I haven’t had a vacation

I’ve not had a real vacation since before 2019. In fact, my last real vacation was my aborted attempt at a solo trip to Mazatlan. It didn’t end particularly well.

There was a weekend up to Salmon Arm with my friendly acquaintances in the summer of 2022, although my memories of that one are tainted by my discovery that I was being excluded from a Mexico vacation a second time. They were sure they sent the email.

And it’s not a vacation, but since I was just excluded from our “friend” group’s October birthday celebration for the two birthdays that arrive this month – there were only four tickets, don’t be like that – I’ve come to the conclusion – again – that I’ve spent too much of my life as a doormat.

I’ve also not been the best friend this past year – I haven’t been reaching out much as I navigate grief. I’m a bit to myself, a bit withdrawn.

And yes, that was sarcasm.

I was hella upset after that Monday night conversation with my friend, and I hung up on her, which was rude. I obsessed about being left out again for an evening, but I’d quite calmed down by the time I’d met with my counsellor for our biweekly, Tuesday chat.

Finding out they’d made plans without me was a bit of a relief, to be honest. I instantly felt less crazy. My feelings of exclusion were valid. And, as my counsellor pointed out, I’m dealing with a real loss with my mother’s death. Their rudeness feels small in comparison.

This is not to say that I’m not brutally hurt or upset. It’s just that death brings perspective. It’s why I use the good china every day.

Dissociation and intuition

I’ve been dissociating into unpleasant scenarios involving my friendly acquaintances over the last four weeks or so, including flashing back to their reactions and behaviours after my breast cancer diagnosis in late 2019.

I keep flashing back to what happened to the planned, post-radiation treatment girls’ trip. I wrote about that experience in Confrontation and Motivation. The “too long, didn’t read” summary is that my post-radiation-treatment trip to Mexico was turned into a couples retreat without anyone letting me know. I was excluded from the trip, of course. I found out about these changes when I made a destination suggestion.

I’ve been frustrated by this increase in dissociation, and a bit confused as to the content – the breast cancer vacation boondoggle happened nearly five years ago, and righteous indignation only lasts so long before you have to either let go of the hurt or get bitter.

But our group chat has been quiet for a couple of weeks, and that’s been on my mind as well. I’ve not felt like being the meme queen, and when I don’t, communications tend to taper off, but this has been closer to radio silence. Paranoia whispers that they’re chatting in a group I’m not a member of, but I tell my brain to stand down. Unfortunately, “paranoid” doesn’t mean you’re wrong.

My intuition must have been turning my observations into dissociation to act as a kind of warning. Silence in the group chat was them making plans that didn’t include me.

That’s a lot of words to say I’m headed to Whistler for a three-day vacation by myself.

Doing vacation wrong

I’ve never been to Whistler, despite living only a short, four-hour drive away. I didn’t go even when they hosted Olympic events there in 2010. The Whistler and Blackcomb peaks that mark the start of the Fitzsimmons Range are home to some of the best skiing and ski resorts in the world, and I’ve never seen them in real life.

Part of that is because I don’t ski. Or even participate in winter sports much at all. I’d enjoy them more if they didn’t happen in the cold.

I’m staying three days and two nights at a lovely hotel I already regret booking – you picked the wrong hotel – but what if everyone is mean, and what if I get lost, and what if I can’t figure out anything to do, and what am I supposed to wear, and what if there’s nowhere to eat, and why do I have to book everything online, and I definitely don’t want to call and talk to someone about booking anything.

Deep sigh. I’m going to need another break to recover from the stress of planning this break. Which probably means I need to calm the hell down. What weird brain comes up with the idea of doing vacation “wrong?” Perhaps my inside voice needs some wine? What happened to my inner delusion of being a “wing it” kind of gal?

I’m less ‘go with the flow’ than I like to pretend.

Snow tires and spa days

If you drive in British Columbia in the winter, you need snow tires. After October begins, you risk a fine if you’re lacking. Luckily, I had mine put back on this week. I’d hate to start my break with a ticket. Getting stuck is less likely – it’s chilly, but it’s not snowing yet. Fingers crossed it happens while I’m in a hot tub. Preferably post-massage.

You can get a nice massage at the Scandinave Day Spa. It’s a lush-looking spa just outside of Whistler that offers massages, thermal therapies, and hot and cold pools, but there are two problems with it. One, it’s very expensive. Two, it’s silent. As in, completely.

And while that sounds interesting while I’m at home, I’m not sure how much I’d enjoy an environment where silence is the order of the day. It’s too bad that the pictures of the venue are so pretty. I like massages and hot-and-cold water therapy very much. But the idea of no talking is making me anxious.

It’s also a bit out of the village proper with only limited parking, another tick in the negative column. Parking is softly discouraged for your visit; they suggest other options like the thirty-minute walk from the Village, a bike ride, or a cab. I like none of these options very much. It’s the control thing. And the escape thing.

There are nice spas close to where I’m staying as well, including one on-site. It’s not as exotic as the Scandinave, but it has location in its favour – I wouldn’t have to travel far when I’m a happy and limp noodle post-treatment.

At least, happy is the plan. I just need to flesh out some details.

How about you? Have you been to Whistler? What would you choose to do with a few days alone there in the fall?

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Postscript – in case you’re curious about the phone call, the salient parts occurred after some chitchat about our respective kids and lives, and involved me asking what we were going to plan for the October birthdays in our friend group, and then me being told that they’d all been out for drinks and had made plans to go to an ABBA Experience concert for the October birthdays.

That, as one of the other women out for the get-together couldn’t go, and as there were only four tickets, they’d just gone ahead. No one mentioned anything to me at all until I asked during this phone call. I was taken aback. I stumbled with conversation for a bit, before saying I was going to go (hang up) which is when I was told, “Don’t be like that.”

And, I admit, hanging up isn’t mature. I texted an apology and cravenly blamed my weak-sauce outburst on depression, mostly because I didn’t feel like dealing with any of it.

Then I start to wonder. Maybe I’m overreacting to not being included in the birthday things we’ve done as a group for fifteen years. Maybe I really need to listen to Maya Angelou more. I need to have only friendly acquaintance expectations of people who are no more than that. I need to doormat less often.

I tend to revert to thinking that I’m overreacting. That I whine and complain too much. It’s hard to hold onto the idea that it’s not unreasonable to expect to be included in such a long-standing tradition. I start thinking that my expectations are too high, that I’m not a good friend, and this is the inevitable result. I’m working on stopping that.

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