Confessions of a Closet Attention-holic

This is a hard blog for me to write.

Nobody likes revealing ugly truths about themselves. But if the truth hurts that means that there will be a period of healing, so I guess I should tell it.

First of all, I am not the type of person that wants to be the center of attention all the time. In fact, being center stage makes me break out in uncomfortable nervous sweats, and yet I find myself in the spotlight more often than not. Sometimes of my own accord, and sometimes I am forced.

I like attention, and yet I hate it at the same time.

It's a strange dichotomy.

The truth is that I am a shy person by nature, and because of that I can come across as aloof or inattentive, but really I am so self-conscious about things I say and do that I just try to stay out of my own way.

Except for when I drink wine.

I do not think that having a drink is bad, quite the contrary, I am hoping to open a vineyard. Which I have named Six Stone Winery (and I already have a label idea), on my dad's farm. This is where I plan to retire, sipping wine and watching the sun go down.

The problem is when I drink wine in social environments where I feel uncomfortable. This is usually when my husband has business events, or when we hang out with a large group of people we don't know very well. And then, well I don't sip wine, I drink it. When I drink too much wine, I want all eyes on me. I all of a sudden become a one-liner generator, I laugh too loud, talk too much, and generally make a scene.

It's the strangest thing. And I hate it.

I hate it because that's not me. Its me pretending to be the girl that is comfortable in her own skin, but instead I am just comfortable drowning in the skin of a dozen grapes. This is escapism at its worst.

For instance the other night, I was escaping into a comfortable quieting of my inner insecurities, and someone called out that I should play the guitar and entertain them. Of course, this is a bad idea. First of all, I am a horrible guitar player, and secondly this type of on-the-spotness will require more imbibing. Suffice to say, it was a horrible rendition of some song I made up on the spot, and everyone kind of sat there blinking at me. To which I replied, "Can I have another glass of wine please?"

This is what I am sure in psychiatry is called a coping mechanism. In my world, I think it is a sin. Christ is the cope I need. First of all, there is nothing wrong with being the quiet girl that keeps to herself. But for some reason with my background in acting, pageants and music I feel like I have to deliver stellar answers like a good little pageant queen all the time. Blech!

I feel inadequate because I never graduated college. I feel inept because I am not as funny as I try to be. I still struggle with old, bad body issues. Ones that Hollywood gave me and that used to show themselves in very disturbing behavior.

But God truly saved me from myself. He truly took all the pressure off of me, so that I could finally say, "I am not that funny, and who cares! I am not perfect, perfection is boring!"

Somewhere along the line I forgot that He did this for me. And as a result have been taking the mic on too many occasions to try my hand at "look-at-me" karaoke.

This is not a self-bashing blog, I just needed to work out this issue in writing, since that is true therapy for me. People-pleasers is what I am told defines my problem. Why do I care so much about what strangers think?

I think everything somehow stems back to childhood, and I still remember being embarrassed by my home life. My dad sold Amway, we drove nice cars and my mom always had on red high heels. Growing up in a town that didn't even have a stoplight, we were the talk of the town, and I am sure the butt of more than a few jokes. Ever since I started noticing people treating us differently, I wanted desperately to blend into the background.

I still remember when my dad picked me up from school one day in a shiny new corvette, I was so embarrassed that I hid down by the floorboards and cried. Cried! Because my dad was successful, when I should have been proud of the kind of life he was giving to our family, and had worked so hard for.

I am not sure if that relates to what I struggle with today, but I feel like it might. I want to hang up the phone on this desperation that I have to please people. My coping mechanism is not helping me cope at all, its just revealing how truly flawed I am. The joke's on me.

At the root of it all, I need to get back to the real me. I need to cultivate the soul shyness, and dial back the white lies. I embellish things when I get nervous which always results in my husband having to reel me back in. What a catch he is. I am sure I have embarrassed him on more than one occasion with my blurting out-and-about, but he is patient and is willing to help me mold my integrity as a woman and as wife. It's not easy.

I need to pray when I get in situations where I am trying to look as normal as I am not.

All of us have this fear of being found out. Whether we are hiding the good or the bad in ourselves, we all wear masks somehow. But I am tired of mine.

I realize that I claim that I hate attention, but if alcohol truly is the elixir of truth, then in times of utter honesty I have this basement need for pats on the back's or affirmation from others. So I am recommitting myself to stop trying so hard. I am giving myself free reign to be quiet if I need to. Even to the point of awkward.

Self discovery is such a buzz word. Like we are all on this maiden voyage mapping out places of our souls with black X's and pin pushers. But since I have been in Nashville, I feel like I have been growing as a person. I am being tested, stretched and shaped. Growing pains are just that, painful. But lately I have been making discoveries of my own on my life-map. And in doing so those bits of me that I want to eradicate are getting weeded out and those I want to prune and protect I am beginning to treasure.

Addiction is such an ugly word, and yet it applies to everyone. We all have something we keep going back to, whether its weed, a bad relationship, a memory, a favorite song, a place...we all have good and bad places of escape.

I am just reminding myself that I need to escape into the arms of Jesus. Sounds trite? It might be, but you are not the one I am trying to please.

Not anymore.