"Sorry, I already have plans.”
And what I wish I said when I was struggling instead.
As I struggled with PTSD, the fear of getting attacked consumed me. At 26, I went through a traumatic experience where I was chased and believed I’d get attacked. Although I walked away from the experience physically unharmed, the fear that was instilled in me that day persisted.
I feared I’d get attacked walking in my neighborhood, big cities, or towns that were “too quiet.” I feared I’d get attacked in parking lots or while stopped at a stoplight in my car. I feared I’d get attacked in the shower or my bedroom. I feared I’d get attacked whenever I heard a knock at my front door. I feared I’d get attacked on the train or the trails. I feared I’d get attacked anywhere I went, day or night.
Naturally, this fear made leaving my house a challenge. So, when friends invited me to go to a concert, go out for a drink, meet up for coffee, or go on a hike, I usually said something along the lines of “sorry, I’m busy” or “Thanks, but I already have plans”. Even if I had zero plans, and even if I wanted to see them and do whatever activity they suggested, I’d make up some excuse for not being able to join; my fear of getting attacked overrode any of my desires.
Back then, I also feared that I’d be judged for having anxiety, “irrational fears,” or any mental health issues, so being completely honest with people didn’t seem like a safe option. And when some people dismissed my pain and minimized my trauma, this fear was reinforced.
As I rejected invites, they gradually trickled in less and less frequently. I gave people the idea that I was always “busy” and failed to show appreciation for them. Eventually, with neither party making an effort, many of these friendships fell apart.
If I could go back in time, I would have done things differently. I miss some of the friendships I’ve lost, and even if I didn’t feel safe enough going places or discussing my mental health, I wonder what would have happened if I challenged myself to be just a little more honest.
I wonder what would have happened if I said something like, “I haven’t been feeling like going out lately. I’d love to hang out sometime though. Maybe we can do a movie night at my place soon?” Or, “Thanks so much for inviting me. I’d love to, but being in crowds can overwhelm me. I’m thinking of what would help me feel safer because I’d really love to join.” I wonder if I would’ve felt less lonely. I wonder if, eventually, I’d become comfortable enough to open up to them about my PTSD. I wonder if they’d still be in my life now.
So, I no longer tell people “I already have plans.” When I decline an invitation, I try to do so thoughtfully and more honestly, expressing my gratitude and value for the friendship.
Practicing vulnerability and putting yourself “out there” is hard, but I’ve found that living in isolation is so much harder.
For more on practicing vulnerability while healing from trauma, check out Chapter 9 in my book, You’re Going to Be Okay: 16 Lessons on Healing after Trauma.