How I’ve Managed My Social Anxiety
I think I’ve had social anxiety my whole life.
I think I’ve had social anxiety my whole life. I have very early memories of playing in McDonald’s Playplace and being encouraged by my grandpa to go play with the other kids. I couldn’t have been more than three or four.
I remember being scared to go say hi to them.
I didn’t do it.
I remember the disappointment on his face.
I remember as a young child having adults speak to me. I remember feeling nervous and not saying anything back or looking them in the eye. I remember my mother telling them that I’m shy. But the way it was said, even as a very young child, I could hear the judgment and the embarrassment behind it.
I am shy and it is a problem.
I am shy and it is something to be ashamed of.
I am shy and there is something wrong with me.
That pattern repeated throughout my life up through adulthood. I see people hanging out. I know I could go talk to them. I feel afraid. I don’t go talk to them. I shame myself for being the way that I am.
It wasn’t until I was in my thirties that I started to take a good look at my social anxiety. I wanted to know what was driving it. I didn’t want it to hold me back anymore.
What I found is that underneath it was a fear of rejection and a fear of cruelty. I was actually afraid of getting hurt.
I had a mentor tell me that no one can hurt me without my permission. If someone were to tell me that my blue mohawk was hideous, I would just think they were weird and crazy because I don’t have a blue mohawk. It is only when someone says something to me that I also think myself or that I am afraid is true, that I feel pain. If someone tells me that I am weird and unwanted, that hurts because I believe that to be true. I would take it as “proof.” If I didn’t believe that, I would just think they were as weird and crazy as if they were talking about my non-existent blue mohawk.
I was also afraid of my own judgment: the part where I would go back and dissect every interaction I had with someone and beat myself up. “Why did you say that? You are so stupid. No one is going to want to be around you.”
I’ve spent countless nights tossing and turning with this sort of dialog going on in my head. So of course I am afraid of talking to people. Talking to them means that this dialog is going to happen. Of course I am avoiding it. It makes perfect sense.
In order to calm these fears, I had to take a good hard look at what I believed about myself. What was I afraid of being reflected back to me? I learned that I could believe anything I want about myself. I can choose on purpose. So I chose to believe that there is nothing wrong with me. I am good enough as I am. Now I go into interactions knowing that. I am not looking to others to validate that I am good enough. I know that I am. I decided it is so.
I also had to make the decision that I was not going to be mean to myself. My new rule is no meanness no matter what. Sometimes I slip up. When I do, I have to apologize to myself the same as I would if I was mean to anyone else.
My heart rate still accelerates when I am going to talk to new people. That will probably always happen. It is a well ingrained bodily habit. But I talk to people anyways. I look them in the eyes. I am not afraid of them. They can’t hurt me. They don’t have that power; I have reclaimed it.
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