“Don’t Look at Me!” Social Anxiety and Me

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” My co-worker asked, eyes wide in wonder.

I had returned to my desk at work after giving a talk to some co-workers.  I had known about the talk and worn my protective clothing.

Try as I might to hide the fact that talking to a group bothered me, the red splotches had popped out of my turtleneck and littered my face.

I thought I had handled the rest of the talk well.  I held nothing in my hands to give away the shaking.  I sat a desk to hide shaking knees.

I just couldn’t breathe.  Every word came out breathless and forced.  And the blotches.  The damn blotches.

“I’m fine.  Just something that happens to me.  Do you have that paperwork I asked you for earlier?”

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“Robyn, you have something on your neck.  Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah.  I just scratched an itch there earlier.  I have sensitive skin.”

(Lie.  I do have sensitive skin, but I didn’t scratch there.  I was talking when the rest of a dinner party conversation went silent.  An entire dinner party began to hear what I was saying, and then jumped in to talk with me.  To me, that is an “Oh, dear God, no” moment.)

“It’s all good.  What were you saying?”

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“Mom, you have things all over your neck and face.”

“Yes, Cate.  I wasn’t expecting to have to talk so much.  I don’t like talking.  It’s okay.”

Introducing Cate to her therapist.  I didn’t realize the therapist would like me to give as much background information, although I am glad she asked.  But I was unprepared and wore a plain shirt.  No turtleneck or scarf to cover the blow.

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I have social anxiety.  It affects my life.

When I went to college I only applied to schools whose application process was simple: fill out this form.  No recommendations needed.

I chose my college because it was big.  Unlike others, I wanted to be a number, a face in the crowd.  I didn’t want to have to talk to any of my teachers.

When I was engaged to be married I bought this book.  I knew I was going to have to stand in front of a crowd.  A lot.  And it scared the bejesus out of me.  I had to do something, so I tried this:

I found this picture before I was to be wed.  My bridesmaids knew my problems and saw the splotching just starting, ever so faint and began to work to calm me down.

Was I afraid to be married?  No.  I was afraid of the crowd.  I spent hours at a tanning salon in the weeks before the big day to try to make my skin darker, to make the blotches that I knew would form be less apparent (back then tanning salons were not as frowned upon, accessible and cheap).

When the time came, I grabbed my dad by the arm and ran him down the aisle.  I got married.  Then I smiled and ran my now husband back up the aisle.

Our first dance?  I could care less.  I told my husband he could pick the song.  “Just be sure it is under 2 minutes.”

No garter time, no cake cutting – no.  No more time with bride than was necessary.

The reason I bring this up is because I realized that my social anxiety affects other parts of my life, how I run it, how I am affected by things.  I looked at the ideas of what I want to write about in future posts and realized, a lot of these issues stem back to this one area of my life.  I have social anxiety.

I have mentioned before that I am an introvert (to the core).  In my post “Introversion vs. Autism” I questioned the rising belief that introverts, due to their issues with socialization, are on the autism spectrum.  I countered this belief in that post.  And I still do.

I also wrote about being a highly sensitive person in my post “You’re Too Sensitive.”  Not all aspects of this definition apply to my social anxiety, but I hate large crowds.  Every eye-ball that looks at me is a laser, ready to bore a huge red blotch on my skin.

I have social anxiety.  Using too many words at any given time, having people look at me, having to talk with others – all will cause my body to react, my heart to race, my breathing to stop, my chest, neck and face to blotch.

I have created a world where it is not that big of a deal.  Each day, my heart doesn’t race, my skin doesn’t blotch.  I am not uncomfortable.  But I do realize the choices I have made and the decisions I make, for myself and for my family, are affected by this part of me.  But I will talk about that more later.

To be continued….