Putting myself out there has always been challenging for me. I hate unfamiliar social situations- and familiar ones as well. I constantly worry that I talk too much and hog the conversation or don’t talk enough and seem disinterested or snobby. I fear I will say the wrong thing, leading to me analyzing everything I said and every facial expression shared by everyone else in the group.
Realizing this anxiety should make me want to push myself to overcome this fear, but the exact opposite occurs. Over the years, I’ve retreated more than ever before. I keep a Keurig and a toaster in my classroom, so I never have to leave for lunch. I do not attempt to make plans with people. When the opportunity to make plans and be social arises, I usually back out at the last minute. I don’t think my social anxiety has always been this fierce. Covid didn’t help. Changes in social groups didn’t help. And here I am, focusing copiously on avoiding opportunities to make new friends.
Three years ago, friends were discussing books at a neighbor’s annual New Year’s Eve party. The idea for a book club was formed. I ordered and read the first books. When it was time for the meeting, I completely flaked out. What if I talked too much and came across as an overbearing know-it-all? What if I didn’t speak enough and seemed snobbish or disinterested? I continued to read the books, then chicken out when it was time to attend the meetings. I read Where the Crawdad Sings and other books agreed upon for each future meeting. But I never attended a single session.
Two years ago, an old friend from elementary school posted on Facebook that she was interested in starting a book club. We lost touch but go around the same fitness communities, and our boys are now attending the same middle school. It was an excellent way to meet people doing something I enjoy; I usually read a book a week- sometimes more. After mentioning that I was interested, she added me to a Book Club Facebook Group.
I started with the best intentions; I read every book, thinking of talking points as I read, reading books that generally would not get into my “Want to Read” pile, including the historical novel Lilac Girls. I noted the meetings and considered what I might want to bring to each event.
This is what social anxiety looks like. It’s a constant struggle to make myself show up to any sort of social event. Last month, I volunteered at the Boston Marathon. I didn’t sleep the night before, worrying about the fellow volunteers, familiar and unfamiliar with whom I would need to interact. What would my first impressions look like? Would I be awkward? Would I talk too much? Too little? What if I said something weird? I drove to the dropoff with a knot in my stomach. I was more than happy to spend the majority of the day filling thousands of cups of water, a job that, while very important, kept me away from the bulk of the action. I am happy I volunteered and look forward to signing up again next year, but I am also fully aware that doing so requires as much mental exertion as it does physical.
Now, I need to excuse myself so I can finish reading Lessons in Chemistry for the next meeting.
World's Okayest Runner 