Head Down, Out the Door

I left as the workout began. 

Not just went and sat down like I’ve done before. 

But put my weights away, grabbed my things, and left the building. 

I had planned to do the workout. 

I had a plan in my head from the moment I woke up. 

Albeit, an incorrect plan because my brain hadn’t accounted for the boot because I wasn’t wearing it at 5 AM. 

But, I had a plan. 

And I was standing there next to the skierg, waiting for the timer to begin to start pulling. 

And then the noise started happening. 

Something about there being another rower. 

And being on the clock. 

Someone rushing to grab it and hustling to a spot. 

It all happened so fast. 

My nervous system immediately went into panic mode. 

I felt second hand embarrassment for the man rushing in front of the class. 

Maybe he was fine. 

Maybe it was normal for him to be picked on by you. 

I’m not normally there at this time, so I’m not sure what’s acceptable. 

But my body keeps the score for me and it said that it was too much. 

The beep of the clock went off and I grabbed my weight and put it away. 

I didn’t even have time to think before I was grabbing my hoodie and walking out the door. 

My eyes down at the floor avoiding everyone and just trying to escape. 

Because I didn’t feel safe. 

It’s not the first time that I’ve experienced this feeling recently. 

And I was so rattled by it that I had to pull over and breathe before I hit the highway. 

I kept thinking, “what is wrong with me?”. 

“Why can’t I just make it through a whole class without having an existential crisis?” 

“Why does every emotion feel so fucking loud right now?”

Over and over and over again. 

And all I can come up with is nothing. 

Nothing specifically is wrong with me. 

My nervous system has just become acutely aware of when situations are unsafe and that felt unsafe. 

Other people’s embarrassment doesn’t feel separate from my own any more. 

It feels like it is taking place right inside my own body. 

Other people’s pain and discomfort.

Other people’s fear. 

Other people’s embarrassment. 

My body feels all of it as if it were my own. 

It’s a rush over me that I have no ability to control or fight. 

All I can do is breathe and try to carry on. 

And in that moment I had to leave. 

Because I was going to burst into tears in front of the entire class. 

And that would have shifted the secondhand embarrassment to firsthand real quick. 

As I was sitting there crying in my car on the side of the highway I kept thinking how lonely it feels. 

When I try to share about the way that someone makes me feel I am often met with looks of pity. 

As if my nervous system being sensitive means that I am broken in some way that lets them off the hook for whatever they have done. 

It feels like a conundrum that I can’t quite determine how to fix. 

Maybe my feelings won’t always be this loud. 

Maybe my nervous system will stop sounding the alarm every time someone else’s shame walks into the room. 

I hope so. 

Until then, I am learning that leaving isn’t always weakness. 

Sometimes it is the only way that my body knows how to keep me safe.