I’m Not Ignoring You, I’m Regulating Myself

​Leave Me Alone So I Can Lick My Wounds

I have to wonder… am I the only one who, when I don’t feel good, just wants to be left alone?

In today’s world, it seems like everyone immediately goes online and lets everybody know exactly how they’re feeling. They post if they’re sick, sad, mad, overwhelmed, or having a rough day. And honestly, that’s fine. Social media is how a lot of people keep in touch now, and for some people, talking it out helps.

But me? I’m the opposite.

When I don’t feel good, I tend to disappear a little. I want to be by myself. I want quiet. I want to go lick my wounds somewhere and just deal with whatever is bothering me on my own.

It’s the same when I get upset. I don’t usually want an audience, advice, or twenty people asking me what’s wrong. I need space. I need time to process my feelings and let my emotions settle down. Being alone somehow helps me regulate myself.

Maybe it’s because I’m more introverted these days. But when I really think about it, I’ve always been this way. Even when I was younger, I preferred to retreat, think, and come back when I was ready.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. We all cope differently. Some people heal out loud. Some of us heal quietly.

Neither way is wrong.

I’m just curious… am I the only one who wants to be left alone to lick my wounds, or are there more of us out there?

Do Weird People Know They’re Weird?

One of the things I spend an embarrassing amount of time thinking about is whether weird people know they’re weird. Not bad weird. Not dangerous weird. Just the kind of weird that makes you stop for a second and think, “Well, that’s certainly a choice.” Like wearing a tail and cat ears. Come on now... that's weird.

The other day I saw a guy walking down the street wearing an outfit that looked like he got dressed during a power outage. Nothing matched. The hat made no sense unless he was someone's little buddy on a stranded island during Pride month. His walk had a little extra drag to it. And yet he looked completely confident. Like he owned the sidewalk.

It got me wondering. Does he know why people are looking at him? Or does he think he’s perfectly normal and the rest of us are the odd ones? Then I made the mistake of thinking about it too long. What if weird people don’t know they’re weird? More importantly, what if I’m weird and don’t know it?

I mean, nobody has ever staged an intervention with me. I’ve managed to keep friends, jobs, relationships, and a reasonably good reputation. But maybe every weird person says the exact same thing. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that everybody has their thing. Some people wear strange hats. Some people collect things nobody understands. Some people talk to their dogs like they’re coworkers. We all have our quirks. My husband is always asking me, "Who are you talking to?"  And I say with the utmost confidence, "Myself!"  

Maybe normal is just a group of weird people agreeing not to point fingers at each other. So I’ve decided to let people be weird. As long as they’re happy, not hurting anybody, and not asking me to wear that hat, I think we’re all going to be just fine.

Although the fact that I’ve spent this much time wondering whether weird people know they’re weird probably isn’t helping my case.

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Visiting Sleeping Beauty

I went to see my mom today like I do most Wednesdays. She’s in a nursing home now, where she should be receiving round-the-clock care, but we still go see her and check in. Just because someone lives in a facility doesn’t mean you stop being their family.

She has pretty much stopped using her phone. I don’t think she has much interest in it anymore. I usually call before I leave and tell her to expect me, but this time I didn’t because she doesn’t answer the phone anyway.

When I got there, she was sound asleep after a busy morning. And I mean sound asleep. I couldn’t wake her up. She didn’t want to wake up either. She was perfectly content being asleep.

This is exactly why I always called first. From now on, I’ll make sure she’s awake and expecting me before I make that two-hour drive.

The day wasn’t wasted because any day you get to see your mom is a gift, especially at 92 years old. But I have to admit, I don’t really want to drive two hours to visit Sleeping Beauty.

I guess that’s one of the strange things about this season of life. As our parents age, we adjust right along with them. We learn new routines, new expectations, and sometimes we learn that even our visits need a little planning.

Next Wednesday, Sleeping Beauty is getting a wake-up call.