Hiding

I call it "hiding."

A friend of mine calls it "going into the closet." Whether it's hiding or the closest it's the same thing. It's a time when you feel so bad about yourself and what's going on in your life that you want little or no contact with the world around you.

My hiding place is my home. That is where I retreat to for salvation and where I spent a good majority of time in the early months of 2008 as my world came crumbling down around me.

Aside from home, there were only three other places I went on a regular basis. Work, the grocery store and to my brother and sil's house. From time-to-time I ventured out with friends, but I really didn't have the energy or the drive to be social. Aside from my family and attorney I limited my one-on-one interaction with the outside world greatly. Work was the toughest place to avoid people. I tried to figure out a way to not talk or have to interaction with others there, but had no such luck. This mainly stemmed from the fear of the three words I knew would be set forth upon me once my coworkers saw the despair on my face and the 20+ pounds that had left my body overnight - "Are you ok?"

“UGH! Do I look ok!?” I would immediately think to myself.

Since I didn't want to lie and just tell them I was fine I would often avoid answering this question by changing the subject as quickly as possible. I got really good at this. (Go me!)

During this period of hiding I was also struggling with a horrible case of insomnia. I slept in three hour intervals sometimes spaced out as long as 10 hours apart. This made my tendency to hide even greater than it had already been. After work, all I did after was go home, eat, sleep and then get up 3 hours later only to try to find a way to get back to sleep as quickly as possible. It was a vicious cycle.

As fate would have it, during a trip to Boston I would be provided the catalyst to the beginning of the end of my "hiding" tendencies. The fateful event would play out in the wee-early hours of the morning as Bostonian and I made our way back from a night of beer, pizza and playing dominoes with B's friends. A story that was just meant to explain how B had met the folks we had just hung out with would have even a greater impact than expected. I still think about this moment periodically. As cheesy as it sounds, it was my “ah ha” moment. That story struck a nerve so deep in my soul that in a flash I began to turn the corner I so desperately needed (wanted) to turn. From that moment forward, all signs in the tunnel I was in read "This way to the land of the living." I happily followed the signs and ran ahead as fast as I could.

That’s when I joined my first knitting group. I wasn't 100% sure I was ready to rejoin the world, but I dove right in anyhow. This time, the questions I dreaded didn't have to do with how I was. The questions I feared most dealt with my life story. I knew my verbal filter was still broken from the ordeal I was going through (that's another reason I hid) and I feared my ramblings about everything that had been going on might be a potential turnoff. Actually, it did turnoff some people, but on that same token it also connected me with new friendships as well. The best part of all this was after I was finished with my ramblings these nice new people would start talking to me about knitting and I'd forget about all the other stuff - at least for an hour or two - which was a welcomed relief. Not too long after that I stopped hiding; or at least I stopped hiding as often as I had been.

These days I still retreat to my hiding place from time-to-time, but nowhere close to as often as "back then" and not because I feel horrible about myself or my life. These days it’s sometimes necessary for me to disconnect from the world in an effort to center myself again – even if it’s just a little bit.

Last weekend at Fiber Festival I overheard someone say, "Knitting saved me and helped me through the toughest times in my life." I immediately turned my head and said, "You too!?" This didn't come as a shock that someone felt the same way and I'm sure we have somewhat similar stories, but very few actually verbalize it. It's a scary thing to admit. At least I think it is. No one wants to admit the bad stuff - especially publicly.

At the end of the day it is my hope that those currently seeking salvation in their own hiding places will soon emerge to discover that the world does miss them and wants them back.

Until later . . .