Anxiously Social

If you were to ask those who knew me growing up one word to define my character it would likely be confident. Some may still say that, but what I fear is that they instead say I’m annoying, attention seeking, or difficult to talk to. What I have uncovered in therapy is that I feel as though I am constantly walking on eggshells around almost everyone. This includes those closest to me, because those are the ones I’m most afraid to lose. Instead of remaining quiet due to this fear, my anxiety pushes me in the opposite direction where I try to fill up every sliver of silence in the room. Then, upon leaving almost every social interaction I berate myself for all the ways I “messed up.”

I interrupted too much. I stuck my foot in my mouth and said something offensive. I overshared. I hogged the conversation. I forgot to ask about my friend’s latest vacation or job interview or birthday celebrations. My social anxiety isn’t in the lead up to seeing friends but in the debrief I have with myself afterwards. I could be so excited to see everyone and then leave feeling deflated like I had missed my chance to deepen relationships and instead pushed people further away. I have found that I do this not just in social situations but in the aftermath of sending a work-related email if I don’t receive a timely response or in an interaction with my husband, best friend, or in-laws if I feel I didn’t make a point clearly. I talk about how much my daughter is an empath, because she feels deeply. I’m realizing that maybe she inherited that from me.   

I worry about saying the wrong thing or rocking the boat, because my reality is that someone who I thought loved me infinitely could instantly vanish without a goodbye, without a chance for a follow up conversation, without any additional interactions. Ever.  And for seemingly no apparent reason. My dad took his own life not because of anything I did (or that anyone else did for that matter), but it still subconsciously left me feeling as though I could mis-step and hit a landmine, causing the loss of someone I could never be prepared to live without.

I would like to say I’ve recovered from these self-inflicted reprimands, but I think I’m only in the early stages of recognition and redirection. Yesterday, I decided to write a note to a neighbor who I recently learned has stage 5 lung cancer. I would offer to bring her a favorite treat, whether that be something refreshing to drink, fresh flowers, a certain book, or maybe even a visit from a toddler. In the past week, I have noticed extra cars in the driveway and others surrounding her as they sit on her porch. Since meeting, I have always really liked this sweet human. We do not know each other well but used to work out in the same classes, chat for a few minutes when we passed on walks, and share Christmas cards. She has even offered to watch Luna for me in the past. I sent the message and immediately started to question whether I knew her well enough to have done so. I questioned how it would be received. Maybe she didn’t want people tending to her, bringing her things, worrying about her. Maybe she would perceive it as pity or it would reinforce the fact that her time was fleeting. Then, I stopped myself. I recognized the spiral. I have pure intentions. I want to let this person know that I enjoyed our times together even if minimal. I want her to know that she is cared for in our community. I want her to know that I value her life and would like to spend some of her remaining time cherishing it if she is up for it. I should not question how my intentions will be received when I know that they are true and coming from a place of compassion. I cannot control others’ perceptions or reactions. I can control what I say and do. If I did not send that note, I would forever regret it much more than if I sent it and did not get a response.