Chastisement = Self Discovery

Last Sunday, I was chastised. Seems there is a small requirement relating to my church-going self that I wasn't fulfilling, and I'm not talking about one of those self-imposed "I'm going to be perfect" requirements. I failed. On purpose. I didn't want to do it and then I got overwhelmed, so I felt justified. Then I was chastised for not doing it. Okay, as chastised as one can get by a near-saint, but still.

To all outside parties, it appeared as if the world had come crumbling down. I seemed to spout an emotional response akin to the one that developed after arriving home the day I was laid off (I won't blog about that, it's still a sore subject). I'm sure it was the hormones, but it didn't help my pride. It did, however, help my case (which also didn't help my pride). As a result, I spent much of the rest of the day avoiding everything and thinking about why I didn't want to fulfill this particular task - why, in fact, for the past 11 years I have dilligently managed to fail repeatedly at this requirement.

Epiphany (once in awhile, even with my "the baby is sucking all of my brain cells mind" I still have one of those).

I don't like strangers.

Okay, I know - it's part of the child-conditioning. "Don't take candy from a stranger." "Don't give a stranger directions." (On this one you have to remember I grew up in a very small town designed in a grid system - NO ONE legitimatly ever needed directions) "Don't accept a ride from a stranger." "Don't go night hiking with a group of strange college-age guys you barely know when you are 17." (Oh wait. That was one my parents SHOULD have told me, but didn't - it turned out okay, but good grief, what was I thinking?!)

You get the point. But it's more than that. I don't like strangers. I don't like meeting new people one-on-one, and I especially don't like going to the home of someone I don't know. Especially by myself. Especially when it's dark and there might be a man involved. Because, in addition to my fear of strangers, I have an IRRATIONAL fear of men. Not men my own age (see the above comment about the night hiking - oy!), but older men, especially ones with facial hair. It's not a new thing - as a kid, older men with facial hair would send me into hysterics (case in point - ask me about the day my pre-school was supposed to go to the police station and the policeman involved - I remember the terror vividly - and I was 4 years old).

I didn't like the stranger my grandma dragged home from church for our Christmas celebration when I was 10. I remember being uncomfortable the entire day - and there was NOTHING WRONG with the person. My parents used to let a friend of theirs who was a traveling salesman stay over occassionally. I hated those days. All through college, I never went to a professor's office hours, except one time when I was crusading over an issue, and I didn't have a choice if I didn't want to fail my Ethics class. I nearly died when my Freshman Orientation class had to have dinner at our professor/mentor's home after only four days of class. And in 11 years, I've never willingly completed this requirement if it involved a stranger. Etc.

If it's in a group, on neutral ground, or I've been introduced by someone I know, it's not so harrowing. If it involves the telephone, it ranks up there with having an anxiety attack.

Himself says he now knows I am certifiably nuts. I think I am. Boderline OCD as a kid. Anxiety attacks as a result of a medical trauma as a teen, stranger phobia - I'm a nutty woman trapped in a reasonably sane woman's body (one that looks as if I've eaten too many desserts lately). This self-discovery thing is a little freaky (especially considering I chose to pass on my genes!).

But ... it turns out I hate being chastised worse. I wrote an apology e-mail and vowed I would make amends within the week. I still couldn't bring myself to involve the telephone, but I did manage to make an in-person contact. I venture over to the stranger's house on Wednesday.

Wish me luck.