I remember the first time I felt social anxiety. At least I think I do.
Let’s meet KURT. KURT was always a mean kid. I do not remember a single nice thing about KURT. He had plenty of friends and was outgoing, but I’m really not sure what anyone ever saw in him. Even his jokes were mean. That’s all I remember about his personality.
So one day in fifth or sixth grade, we were walking in line to the lunch room. Now, I was always a quiet kid. I’m sure I had social anxiety for quite some time before this incident. But for some reason, on this day, KURT chose to call me out in line and say “Hey mute, why don’t you ever talk?” I don’t remember answering him. I don’t think I had an answer. I remember feeling scared in that moment though. Scared and sad. He was calling me out on something I think I knew for a long time — I wasn’t like everyone else. And apparently it was bad enough to start getting called out on it. Was this bullying? Maybe. But it was also a dose of the truth, and now it was clear that I wasn’t blending in enough.
It wasn’t like I didn’t have friends or that I stayed by myself throughout the school day. I had plenty of friends and I talked to them as often as I was able. That was the thing, though; I was afraid to talk to anyone that wasn’t my friend. So, to most people, it probably looked like I never talked. I was so clueless about how to fit into a conversation that I simply wouldn’t try unless someone spoke to me first.
How do you even fit into conversations when everyone around you is talking about something you cannot relate to or understand? Maybe I could have asked questions to understand better. I’m not sure. I just had a hard time fitting into a conversation unless I had something to add to it. So, I guess I often stayed quiet. I really don’t remember seeing this as a problem until KURT called me out on it. Suddenly, I felt like I was a human anomaly.
When I think about my social anxiety, I often think about this pivotal moment. It only got worse from here. In middle school, KURT continued to call me Mute, particularly when passing me in the hallway. Each time stung and made me question who I was and what was wrong with me. I became so hyperaware of everything I was doing and everything around me. I was so busy processing my environment every second of the day, and staying quiet allowed me to do that. It was for my safety. I had to analyze what everyone else was doing so that I could know what to do too. I often thought things like “Am I dressing right?”, “What do they hate about that girl? I should make sure I don’t do that too so they like me.”, and “Just do your work and get through this so you can be with your friends.”
My friends were my safe place. I knew they accepted me, and I knew how to talk to them. Anytime I was in a social situation, I clung to my friends. They kept me safe. I didn’t know how to expand my social circle — everyone else was unsafe. They might not like me. I was too weird.
At some point in my freshman year of high school, I started to realize that my feelings were not something I could just “get over”. I started to research my experiences online and found that social anxiety disorder fit my thoughts, feelings, and actions perfectly. So I asked my mom to take me to a psychiatrist for medication to help me. I was adamant that I did not want to go to therapy, though. I did not believe that a therapist could help me. How could they possibly help me when adults never seemed to listen or understand what I am going through? The sentiment always seemed to be “you have to get over it and do it because this is what humans are expected to do” anytime I felt scared or overwhelmed. No matter how much I explained myself, nothing would change. Instead, I was shown that I just need to figure it out myself. So, therapy was out of the question. It was a waste of time. I did go to the psychiatrist, though. He agreed with me that I had social anxiety disorder. Finally! There was some explanation for my constant fears and worries. Unfortunately, I only remember seeing him one time. He was not very personable, like most psychiatrists. So I probably had no interest in seeing him again. But I was happy to simply have a diagnosis! Still, I was terrible at remembering to take my medication, and I had none of the tools or information to help me get through my social anxiety, so I continued to struggle, especially in school.
I wish I could say that medication and awareness helped my social anxiety get better, but High School was the worst. There were so many presentations, opportunities to read in front of the class, and people that I didn’t know, and I panicked much of the time. My grades fell as I failed to turn in projects and assignments so I wouldn’t have to present them.
The social anxiety disorder diagnosis did help me some, I suppose. With my new social anxiety disorder diagnosis, I was able to begin my sophmore year with a 504 plan. This 504 plan made it so that I did not need to present in front of the class in any way. It also allowed me to sit out in gym (Physical Education, P.E.) so no one had to see how positively bad at sports I was. Sadly, I had to tell my teachers I did not want to present or go in front of the class, which was really hard for me too. I didn’t want to disappoint them too, and I felt like I would need to defend my request. So the 504 plan often gave me just as much anxiety as it was trying to prevent. Additionally, teachers really wanted me to participate, and would often try to find loopholes in my 504 plan that would “encourage” me to do so. This was particularly an issue in gym class. Although I was allowed to sit out of gym class, my teacher didn’t like that very much and tried to get me to participate. This just increased my anxiety tremendously as I no longer felt like the plan that was supposed to keep me safe was doing so.
Eventually, after hearing from some of Sister #2’s friends that an alternative school was a much better environment for people with mental health disorders like me, I petitioned my family and school to send me to one. Ultimately, after many meetings and all of the medical and psychiatric history my mom provided to them, the counselors and social workers at my high school did not approve this. I was furious. No one seemed to want to actually help me. They wanted to literally force me to go to therapy, where I would refuse to talk, and seemed to think that was helping me! This was just more evidence that no one would listen to me. I was on my own.
As a final attempt to change my surroundings and create a safe space to receive an education, at 16 years old, I began refusing to go to school and requested that my parents homeschool me. I could see my dad’s disappointment in me. He was scared and sad, and just thinking about that still makes me tear up. I only wish he knew what I was constantly feeling at that time. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so hard for him. My mother was fuming. She always responded to fear with anger. She insisted that they could not afford to homeschool me. I wish they knew what I know now about homeschooling and how affordable and easy it could be! But they were under the impression they would need to hire someone to homeschool me because they did not have enough time or knowledge to do so themselves. Perhaps this was true, but I likely would have pursued my own education. I have always loved learning. Still, believing that they could not homeschool me, my mother attempted to contact my high school counseling department to talk me down. The counselor came to my home to talk to me, which was surprising to me, but there was nothing anyone could do. All attempts to help me feel safe had failed. I needed to get out of there.
With all options exhausted, and my parents’ refusal to homeschool me, I dropped out of high school at 16 years old. The plan was to get my GED and start working. I started going to evening GED classes at my high school. They tested me to see if I even needed the classes and I passed as a high school freshman. So, I was cleared to take the GED and I did not require any further classes. I started researching how I would go about taking the GED and all of the steps involved things I had never done before in places I had never been with people I had never met. How terrifying! Out of fear, I was never able to get my GED scheduled. My dad was so frustrated and disappointed. I couldn’t bare to face him. So, I locked myself away in my room for months. I would only come out at night to get a bag of Cheerios I could eat in my room. I was at such a dark place at this point in my life, and I had no clue how to get out.
I feel like I have gotten better at managing my social anxiety over the years, though. I am not sure what changed. It could be the fact that I moved away when I turned 18, or it could be that I often try to challenge myself to do things that are socially scary for me and maybe, just maybe, it is actually working. Now, I can talk to new people when I need to. I still have a lot of fear, especially when it comes to presentations where some degree of improv is involved. However, I care much less about what people think about me now. Now I make it a point to do what makes me happy, regardless of what people may think. However, sometimes there is a balance that is hard to navigate, especially when it comes to work and parenting.
When I think about my social anxiety, I mourn the childhood I should have had. Social anxiety stole so much from me. I should have graduated high school. I should have gone to college with my friends. I should have attended so many parties. I should have never moved away. I should have done so many things differently. I missed so many opportunities. It simply makes me sad.
But this is my story. This is part of my history. This is part of what makes me who I am today. I think a part of me worries that I might forget all of this some day, so I want to write it down. It feels good to get it out of my head and somewhere more concrete too. But then another part of me hopes that I can provide some sort of comfort to someone else by sharing my experiences. If you struggle with social anxiety, no matter what age you are, know that you are not alone. I don’t have any answers for you, but I hope that being able to relate to someone else gives you some sense of comfort. ♥
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