Less than 24 hours after being reminded about a condition called RSD  (Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria) I find myself in a situation where I get this triggered within me. Coincidence? I think not.

I was at a barbecue where I didn’t know anyone, and was driving so had no alcohol shield to hide behind. (I had taken some vegan ribs that I made a while back that were taking up room in the freezer. This is relevant for later. ) My social anxiety was going haywire, so I had an energy drink as stimulants often help. I was seeing danger everywhere, worried if I would mess up conversations. I successfully navigated a conversations about babies and breastfeeding, but ran out of steam. I attempted to engage with some other people but struggled a little. The energy drink helped, but not quite enough, so I had a small glass of wine. The anxiety began to melt away, and then further melted when someone arrived who I had met a year or so ago and been friends with on social media since, and knowing that we had a bunch of things in common began to get talking.

By the time I finished my glass of wine I was feeling very relaxed and sociable, and despite not having any further alcohol became very chatty and engaging with a number of people. I reached the point where I felt like I needed some food, and asked for some fire so that I could cook what I’d brought. So far so good. I began to get a little impatient with the flames and may have put my burgers and ribs on a little before the bbq was ready for them. Or I could just have been distracted, this is entirely plausible. I have never been great at cooking on a barbecue. So, some of the ribs got a little scorched. Never mind I thought, it will be fine. Popped them on a plate and tried one. Not as good as I remembered them, maybe it was my cooking or maybe they don’t freeze very well. Several other people tried them and found them to be amazing. Ok, maybe I’m just being hypercritical. And then, after most of them had gone, a young guy whose energy had made me feel uncomfortable earlier tried one on the suggestion of his vegan friend who had thought them great.

it is entirely possible that anything which came out of his mouth would have made me feel bad if it were directed at me and my creations, given how I felt at seeing him. But, it turned out he didn’t like it, and even when I made excuses that they had got burnt he didn’t say oh ok, I’m sure they’re great if they are cooked better, he still made horrible comments about them, telling me that I shouldn’t have bothered. Now, I’ve had nothing but compliments over this recipe for years, my other half adores them so much he remarked that they might have been why he fell in love with me. (In jest; he’d fallen for me before he tasted these, however it may well have cemented the deal.)

Anyhow, this one comment from this complete stranger made me feel like I wanted to leave. Now. He’d attacked me personally, by criticising something that I had created. Stabbed me in the gut and twisted the knife.  I hated how he’d made me feel, every time I looked over at him the feelings came back, even as I tried to push them aside. I left that area of the garden and found a hula hoop to move with. Someone complimented me on my hooping, and asked me to teach them how. I was firmly distracted by this person showering me with compliments. (I’d expressed that I’d not done it in over a year, she was amazed. I could hardly remember any tricks, and the ones I could were sloppy. She didn’t see the errors and stood in awe.) And yet every time I glanced over the stab in the gut came back. This, I realised, was the sort of comment that made people stop doing something that they love. This is the sort of person who has the power to make people question their worth. And I was determined to not let it happen to me, in this instance. I tried to push it away.

I told my boyfriend about the incident, he didn’t understand how I was struggling with this inability to let it go. He reassured me that my ribs were great. Shortly afterwards, the guy left. I breathed a sigh of relief but no, the feeling was still there! Dammit. I pushed it away.

Later, when we got home I was still annoyed about it. I tried visualising the situation, imagining what I could have done to make myself feel better. This is a technique that has worked for me in the past. I imagined becoming a fierce version of myself, telling him that he was an unkind mouthy little shit and needed to be taught some manners, but sigh, that didn’t work either. Though it did make me feel a little better. My boyfriend couldn’t work out why I was still bothered by him. Even though this is the sort of thing that affects him too.

So, the next day I was telling my colleague about the incident, still feeling the yuckiness in my gut trying to escape, and then talked with her about the possibility that the reason I was still holding onto it was in order to write about it, so that I could re-engage with my feeling at a later point. And then, when I got home, I realised that they had gone away. So, not sure if I’ve managed to capture the essence of how I felt, only time will tell. Perhaps it is a lesson for another time.

 

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