For me, social anxiety isn’t shyness,
Nor is it a synonym for ‘introverted’,
In my experience its one of several illnesses or diagnoses.
And sometimes it really sucks.
It can also be called social phobia
And yes, part of it is feeling anxious about speaking in front of people, avoiding crowds and seeming shy.
But it’s also fearing to start a conversation in case I accidentally say something that hurts you, or you say something that hurts me.
Yes, I’m worried I’ll make a fool of my self, but I’m also scared that I’ll get triggered, scared that I’ll panic or even that I’ll faint.
Social anxiety means walking into church, a place I love to be, with a tight chest, a knotted stomach and sweaty or shaking hands.
It means wishing I could melt into the floor instead of picking up that phone or starting that video call.
It means feeling light headed and sick.
It means that I never really go to cafés on my own, that if I need to pick up lunch I’ll usually find somewhere with a self checkout, that if I meet you somewhere I’ll probably wait outside rather than going in.
It means that birthday parties, weddings, baby showers and dedications become mountains that I must climb, that I might just make it over. Or I might get so close to the top, only to fall back down and decide that I just can’t do it.
It means knowing that my thoughts are irrational, but being overwhelmed by the physical symptoms all the same.
It means not being able to eat because my stomach is so thrown by anxiety.
It means finding myself glued to a bench, to a bus stop, to a brick wall, because I’ve made it most of the way, but I just can’t make it through the door.
It means deciding not to go to countless events because I already know that it will be too much.
It means wishing I could tell stories or share my experience to a group of people, but knowing that my words will disintegrate before they make it out of my mouth.
It means struggling to hold a real conversation because my mind is putting all of its effort into fighting the anxiety.
It means intrusive thoughts and an urge to pull out my hair or dig my nails into my skin.
It comes alongside my depression and generalised anxiety and together they start a spiral, helping each other along.
It seems that so much of what helps me fight my depression is made harder by social anxiety.
Social anxiety isn’t just what happens before and during, it’s what happens after too.
It’s the hours at night spent thinking about what I said, what I did and what I didn’t say or do.
It’s frustration at myself and regret for what I’ve missed.
It’s the exhaustion that follows an unfamiliar setting, a group conversation or meeting someone new.
It’s feeling that I’m clingy, a burden, and that I let other people down.
In many ways its what I’m used to, and in many ways it keeps me safe.
I’m not always socially anxious and I’m not always sure why the anxiety appears. I’m learning what I find difficult, and I’m getting to know the things that trigger me.
And though easy to assume, it’s not always the reason I find something hard.
But so often it is much more than it is made out to be.
It presses in around me, snatches things from me, and makes some of the simplest things too much to endure.
So often, I wish that I could tear through the social anxiety, throw it aside, let it go.
If only it could be so easy.
I don’t want social anxiety to keep depriving me from so many things.
I want to be able to go to my friend’s birthday, to enjoy a friend’s wedding. I want to be able to share my experience with a room full of people, to start a conversation with someone I’ve never met before. It’s not that I’m introverted or shy. I’m not sure that I’m either of these.
I have social anxiety, and sometimes it feels crippling.
I am grateful for friends and family that walk beside me when I am overwhelmed,
And I’m grateful for a God who clings to me, providing me what I need for each moment as, in my anxiety, I cling to my Heavenly Father too.
The Lilies of the Field 