22. Daphne

Chapter 22

Daphne

“I feel so guilty,” I admit to Erin over the Zoom call. “Yesterday was one of the worst days I’ve had in a long time. I just rotted, doomscrolling and letting myself spiral.”

“Daphne, there’s no right way to handle extreme stress.”

“I know, but I ate so much junk food trying to fill the hole inside of me. Eventually, I was as physically sick as I felt mentally,” I stammer, my words tripping over each other.

The best thing about virtual therapy is taking sessions from the comfort of your pj’s. Normally, I have one session a month, but Erin had an opening today. This hour for myself was very much needed.

“I’m sorry to hear yesterday was tough, but it’s understandable given the article, the comments, and Cameron. It’s okay to have days when usual coping strategies don’t work. Reaching out for support is a good step.”

“I know, but how do I move forward? I’m worried sponsors will pull out of my retreat or people will crash the site when I post tickets in the middle of January. I don’t want to put anyone at risk.”

“Those are valid fears, but that’s two months away. You have time to figure things out.”

“But what do I do right now? I hate that I feel like that preteen girl getting bullied online again. I hate that I can’t fix this myself.”

The thing that no one warns you about is that no matter how much time passes, no matter what story you tell yourself, whether you turn the bullying into an act of revenge or live with a heart full of love, there will always be a voice in your brain. One that visits you in the best moments of your life and in the worst. One that appears, often or occasionally, and lies to you.

Mine says that I’m too much. That I’m trying to get attention. That I’m weird. That I’m not capable of helping anybody. That I’m a freak. That because I’m still in therapy after so many years, I’m not equipped to talk about anxiety.

However radically I show myself love, no matter how much acceptance I get from the people who matter most to me, the idea of being misunderstood still makes my stomach queasy. And those comments yesterday did all of that and more.

“You’re not that girl anymore, Daphne. You have choices in front of you.”

“Cameron suggested that I take down my socials,” I say. My palms grow sweaty. “But I can’t do that.”

Erin gives me a sympathetic glance. “When was the last time you took a break from posting?”

“When I got the flu two winters ago.” I bite my lip, trying to calm my nerves.

“Okay, that’s a long time. You use your account to spread awareness about mental health, but your mental health is just as important to your community. You’re allowed to take some time away to care for yourself.”

I blink at her. Of course. “I’m a hypocrite.”

“You’re hardly a hypocrite. You’re being dealt a difficult situation that few of us know how to handle.”

“I tell people to care about their mental health, but I’m not even taking care of mine. How am I supposed to run a retreat when I can’t even manage my anxiety?”

“You can manage your anxiety,” Erin reminds me, and I feel embarrassed that my fatalist thinking is getting ahold of my tongue. “You’ve been doing it for fifteen years. Sometimes the way we take care of ourselves evolves and changes. What used to work may need an adjustment given your current circumstances.”

“You’re right. I have the power to step away from this temporarily. Maybe just for a week?” Then I’ll see how I feel. I’ll make an announcement and go offline. Even though that terrifies me and I love making content and talking to people, it’s for the best. This whole thing made me feel like giving up on my retreat, and that’s not okay. I hate that this is making me doubt myself.

“One day at a time. Can I ask, how is Cameron handling this? You’ve expressed feelings for him in our last session. Could this perhaps bring you closer?”

“He’s dealt with this kind of thing before.” I fidget with the sleeve of my sweater.

Cameron seemed to know how to handle it. How to fix it. How to calm me down. He had the right idea: get away from it all. Maybe running is the best way to get through this.

“That’s useful.”

I shrug. “I like who he is as a person and how he makes me feel. The version of myself that I am when I’m with him. But now, I don’t know if our worlds make sense together.” I don’t want to be in the tabloids ever again, and that doesn’t seem to be something Cameron can avoid.

“Maybe if you take him up on his offer to go to California next month, you can spend some time together outside of the routine you’ve made in London?”

“Maybe. But now that we’ve kissed, everything feels so complicated.” My mind races with questions. What are we? How do we move forward? Are we still just friends, or are we more? What do I even want?

“It doesn’t have to be complicated, Daphne. You both clearly care for each other. Sometimes stressful situations bring people closer together.”

“Are we trauma bonding?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Erin chuckles. “Look, you don’t have to define your relationship. Sure, your bubble has burst, but the feelings you have for each other haven’t just vanished.”

“That’s true. I want to be around him, and I’ve never casually kissed someone before. How do I make sense of that? Isn’t this the part of every relationship where people decide if it’s make-or-break?”

Erin shakes her head. “Did you like kissing him?”

“So much.”

“Do you want to do it again?”

I hesitate, scared to admit it out loud. “Yes.”

“So, why not just do that?”

“But what does it mean—”

“That you two are good friends. That you care for each other, and you like kissing. And that can be it for now, until everything blows over and you’re ready to have a conversation about both of your feelings. You’ve only been spending time together for two months. From what I understand of modern dating, you don’t need to rush and label your relationship.”

It has been such a short time, even though my feelings for him are big. “You’re right. The last thing I want to do is lose my friend over a shitty tabloid story,” I say. I don’t need to complicate the situation even more. “But am I being too soft about this? Should I just go online and tell everyone to fuck off? Is that what a Yes Girl would do? I’m worried that me running away is running away from my Yes Year.”

“A Yes Girl is whoever you want her to be. Boundaries are healthy. There’s no manual for this.”

“You’re right, Erin.” I sigh. “I’m going to make a post and take a break until I’m ready to log back on. Maybe after the holidays.”

I already have the next two weeks of content planned out. I’ll schedule those sporadically and make sure my sponsored posts are up. Then I can delete the apps and stay offline.

People take breaks for the holidays all the time. My community won’t just disappear.

“Good.” She smiles, glancing at the corner of her screen, likely checking our time. “Talk soon, Daphne. If you need anything, I’m a call away.”

“Thank you.”

Closing my laptop, I take a deep breath. I feel so much better than yesterday. Sometimes all I need is a good cry, binging on all my favorite snacks, a debrief with a therapist, and some grace to allow myself to feel shitty. It’s a deep cut, and it’s impractical to think it will heal overnight.

I wish I had asked Cameron to stay the night. I didn’t want him to think I couldn’t take care of myself. But he was there for me when I needed it most, and I can trust him.

It takes me an hour to craft the perfect caption and schedule my posts, but once it’s done, I hit publish and delete the apps from my phone. My nerves are still a bit fried, but there’s a sense of relief washing over me. Tomorrow is a new day.

Just one more thing to do.

Daphne

Thank you for being there for me last night.

Goose

Anytime.

I mean it. I’m only a door away.

Now more than ever, I don’t want to be alone or out in public. The weather outside matches my dreary mood. Maybe Cameron and I can lean on each other for the next month. Surely, after the New Year, no one will be talking about that article. Like he said, it will blow over.

Daphne

Want to come over for dinner?

Shrek 2?

Goose

I’ll grab some salads for us on the way home.

Daphne

You mean turkey club sandwiches from Petal & Plate right?

Extra cranberry sauce. :)

Goose

Be there at 8.

My anxiety dances around my body. I walk over to the bathroom and glance in my full-sized mirror. I make myself big. I stand up on my tiptoes and reach my arms overhead. Take up space. I swallow a deep breath and shoot it out of me, pulling funny faces until I manage to get myself to smile a little. But I still need to get my hands busy.

I can survive forty-six days offline. I’ve been wanting to knit my first rug for my bedroom. That should take a month, and I can make beanies for the local hospitals too. I probably have the yarn I ordered downstairs. I slip on my slippers and open my door to a huge bouquet of…lettuce? Flowers and lettuce and pods of peas.

I grab the card.

Sticks & Stems & Seeds

For Duck - From Goose

I take it in—Cameron’s messy handwriting on the card, the inside joke behind the bouquet. Something so small, a shared bit of our humor, makes me feel seen, cherished, and understood. Who knew a bunch of lettuce and peas could do that?

A halfhearted chuckle falls out of me. And it’s exactly what I needed.