How I Became a Neurotic Workaholic

Two years before I left Chicago, I suffered a nervous breakdown and went into therapy. There were several reasons why I sought counseling, but the catalyst was that my best friend of more than fifteen years had ghosted me a year before. The last time we hung out, Former Friend told me that "it's not very attractive" to complain about work so much, even though they had vented about their job many times. After that, every time I suggested getting together to have coffee or lunch, Former Friend had an excuse for why they were too busy. It took me months to realize that they no longer wanted me in their life, which crushed me, because they were one of the only friends I had left.

In high school, I used to hide in my bedroom and shovel handfuls of peanut M&Ms into my mouth when dealing with my parents and sibling was too much for me. I gained thirty pounds in one year and struggled to lose the weight for years after that. I eventually lost weight by working out regularly and cooking healthier meals.

But after Former Friend ghosted me, I started binge eating and gaining weight again. I knew I needed help when I opened my refrigerator one day and realized that I'd filled all the shelves with large bags of peanut M&Ms. I was still in grad school at the time, so I went to the counseling center at my university, and they gave me a list of referrals to therapists who offered low-cost counseling.

At first, I felt ashamed and sad that I felt so alone that I had to pay a stranger to listen to me. But over the course of the next two years in therapy, I learned that there is no shame in seeking help when you need it, and I learned a lot of valuable things.

My therapist said that I suffered from depression and anxiety, including social anxiety and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. My anxiety was connected to my workaholism, she said, because I always felt like I couldn't relax unless I got all my work done. But due to my graduate studies and multiple jobs, I always had a lot of work to do. My social anxiety was shown through my hyper-awareness of things most people took for granted. When I interacted with my students or with other people, afterwards I would berate myself for something I said or did wrong, and I thought that was all those other people remembered about me. I'd always known that I was neurotic and had low self-esteem, but it wasn't until I was in therapy that I realized how and why I became that way.

My therapist said something that struck a chord with me: "You are an amazing young woman. You're attractive, highly intelligent, and kind and compassionate to others. You've earned a bachelor's degree and a master's degree; you're a Ph.D. candidate; you balance multiple jobs, and you're a good teacher. But you can't see anything good about yourself or recognize any of your accomplishments. All you see is what you think is bad about yourself because your family, especially your mother, has conditioned you to think that way."

When students approached me at the end of each term to tell me how much they enjoyed my class and that I was their favorite teacher, I used to think that they were just being polite. I thought the same thing when people complimented me on my writing. My therapist was right: I had internalized the verbal abuse that my parents and sibling had inflicted on me to the point that I couldn't recognize any compliments directed at me as being genuine. Although I hadn't lived with my parents and sibling for years, their voices were still in my head every day, pointing out everything I did wrong so that I was constantly obsessing about it.

I thought of the times my sibling and I fought and how they claimed that their screaming insults were justified because they were merely "responding" to my bad behavior. Sibling did not escape our parents' house unscathed, but is now in denial about the way they've treated us. Also, I always received the worst of it, like the time my father and sibling went out for ice cream, while I had to stay behind because my mother was angry at me; they knew that she would scream at me for hours while they were gone, which she did, but they left anyway. Both my father and Sibling are more willing than I am to tiptoe around my mother. Sibling says that stuff like that is my fault for "provoking" our parents because I talk back to them (my father and mother say the same thing). Sibling also says that I'm being too melodramatic about how they treat me.

I thought of my father, who is not usually as bad-tempered as my mother but who never protected me from her either. He has also made his share of cutting remarks, such as the time I was hired to teach at the college in Small Town and he said that it was good that I was "finally going to start working." I pointed out that I had been working multiple jobs for years, but he said they didn't count because none of those jobs were full-time and didn't come with health insurance or benefits.

Most of all, I thought of my mother, who has always criticized everything about me: my weight, my hair, my clothes, the way I walk, etc. Years ago, when she was visiting and I was out on an errand, she read through some of my course evaluations that my former students had filled out. Although most of the evaluations were highly positive, my mother honed in on the few that weren't. To this day, she reminds me of the bad things that my students said about me, to show that I made the wrong choice when I pursued a career in education, rather than the more lucrative career she and my father pressured me to pursue. Sibling caved in to my parents' demands and chose that career, which is partly why they favor Sibling over me.

I think that's one reason why I've spent all these years working so hard: I wanted to prove that my mother was wrong when she said that I wouldn't last five years as a teacher. But my therapist helped me realize that I shouldn't work so hard to get my parents' approval because they were toxic and nothing would ever be good enough for them.

Therapy also helped me realize how isolated I had become and that I needed something in my life outside of work. When I moved to Small Town, I accepted the invitation of Small Town Guy, who also worked at the college that hired me, to join his trivia team that met at a local bar every week. He introduced me to his other friends. They were kind to me and welcomed me into their group, and for the first time in years, I had an active social life.

I've been thinking about all of this as I've continued writing my book, Obsessions of a Workaholic. I also wondered why I let the Model push me around and why I blamed myself for everything that happened. My therapist might have said that I'd been conditioned to believe that the problem was solely within me, not in the people who treated me badly. But I don't put all the blame on my relatives for why I fell for the Model.

When he first messaged me on Tinder, I had just recently moved to College Town. I was lonely for the friends I left behind in Small Town. I wasn't attracted to the other guys I'd met on Tinder or Bumble. I'd been rejected by most of the guys I'd had crushes on in the past. The Model was exactly the kind of guy I've always been attracted to but who never even noticed me before. The fact that he not only noticed me but wanted to be with me was flattering and thrilling, like a fantasy come true. And despite the awful way he treated me, he did have a few good qualities.

For one brief, desperate moment after I found out that he had used me to cheat on his girlfriend, I actually considered pretending that I didn't know about her, because the thought of never being with him again hurt even more. But in the end, I couldn't do it. I knew in my heart that he saw her as girlfriend material, and me as a friend with benefits. There was no way that I could keep being with him, not only because it was wrong to hook up with someone else's boyfriend but also because I'd be cheating myself out of everything else I wanted with him.

Whatever I had with him was a fantasy. It wasn't real, even though I wanted it to be, especially after years of bad first dates and failed relationships. I had fallen back into the pattern of allowing myself to be treated like crap in the vain hope of one day having my efforts be validated with love. As my therapist told me, I needed to recognize the good in myself again, instead of only focusing on what was bad, and to remember that I deserved better.

Some days, it's still hard to do that, especially because my parents and sibling have no remorse for the way they've treated me and still make me feel bad about myself. I haven't completely cut them out of my life for complicated reasons that would make this post even longer, but my therapist taught me strategies for dealing with them. She said that I should severely limit the time I talk to them on the phone and spend less time with them, and I've followed her advice. She told me that I needed to put my foot down with all of them more often, and I have, much to their displeasure, though I still have a long way to go.

I had to put my foot down with the Model too. I never again want to let anyone, whether it be the Model or my relatives, make me feel like I'm someone whose feelings don't matter and who is worthless. Now, I take pride in my academic and professional accomplishments, even though my mother doesn't and my father says I still need to do more. Now, I know that I'm not a loser just because I'm still single at 37, even though my sibling tells me otherwise. I've also lost twenty-five pounds since May, and that makes me feel good too.

"You're stronger than you think," my therapist once told me. "You could have continued obeying your parents and done everything they wanted, but you stayed the course and focused on making your own dream come true instead."

I'm not sharing all of this to make you feel sorry for me. But I wanted to explain why I obsess over things that some people think are not a big deal, and why I regressed into a depressive spiral after I found out what kind of person the Model really was. If it hadn't been for what I learned from those two years in therapy, I might have spiraled even further. I thought maybe this post was TMI, which is why I almost didn't post it. But writing my book-length memoir, Obsessions of a Workaholic, has made me contemplate how and why I became a neurotic workaholic and also includes TMI about my parents and sibling (I do not refer to them as my family and never will). That's why I will have to edit some of it once I finish the rough draft.

What about you? Have you ever been ghosted by a friend? Do you ever worry about including too much information in your own blog posts or manuscripts?

Thankful

1. I'm thankful that I have a roof over my head and that I can pay the rent on my own apartment. I'm also thankful that even though I have to share a building with my neighbors, I don't have to share my studio with them. This is important because at least one of them threw up in the laundry room and left the vomit there.

2. I'm thankful that I don't have to cook Thanksgiving dinner for anyone, because then they would have to see me accidentally set my clothes on fire (which is what happened the last time I tried to cook something). Then they would have to eat burnt pizza, because somehow I still manage to burn frozen pizza almost every time.

3. I'm thankful for writing and the blank pages of my journal, which I can fill with short stories, ideas for novels, and statements like, "I had another dream where I was working the whole time. I think I really am incapable of relaxing, even in my sleep."

4. I'm thankful that even after teaching hundreds of students over the course of several years, teaching is something that I still love to do. It is one of the few things that I can do with confidence. I admit that I've tripped and fallen flat on my face in front of my students on more than one occasion, but I popped back up and kept teaching with confidence (and a sore face).

5. I'm thankful that Twitter has given me a new outlet; it's fun to Tweet whenever I want. And I like reading other people's humorous and interesting Tweets. It makes the commute more bearable, which is good because then I'm much less likely to start throwing things at the people who blast their music on their headphones.

6. I'm thankful that I live in Chicago, a city that I've loved ever since I moved here. I also love that it's basically a requirement to eat deep-dish pizza here, because what kind of Chicagoan would you be if you didn't like the pizza? (And I'm still mad at Jon Stewart for insulting my city's pizza. I'd throw a pizza at his face, but then I wouldn't get to eat the pizza.)

7. I'm thankful for good books and the authors who write them. I wish I could meet more of these authors and do that Wayne and Garth thing where I throw myself at their feet and yell, "I'm not worthy! I'm not worthy!"

What about you? What are you grateful for?

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

If the Shoe Doesn't Fit

Unlike many women, I hate shoe shopping because I hate my big feet. I have this fear that the minute I take off my shoes to try on a new pair, people are going to start screaming, "Run for your lives! Bigfoot is REAL!"

You can get plastic surgery to make your nose smaller. But I don't think you can get plastic surgery to make your feet smaller. Even if you could, I wouldn't get it. Not only would I be afraid that something could go wrong, there's also the fact that a Frappuccino is a big expense for me. So I definitely can't afford plastic surgery anyway. 

Once a helpful saleswoman told me that the reason high heels hurt me so much was because I have flat feet; high heeled shoes are often curved. The few times I have worn heels, I ended up falling down more often than not, so that it looked like I was still learning how to walk (at the age of thirty-one).

Whenever I go to shoe stores, I always see all the pretty shoes that will never fit me. The last time I went shopping, I saw a bunch of large shoes that looked comfortable, so I tried on a pair. Then I caught several guys looking at me strangely and I realized that I was in the men's shoe section. To cover up my embarrassment I lied and said, "Uh, I'm buying these for my boyfriend. Our feet are the same size."

I'm even more insecure about my weight than my feet, which is why I work out at the gym four or five times a week. I was overweight in high school and college, which is one of the reasons I was made fun of and didn't get many dates. There were people who constantly told me how fat and ugly I was, which made me feel even worse. I ate to make myself feel better, but then I looked in the mirror and felt bad all over again.

Yes, it's definitely true that you don't have to be thin to be beautiful. There are plenty of gorgeous people out there who don't look like stick figures. But on the other hand, I think that there are a lot of people like me who want to be in shape. Otherwise, why would programs like Weight Watchers have so many members? Why else are there so many health clubs? 

I first decided to join a gym when I went to the Taste of Chicago (a summertime food festival featuring food from restaurant vendors all over the city. It's my favorite festival, and I go every year.) a few years ago. There was a group of trainers from a popular gym in the city who had set up a table and were demonstrating exercises for people who stopped to watch. There were other trainers who were stopping festival goers and encouraging them to sign up for free trial memberships.

At first I felt tempted to say no, but I felt guilty about the fact that they were all fit and healthy looking, while I was eating a bunch of fried food. So I signed up. And I've been a regular gym rat ever since. I think a part of me is afraid that I'll get fat again.

On the other hand, working out usually makes me feel better. On days when I'm ready to start screaming and throwing things like a guest on the Jerry Springer show, I go to the gym and the endorphins I get from exercising make me feel good. I don't have to feel guilty about taking time off from my work to exercise. Spending an hour or two at the gym makes me feel like I've done something productive, unlike spending an hour or two watching TV.

But no matter how often I work out, I know that I'll probably never look exactly the way I want to. I'm not saying that I want to look like a Victoria's Secret model (though that would be AWESOME, as long as I don't have to walk around in my underwear, which I guess would defeat the purpose of being a Victoria's Secret model). But I want to be able to walk into a store and try on any outfit that I want without worrying if it'll fit. And I want to be able to look in the mirror and like what I see.

What about you? Do you ever feel insecure about the way you look? (And I'm not trying to insult anyone, because you're all lovely, of course. But I think that most people have wanted to change something about themselves at some point.)

Side note: Sorry if some of my old posts show up in your Google Reader; I've been removing most of the pictures from my blog. I hated to remove the pictures, since they were good ones. But Roni Loren, a novelist and fellow blogger, shared her story about how she was sued for posting someone else's pictures on her blog. I thought it was good of her to be honest with everyone and take responsibility for her actions. I also thought it was horrible to see so many people leave nasty, self-righteous comments on her blog (to the point that she had to shut down the comments section on that post); I don't think she deserved to be attacked by mean-spirited jerks like that, especially since she already paid (literally and figuratively) for her mistake.

How to (Not) Meet the One

Recently I came across an article titled "How to Meet 'The One' While Running Errands". Naturally, I read it, because I've been taking a break from online dating for the past several months, ever since one of the guys I talked to on okcupid insulted me because I wasn't comfortable with his assertion that three is not a crowd (cough, cough). I could go to bars, which is where a lot of guys hang out. I have two female friends who used to go barhopping often to meet guys; they called it "hunting". I went with them a few times, but I just called it "lame".

All this time I've been focused on just getting my errands done as quickly as possible without head-butting anyone who gets in my way. But I could have met my soul mate, at least according to this article.

One errand that is good for finding "the one", according to this article, is grocery shopping.  It says, "When you see a hot guy pushing a cart filled with family portion style meals, forget him. He's not single. He's likely to be a well-trained husband. Single guys carry baskets and hang around the frozen pizza aisle!"

The only thing is that I've always been a morning bird rather than a night owl, which is why I prefer to get my grocery shopping done before 10 A.M. I'm able to do this since I usually teach in the late morning and have office hours in the afternoon, and my website job is done in the evenings and on weekends. Most of the people shopping at the supermarket when it's that early are elderly people. I don't want to sound like too much of an ageist, but I really just don't want to date someone who's at least fifty years older than me, you know? I just don't know how all of Hugh Hefner's girlfriends deal with it (And I'd rather not know, frankly.).

I suppose I could go grocery shopping later in the day, when more guys are getting off of work and are stopping in to buy dinner. I tried that in the past, and one of two things usually happened. I became impatient and stressed out by all the long lines and people cutting in front of me, to the point that I would have whapped them in the head with my box of Froot Loops if I had any less self-restraint.

The other was that I'd often see couples and groups of people shopping together; they'd be buying lots of food for meals that they'd cook together, or they'd be buying beer and junk food for parties. I always felt like they could tell that I was alone because of the single-serving meals that I bought, and it just made me feel lonely. Of course, there's loneliness in the morning crowd too; some of the elderly people will stand in line and chat with the cashiers for a few minutes. I'm less impatient with them holding up the line than with the younger people; I have the feeling that they strike up conversations with the cashiers because they're lonely. I might end up like them someday, a lonely old woman who just wants someone to talk to. 

The article said that you could also meet a potential mate at the bookstore; it said, "While you're browsing, check to see if there's more than a bestseller you fancy devouring!" I did go to Unabridged Bookstore recently. It's a really great bookstore that's in East Lakeview, my favorite neighborhood in Chicago (I wish I could afford to live there).

However, East Lakeview is also known as Boystown, which means that a gay guy is more likely to meet a potential match at Unabridged than I am. Not to mention I'm happiest in bookstores; it always thrills me to be in a room filled with other people's words and ideas. When I'm at the bookstore, I'm usually more focused on finding an interesting book to read than anything else.

But there was a guy at Unabridged who caught my eye that day; when he looked at me, he suddenly looked up and then looked away. So I looked up too, and I realized that I was standing in the erotica section, as evidenced by the book covers featuring pictures of half-naked people. Oops. (I don't read erotica; I know it's a legitimate and popular genre, and a lot of people do enjoy reading and writing it. But I always fear that if I buy one of those books I'll run into one of my students or one of the nuns from my church at the same time. That's also the reason that I feel self-conscious when shopping for new underwear.)

Another tip the article gave was this: "Wherever you go, walk the walk! Men find a woman's walk sexier when she adopts the natural human stride, a loose, gentle gait and swinging arms." But I happen to be a total klutz. The last time I tried walking like that, I ended up running away from a dead rat and nearly knocked over some guy in the process. So that one's a no go as far as I'm concerned.

I figure I'll try online dating again in a few months, but not anytime soon. Right now I still need to focus on my dissertation prospectus; I wrote a new draft and gave it to two of the people on my committee. I'm hoping they'll like this new draft better this time so that I won't end up feeling as devastated as I did the last time I turned in a draft; I was devastated because my mentor said that I'd done it all wrong. Also, even though I really do want to meet someone, I kind of like being on my own right now.

What do you think? What do you think are some good places to meet potential matches, other than online dating sites? If you've already found "the one", how did you meet him/her?

Don't Judge Me for My Groceries

I am a terrible cook. I can't heat up Pop-Tarts or frozen pizza without burning it. I can't even make Easy-Mac right, because somehow it always ends up tasting like crunchy cheese crumbs; I don't think mac and cheese is supposed to be crunchy, or is it? I've tried following recipes from a variety of sources, but almost every time I cook, I've ended up coming this close to setting the food/the kitchen/myself on fire. And since I live alone, that means I'm stuck eating leftovers for the next several meals.

So I usually buy the prepared meals at Whole Foods. This grocery store is pricier than Jewel-Osco and Dominick's, but I really like it there. Their produce is really fresh and delicious, and their employees are always helpful and friendly. And their prepared meals are really good too, and it's usually cheaper and healthier than buying takeout every night.

On the other hand, I get this complex about shopping for food, because I feel like the cashier is judging me for my groceries and can tell that I'm single since most of the meals would only feed one person. You could argue that the groceries that a single person buys is similar to the food that a workaholic buys; after a long workday, the last thing I want to do is spend an hour standing in my kitchen cooking and cleaning up.

Also, when I go to Dominick's or Jewel, I feel self-conscious because I often buy M&Ms and Froot Loops. Not the healthiest choices, I admit, but I figure it's okay as long as I eat everything in moderation and exercise regularly. But I always feel like the cashier is silently judging me as he or she rings up my junk food.

But then I remember what it was like when I was a grocery store cashier back in high school; I couldn't care less what people bought. All I cared about was getting each person through my lane as quickly as possible. I didn't remember people's food, but I did remember the customers who argued with me over prices. I also disliked the customers who treated cashiers like a bank, particularly the ones who demanded fives and tens (which I never had enough of to begin with) for their change or paid for a fifty-cent gum purchase with a five hundred dollar bill. Guess what, people: cashiers have a limited amount of cash in their drawers, so when you treat us like a bank like that, it slows the whole line down because then we have to get more change.

Anyway, yesterday I went to Whole Foods to stock up on some food for the week. I went up to one of the employees.

Me: Are you going to be selling lasagna again anytime soon?

Employee: No. We're probably not going to have that available until the fall. Now that it's summer we're serving lighter foods. Would you like anything else? (looks pointedly at the kung pao tofu and the grilled vegetables)

Me: (distracted by the brownies and cupcakes in the pastry section) I'm sorry, what?

At Whole Foods you can get a 10-cent refund if you bring your own bag for your groceries. I used to just get their paper bags, but then I felt environmentally incorrect about it; I eventually caved in and bought one of their bags.

Cashier: Thank you for bringing your bag with you today! Would you like to keep your bag refund or donate it to charity?

Me: Say you want to keep it! Thirteen bag refunds equals one iTunes, which equals that new Miley Cyrus song you haven't bought yet! But then if you keep it, the cute cashier will think you're greedy because you just spent all this money on groceries but won't spare a dime for charity! You can donate it.

Cashier: (finishes ringing up my groceries) Will this be cash or credit?

Me: (distracted by the cute guys in other lanes ringing up and bagging groceries) What? Oh, um, cash.


Check out this funny video from Improv Everywhere (their videos are on Youtube and they're hilarious!). Maybe if this kind of thing happened in the grocery store, it might make shopping more fun.

What Should've Been a Quiet Lunch

I don't eat out very often. One reason is because I can't afford to, even though I do have a wish list of restaurants I'd like to try. Another reason is because it's easier and faster just to get one of those ready-made meals at the supermarket after a long workday. But a major reason is because more often than not, there are annoying people at many of the restaurants I go to. (Side note: Yes, I am easily annoyed. But I also admit that at times, I too can be annoying. But I try not to be annoying in public places, at least.)

Do you ever encounter people who have an adverse effect on your restaurant meal? It doesn't matter whether you're at a four-star restaurant or McDonald's; all it takes is just one person to ruin the whole atmosphere and experience for everyone.

Yesterday I decided to go to Panera for lunch. I was happy because I had just come back from the Borders on Michigan Avenue, and I'd bought Jen Lancaster's My Fair Lazy for 63 cents! I had a 40% off coupon and a gift card, so it was a pretty rockin' deal to get a hardcover by my favorite author for less than a dollar.

Even though I love the food at Panera, I don't go very often; every time I go there are some people there who make me lose my appetite.

When I placed my order, the cashier asked, "Would you like to add a cookie to your meal for just 99 cents?"

"Sure," I said. "I'll have a chocolate chip cookie."

The cashier looked down at the basket of cookies in front of the register, and said, "Aw, there aren't any chocolate chip cookies left, are there?"

"No, but there are some over there," I said, pointing at the pastry case where there was a stack of cookies on a plate.

He didn't move from the cash register, though the plate was less than five steps away. "Yeah, but it's easier just to get a wrapped cookie." Right. It's SO HARD to step over to the plate, put a cookie into a bag, and hand it to me. He called over to one of the other cashiers, who tossed a wrapped cookie in his direction, even though I really wanted one of the cookies that were already out. They're crunchier. I like crunchy.

Once I got my food, I looked around hopefully for one of the smaller, comfortable booths. But they were otherwise occupied by the people with laptops who finished their small beverages an hour ago but clung firmly to their tables and ignored the people with full trays of food in their hands. So I sat at a table in the center of the restaurant. It just happened to be within eavesdropping distance of a guy yelling into his cell phone. As I've written before, it's hard to avoid eavesdropping on people's cell phone conversations, especially when they talk really loudly.

"Can't you do SOMETHING for me?" he yelled at the poor customer service rep on the phone. "I only used that stupid lawn mower THREE TIMES and it broke down! I need a lawn mower for this summer!" And I need a lawn mower for your FACE, I thought. "I can't believe you're telling me I'm out of luck. I mean, I don't think a lawn mower should BREAK DOWN like that when I only used it a couple times! Can't you talk to your manager for me?"

Can't you shut up? I tried to focus on my sandwich and my book, but Lawn Mower Guy kept yelling. His voice carried over every other conversation in the restaurant. I fet sorry for the person he was berating . Lawn Mower Guy literally yelled for fifteen minutes straight, until he finally ended the call.

But he didn't stop there. No. He started cursing and saying "lawn mower" over and over again while he looked around, as if he expected the rest of us to commiserate with him. Oh yes, we all feel so sorry for you. And I totally want to talk to you about your broken lawn mower. That's just the WORST THING EVER to happen to someone. The kind of guy who would yell at a customer service rep for that long with complete disregard for other people eating lunch is totally my dream guy! I might as well cancel my online dating membership right now!

Lawn Mower Guy finally left, but I cringed when I saw a familiar person walk in. I see her almost every time I come to this Panera, and she freaks me out every time. She always wears this ball gown that's more appropriate for a night at the theater than an afternoon meal at a cafe. But that's not why she's weird. She's weird because she wanders around the restaurant and examines each person's table and meal with this glazed look in her eyes.

This time she walked around the restaurant and oh, JEEZ! It looked like she was SNIFFING each person's food! I concentrated on my book, hoping that she'd skip my table, but she didn't. She leaned forward and inhaled.

I didn't look up, but I thought, Get your nose away from my food! She finally sat down at her usual spot by the window, but kept looking around while everyone else avoided her gaze.

Sheesh.

At least the food was good.