety Over Receiving Gifts

Is that present really for me, or is it for you?

“Everyone gather in here. You have to see this.”

I am guided to a seat off to the side, a bit higher than the others and definitely on display. A gift is placed on my lap. It is not heavy. Just a standard rectangle shape but not for clothes or jewelry. I have no idea what is in this somewhat flat box.

I do know, however, that I am supposed to be amazed.

And there it is.

The hype.

Will my reaction be enough?

Everyone stared at me, wide-eyed in anticipation. The gift-giver held up a camera to document my delight. My heart raced, and I wanted to throw up. I instantly felt my skin become clammy, and my palms were moist.

My blinking increased to hold any tears of distress at bay.

Please let me love it.

I was on center stage to perform in a world created from the expectations set by someone else.

Again.

My nerves were on high alert because I have been down this road too often. Walking this journey of holiday gift-giving was emotionally draining, every time. It had worn me down through the years. I was agitated and uncomfortable on this path of pretending to love the plastic world.

At that moment, I honestly didn’t know if I could even do it one more time.

I smiled through my disguise of joy and slowly unwrapped the present.

Please let me love it.

I just want to be me.

Why is that asking so much?

Why does that very request get put down as a selfish need? It will take me years to deprogram that angst. Sadly, I am not quite there yet. Almost, though, and it is getting better.

Is this normal?

Being pressured to love something that we may or may not be bowled over by? A gift not truly meant for us?

Years of me opening presents that were definitely purchased with someone else in mind, or maybe no one, have me still nervous about every holiday or birthday. I have written about being an invisible caregiver, and that same empty feeling rears its ugly head during gift-giving occasions.

It wasn’t like I played hard to get. My life was pretty simple to decipher. Plus, I always said what I’d love. Camping, horseback riding, a picnic, any outdoor activity that we could do together was perfect. Well, for me.

Apparently, perfect for me was not good enough for others.

Being invisible, to me, is when the essence of me and who I am, is over-written by someone else’s desire to receive ooohs and ahhhs because of their seeming generosity. The gift was all about the person presenting it and was never about me.

So, why do it?

Why use another human as your platform to receive kudos?

How do I act like I love a pastel sweater when I have no history of wearing powder blue or dusty rose? What do I do with that gadget you’ve always wanted and I didn’t?

Why do I feel like a jerk for even asking?

The bristly responses dissuaded me from future questions.

Anxious feelings piled on top of anxious feelings. For years I have said I don’t need or want anything special. Unless, of course, there was truly something on my radar. I am an open book and have never had a problem communicating.

I enjoyed goofy little things that intrigue me, made me smile, that I hadn’t purchased.

Like the year my son fulfilled my wish of a Jeep steering wheel cover. I loved that thing. Simple to some and yet, meant the world to me. He heard me, and he listened. He cared enough to ‘see’ me. I was Jeep obsessed.

Last year, my daughter saw how much I adored a picture my grandson had drawn of me. It made me smile every time I looked at the photo I took of it before the magic of the Magna Doodle would erase the incredibly beautiful and silly artwork. She took the image and had recreated it, matted it, and framed it for me.

Un-effin-believable.

I smile whenever I near the top of the staircase, where I have it strategically hung in full view.

I don’t need much. It’s all about the little things that confirm I matter.

For years, I have pleaded, begged, and taken the reins to create memories, instead of gift-giving.

Years.

In quiet moments, out of the fray, I would explain my stress, my love language of ‘quality time’ to ears that had already tuned me out. Some people can only communicate in their own love language. The relationship becomes a one-way street.

No one should have to pay the emotional price of being disregarded.

And so it was, that year that I was perched up high and forced to read aloud a poem full of flowery words that never were, and never would be, backed by actions. I felt the tears well up in my eyes.

They all sat around me, in awe, of what they imagined to be a beautiful and tender moment.

My tears were interpreted as overwhelming emotions of love by some.

But I knew the truth.

The tears that fell were actually the final melting of my soul. My pain had found a way to escape and slowly seeped out through my eyes. The seal of my internalized anxiety had cracked.

The words in the poem were not authentic nor lived. Simply saying them for others to hear does not make them true.

I had tired of being a puppet. In a few short years, I would leave that environment and find my path to wellness.

It was never about the gifts.

It was always about the unspoken message behind them and realizing that I didn’t matter as much to the giver, as the giver meant to themselves.

It was time to take charge and give myself the greatest gift of all, peace, wellness, and my identity.

Please let me love it.

(I did. I do. It feels good to be back.)

Recently, my oldest daughter and I were talking about this Christmas and all the different schedules. Gift giving was broached. There was a bit of talk regarding how difficult it is to think of a gift to give me.

And, when I started to say that a gift is not the important part of the holidays, but the people we are surrounded by, my daughter made me cry with her response.

“I know, Mom. For you, it is all about spending time together. You’ve always been about that, and that’s why we are all coming. We love that, too.”

Yes. Yes, and yes.

Everything comes full circle.

This time my tears were filled with joy.

I had just received the greatest gift of all and it was worth the wait.

Looking to become a Medium member or give a gift of membership to another? Click on my referral link below and thank you in advance!

(Does this answer your question, The Garrulous Glaswegian? My vote is one round-robin gift, under $20.00! And, I’m bringing the kids to visit.)

Thanks, Misty Rae for asking about my perfect Christmas!