When Anxiety Makes You Fumble the Invitation

My 21-year-old daughter invited me to go skiing. Last minute. Spontaneous. Casual. The kind of invite that sounds fun when you say it out loud. And somehow… I fumbled it. Instead of a simple yes or even a curious tell me more, my nervous system took the wheel. Out came the objections, one after another, like I was building a legal case against joy.

Money.
Ski conditions.
The price of lift tickets.
The time of day.
Logistics. Fatigue. Timing. Practicality.

Any twinge of friction I could find… I threw it at her. The back and forth was frustrating for us both. It resulted in a lot of huffing and eye-rolling, of course it did. And eventually, she made up her mind to just go alone. So what did I do next? I threw even more caution at her:

Nobody should ski alone!
It’s like swimming.
You need a buddy system.
What if you get hurt?
What if you can’t drive home?

Now, some would agree that these are standard parental responses and thoughts. At the time, I told myself I was being reasonable. Responsible. Adult. Measured.
But later that night, when my head hit the pillow, my mind did what it does best. It replayed the moment. Slowly. Painfully. Honestly.

What I realized stopped me cold.
Omg - you dumbass!

My daughter—whom I don’t see nearly enough—had tried to include me. Not in a big, planned, emotionally loaded way. Just a simple, spontaneous come with me. And I hadn’t met the invitation. I had analyzed it to death.

I didn’t say no outright.
I did something sneakier.

I made it hard. (teeth uncomfortably grinding here as I write that).

And when you make something hard enough, people eventually stop asking. That’s when the grief hit. Not dramatic grief. The quiet kind. The kind that whispers, This is a pattern. One I hadn’t fully seen until now. So I did the only thing that felt regulating instead of defensive: I acknowledged it. Immediately. Fully. Without excuses.

I apologized. Not the “sorry, but…” kind. The real kind.

She still chose to go solo. And that stung, but it was fair. What mattered more was that we talked. We named a recurring theme I didn’t realize I was contributing to. Was this learned behavior? Maybe, but that’s something separate to explore on my own time, not hers. We agreed to try again soon. And I promised out loud to work on going with the flow.

Here’s the part I’m sitting with now:

She wasn’t asking for my opinions.
She wasn’t asking for a cost benefit analysis.
She wasn’t asking for problem solving.

She was inviting me.

And anxiety has a way of turning invitations into threats. It scans for risk. It tries to protect. It forgets that not every moment requires armor. I feel foolish, yes. But I also feel aware. And awareness is where change starts, not perfection. So this is me, gently reminding myself (and maybe you too): If someone you love invites you in, pause before you negotiate your way out. Check whether your nervous system is answering instead of your heart. And if you fumble, repair quickly. That matters more than getting it right the first time.

We’ll try again. And next time, I hope I can say yes with less thinking… and more trust.

A picture she sent me from the chairlift. I’m so proud of her fearlessness.