Better Parenting Through Humiliation

Well, I almost didn’t go tonight. Anxiety has been at an all time high this last week, for a few reasons, and I spent every moment today talking myself in and then out of dragging my chicken shit butt to this workshop. The roads have been terrible, I was tired, none of my clothes fit, my PMS is welling up like volcano erupting… And of course, did I really want to spend three waking hours drenched in adrenaline pumped, nervewracking, looking like an idiot in front of a bunch of strangers?

Ed and Rose were painfully encouraging, Eddie actually sitting on my bed and giving me a stern pep talk about how it was important to be around those more talented then we are because it urges us to challenge ourselves to do our best and get better. Rosie even gave me a ‘You’ll be great, mom. Here, take my fedora and sparkly scarf.’

In the end what I realized was simple: I have been forcing those two to confront uncomfortable situations and challenge themselves for years. If I didn’t go, they would know I was full of shit. They’d never let me live it down. And more importantly, they might take a cue from me and feel just slightly more comfortable bowing out of opportunities that weren’t easy or familiar.

At least when they flake out later in life, I can feel *slightly* less responsible. I’ll shake my head at them, clicking my tongue, reminding them of how brave I was when facing difficult situations. I’ll wipe away a year of pity and mutter that they must be lazy chickens because of their father.  Not me.  Such a shame.

Anyway, I went, and it was just as bad as I expected. For such a bold and boisterous lady, I turn into a trembling, red-faced, blubbering bag of incoherent mumbles when I’m in front of a crowd. If you took an awkward looking baby giraffe and taught it how to talk but also gave it a drinking problem/anxiety disorder, it would probably still remain more composed and coherent in front of a crowd. I was shaking so badly that I could barely take a sip of my water after I sat back down after doing an exercise.

Hugh is unfailingly supportive, so I have zero idea of how bad I actually am. My imagination promises me that I am painfully awful.

I’ve decided that this week I’m going to make the kids watch me perform improv skits and record me so I at least have some experience and a better idea of what I must look like whilst making a fool of myself. This should also enforce the idea that personal growth requires stepping out of one’s comfort zone. And I think I will be sufficiently uncomfortable in front of even a phone camera enough to emulate the workshop experience. And this is what they get for encouraging me. Now we ALL have to suffer.

Y’all need to pray for me. I have six more weeks of this.