When it comes to writing, whether it's on Twitter or my blog or a column, the words just flow. I feel comfortable laying things (mostly) bare. But, when it comes to actually vocalizing, I've got a tendency to freeze up.
How bad is it? Friends who have witnessed it call it my "deer in the headlights" look. My best friend, when he saw it happen, was totally shocked. After expressing a level of worry that is, quite frankly, way deeper and emotional than our normal interactions - we both come from very WASPy families - he joked that in 24 years of knowing me, he'd never before witnessed a moment where I was speechless.
When faced with unpleasantness or confrontation, my posture improves (the only benefit!). I stand straight. Wide-eyed, I stare straight ahead without registering any emotion. No sadness. No anger. Just a wish for escape. My shoulders and fingers tense up, as does my jaw. My mouth just doesn't work. So I stand there, listening, silently. Maybe occasionally mustering up an "um" or "uh huh." Depending how badly it goes, I may be left shaking, crying, but still silent. Hours later, angry at myself, I finally find a way to work through my emotions, only then, when it's likely too late, do I figure out how to feel and respond.
Sometimes, this happens when faced with an argument. Other times, if someone asks me something I don't feel totally prepared to answer. A few times with a gentleman this summer, who would ask me big questions that, if pressed and forced to respond, I would just mumble half-hearted answers to, busying myself with buttons, pens, or preparing drinks instead of making eye contact.
In my personal life, I make a lot of jokes about how everyone has baggage, always ready to spin an inconsiderate comment into something we can all laugh at. And how my next gentleman friend better have strong arms ready for heavy lifting, as he's got to be ready to share the weight of those parcels.
But, honestly, sometimes the weight of that baggage really is too much to bear alone. And my inability to communicate is like a duffel packed with concrete blocks. I just can't continue to live with it. It's the product of a WASPy upbringing, in which we're more likely to discuss the weather than how we're feeling, exacerbated by years spent with someone who loved to debate and argue, and who thrived on confrontation. Someone with whom I could never win. So, at some point, instead of engaging - which I always found somewhat troublesome - I started shutting down.
And now, I've got to find ways to re-engage. Re-enter the world. Learn to explain how I feel in real time. In spoken words, not in writing. I've got to fix this, so I can have a fighting chance at maintaining my new friendships (I have no problem telling old friends exactly what I think of them!) and meaningful relationships.
I am improving. During a recent chat, where previously I would have answered "Sure!" to whatever was being said, if I could force my vocal cords to do anything at all, I was able, mostly, to stammer out a few sentences explaining how I felt. But, as always, there was so much more to say. And, being someone who thrives on words - their shapes, sounds, meanings, puns - the inability to access them hurts, well, beyond words.
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