In my late teens and early twenties, I became acutely aware
that I had a serious inability to be in a social situation where there was a
group of people or if I was in an unfamiliar place. It was so serious, I would
actually exhibit physiological signs like palms sweating, flushed, rapid
heartbeats, feeling faint, and short of breath.
To give some examples, I was supposed to meet the brother of
a guy I had been dating. I walked in to the front of the restaurant—knowing they
were there waiting for me. This was before cell phones, so I couldn’t call or
contact them. I could see them from where I was. But, I was so immobilized by
the people in the restaurant my feet were like they were stuck in concrete. I
turned around and walked out. I never showed up because I could not walk
through the people.
I remember going to Vicki’s church when I was married and my
husband wouldn’t go with me. I arrived late and the meeting had already
started. I almost walked in and then I saw how full the chapel was. I couldn’t
move. I literally backed up and sat on the couch to wait for the meeting to
end. I planned to find her afterward, but I was so panicked and terrified about
all of the people that were pouring out of the chapel, I couldn’t breathe. I
got up and sprinted out the door, just to catch my breath. I ran out to my car
and drove as fast as I could home. I cried the whole way.
I was with my mother-in-law at a women’s conference. She wandered
off to talk to someone and when I realized I was all alone, it hit me. I wasn’t
expecting it and felt like I had gotten over it at this point in my life. Out
of nowhere, I was in a crowded room filled with people and the panic showed up
out of nowhere. I had to leave and ran outside. Of course, eventually I had to
come back in and find her.
I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what was wrong
with me. It was embarrassing. I knew I was too old to not know how to behave
normally. But no matter how I tried to push it out of my head, it was there and
it was real. I would do things—or rather not do things that were so odd because
of my inability to interact normally—that were misunderstood and honestly
strange to everyone else. I couldn’t tell anyone, it sounded so ridiculous.
After a lot of research, I self-diagnosed social anxiety,
which best describes my behavior. It’s a mental disorder—add it to my list.
With years of trying to overcome it, I have gotten better. I can prepare myself
and since I’ve learned what it is and what causes it, I can cope with it more. Every
event or place I have gone where people—normal people—interact, I am
experiencing immense pain, fear, anxiety and on the verge of tears. I fake it
till I make it, doing anything and everything to hide my secret. To succinctly summarize,
it sucks to be a grown woman who would like to hide behind her mother’s skirt.
Ironically, if you ask me to speak in front of a group of
200 people I am stoked! I love public speaking. I can get up in front of a
group and speak extemporaneously. I enjoy training groups of people, teaching
classes, giving talks, etc. You can try to figure out the psychological
imbalance of my life if you want, but I’ve tried my whole life and haven’t
gotten very far. So, I just accept it for what it is.
On that introduction, I wanted to talk about my trip to my
new ward today. I remember how
painstaking it was to attend church at the age of 30 and still single with
social anxiety. It was brutal every Sunday to go. Now, for the first time in 10
years I was going to have to introduce myself as a 42 year old divorcee. Trust
me, for all my efforts of overcoming this, everything came rushing back. I.
Was. Terr-i-fied. But, I had three little children to take with me, and I didn’t
want them to know how fearful I was to attend. I had to make it exciting so
they wouldn’t follow my emotional lead. Funny how kids can be the best reason
to find courage.
To be continued… [I’m too tired to finish this one]
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