Stepping out of my comfort zone

I'm a bit of a control freak. This isn't a big startling admission, because it's not like I hide it well. I can let my husband load the dishwasher the way he wants to, or pick out clothes for the kids. I can let my kids pick out their own clothes. I can watch someone else make a stir-fry. I can do all these things, but it murders a little piece of my soul, because those other people always do it just a little bit wrong. It's worse in matters of my body and environment. This is where I'm an anxiety wrapped in a neurosis inside an obsessive compulsive disorder. I have to wash my face and hands several times a day. I have to brush my teeth right after eating something. I shower more than once a day. I hate it when it's too hot. I need access to a wide range of clothing because I never know what I'm going to have to drape over my considerable bulk in order to make facing the world bearable. I love my bed, in my room, attached to my bathroom.

So maybe you can see why 'going to the cottage' is something different for me than the blissful, idyllic retreat it is for many other people. Especially because we don't own a cottage, so when we go to the cottage it is ALWAYS someone else's cottage. There is never a my bed or my room, and forget about the attached bathroom -- it's an undreamed-of luxury if you're not sharing one bathroom with six other people.

We used to go to my husband's grandparents' place, which is about an hour away, for Canada Day. A good number of his family would come, we'd have a great day, set off fireworks when it got dark, then jump into the car by ourselves or, when they came along, with the kids and drive home. It was perfect. But they're older now, and it was too much for them to have everyone at the house (which is sad, but I'll save that sad for later). For the last three years, my mother-in-law and her husband have rented a cottage around the same area for everyone to come and stay. And, reasonably enough, my husband and my kids have thought that it would be a good idea to, well, stay.

I actually managed to avoid sleeping at the cottage until this year -- it just always worked out for me to get home at night, and the one time we might have stayed there were too many people so we got a hotel room not far away. Eve snored like a lumberjack all night and I barely slept, but there was an attached bathroom that I didn't have to worry about bumping into anyone not directly related to me when I got up to use. Angus and Matt stayed over a couple of nights to go golfing early with everyone the next morning, but I don't golf. This year, I still thought maybe I would go home for the night, but I packed so I would be able to stay if I wanted to. And once I got there with Eve a few days ago (Matt and Angus had gone out the night before after baseball practice) as I was walking up the steps, I suddenly thought maybe this would be the year.

It was! It was totally the year. And I was way out of my comfort zone, and I wasn't always totally comfortable, but it was kind of a rush to realize that I could do it. Things with my family always tend to be pretty well organized -- we know what we're doing and when, and what we're feeding people and when. Things with my husband's family are... not. People come and go in a dizzying whirl, things get planned and executed and cancelled and rescheduled and re-planned on the fly. This sometimes makes me a little crazy -- but only when I'm not with them. Once I'm in there I remember how much I adore them all, even though they make me do quizzes and share personal anecdotes in turn out loud and wear funny hats.

Here's what was difficult (I hope I don't make anyone weep for me):

-I'm kind of big. I worry constantly about what I'm wearing, I have a hard time believing that people aren't thinking about how big I am and whether what I'm wearing is appropriate and it makes me self-conscious, which can really interfere with having a good time.
-My hair looks stupid when it's wet.
-I forgot my Dove. I can't wash my face without my Dove. I think I mentioned that I NEED to wash my face several times a day, or something terrible might happen. Like breaking out or contracting a deadly facial infection or a terrorist attack.
-the bathroom on the main floor didn't have a lock. I mean, seriously, this cottage was on the market for 1.2 mil, and NO LOCK on the BATHROOM DOOR?
-DUDE : I slept on the COUCH.

Here's how I coped:

-I stopped looking in the mirror, and drank heavily.

I tried to remember that these people all love me and, frankly, have more important things on their mind than whether I'm a little heavy and my hair is flat. Plus, I totally distracted them with my sparkling witty banter. And my fruit plate with chocolate dip. And when my husband kept waking me up to make me stop snoring and I was both humiliated and annoyed because first it took me two hours to fall asleep and then he kept waking me up, I thought oh well, I'll sleep when I get home. And lying on the lumpy couch, a little too warm to be comfortable, with my unsatisfactorily-cleaned face (I borrowed my mother-in-law's Oil of Olay something-or-other), looking up into the high-ceilinged woody darkness, listening to the breathing of a lot of people I really really like, I was pretty sure I'd make the right decision. So I'd like to thank my children and my in-laws for reminding me:

not to be self-conscious about what you're wearing at the cottage;


to enjoy yourself without holding back;


and not to worry


about looking silly.


(You weren't expecting a picture of ME, were you? Look, I'm all about the personal growth, but let's not get crazy here.)