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November 19 - December 12, 2020
Like Moe, you may know firsthand the excruciation of teetering on the edge of speaking. It’s like standing at the end of a ten-meter diving platform, your heart pounding at the prospect of leaping in. Remaining silent invites frustration—“I knew that was the answer,” or, “Dammit, that was my idea,” but the thought of jumping into the abyss of conversation is paralyzing.
We are convinced we are too much of something: too weird, too awkward, too annoying. Or that we are not enough of something else: not confident, not socially skilled, not competent.
The more items you agree with, the more social anxiety you likely carry with you as you travel through life.
1. I get nervous if I have to speak with someone in authority (teacher, boss, et al.).
3. I become tense if I have to talk about myself or my feelings.
5. I feel tense if I am alone with just one other person.
6. I worry about expressing myself in case I appear awkward.
8. I find it difficult to disagree with someone else’s point of view. 9. I find myself worrying that I won’t know what to say in social situations. 10. I am nervous mixing with people I don’t know well. 11. I feel I’ll say something embarrassing when talking.
13. I am unsure whether to greet someone I know only slightly. 14. I feel uncomfortable making a phone call when others can hear me.
18. I get anxious calling, emailing, or texting someone I don’t know very well.
24. I find it difficult to resist a salesperson or solicitor. 25. I dislike being the center of attention.
We’ve been known to rehearse our food order before we get to the counter, our customer service request before we pick up the phone, and the story we’re planning to tell at the party later that night. And of course, we try to sneak out of the same party without saying good-bye.
But while avoidance offers immediate relief, it’s almost always followed by a bitter aftertaste of guilt, shame, disappointment, or frustration.
Social anxiety falls along a wide range. The first and most common occurrence along the social anxiety spectrum is socially awkward moments.
The next level is what is often called shy. I call this everyday social anxiety.
Social Anxiety is the fear of being scrutinized, judged, and found lacking in social or performance situations that gets in the way of doing the things you want or need to do.
Or, for the 21 percent of capital-S Socially Anxious folks for whom nerves manifest as anger and irritability, impairment means sarcastic comments and critical judgment. It means losing friends and relationships by striking out in anger.2
But no matter where in the range you find yourself, social anxiety—whether for a moment or a lifetime, whether cowering in a corner or picking a fight—is the fear that people will see something bad about you and reject you for it. No matter how it manifests, social anxiety holds us back in our work, keeps love and friendship from deepening, and leaves us miserable and lonely.
With social anxiety come traits and tendencies that will serve you well in a culturally diverse twenty-first-century world (and won’t disappear, even if your fear and awkwardness do). Indeed, the research—as well as my experience working with many shy and socially anxious individuals—demonstrates we are often: • Careful thinkers—we consider what we’re going to say • Conscientious, with a robust inner guide and strong work ethic • Gifted at remembering faces • Deeply empathetic • “Prosocial,” meaning positive to others, helpful, and altruistic • Considerate of the rights, needs, and feelings of
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How does this manifest in our lives and the world? Those of us who experience social anxiety often: • Omit needless words—in a world full of shouting and mugging for attention, we rise above the “more is better” approach to speech • Work hard to ensure others feel comfortable • Look and listen closely—a near-lost art in today’s look-at-me culture • Hold high standards, which lead to exemplary work • Respect other cultures and backgrounds—we are the diplomats and ambassadors of the world
Fundamentally, social anxiety is seeing our true self in a distorted way and believing the distortion to be the truth. We magnify (or even flat-out imagine) our bad points. We worry about our perceived flaws, all while completely forgetting the myriad gifts we have to offer. You don’t need to co-opt someone else’s confidence when you can discover your own.
Looking back on his life, Gandhi wrote: “I must say that, beyond occasionally exposing me to laughter, my constitutional shyness has been no disadvantage whatever. In fact I can see that, on the contrary, it has been all to my advantage. My hesitancy in speech, which was once an annoyance, is now a pleasure.” Social anxiety a pleasure? At first there may seem to be no redeeming value in caring what others think of us. But let’s think about it. Gandhi is right. There is true power in holding on to just enough social anxiety to give weight and regard to the beliefs and perspectives of others.
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In addition to genetics, the seeds of social anxiety are also sown through learning. At some point, like Jim, we learned to fear the judgment of others, learned to conceal what was potentially humiliating. This lesson might have been seared into us through a discrete experience, like throwing up in front of the whole school during an assembly or having a panic attack in a crowded restaurant that resulted in a well-meaning waitress summoning the entire fire department.
However the lessons of social anxiety were learned, they created a fear of being caught doing something stupid or inappropriate—of being revealed. The lessons are often subtle and impossible to pinpoint; for me, like many others, there was no real beginning—it just always was.
This fear costs us: it makes it hard to meet people, get close to them, and have a good time. It makes it hard to ask for what we need. It can make others think we’re snobby, unfriendly, or cold, when really we’re just nervous. At its worst, it can leave us depressed and isolated. And of course, the fear gets in the way of being ourselves.
It was the defining moment. If genetics and learning had loaded the gun, Jim’s friend had inadvertently pulled the trigger. Now, we’ve all had that stomach-dropping, cheeks-are-burning, surge-of-adrenaline moment of social mortification. But what turns that onetime jolt into social anxiety that burns on and on? Avoidance. Simply put, avoidance is turning away from what makes you anxious in an effort to feel better. And herein lies the rub: avoiding does make you feel better, at least in the short term.
But long term, avoidance is disastrous. It is enemy number one of emotional well-being and perpetuates all anxieties, not just social. For social anxiety to become a problem, genetics and learning aren’t enough—the anxiety has to grow and be carefully maintained. Avoidance does just that, and does it perfectly.
This fear is the core of social anxiety. It’s the sense that something embarrassing, deficient, or flawed about us will become obvious to everyone. Jim feared what I call The Reveal. Social anxiety isn’t just fear of judgment; it’s fear the judgers are right. We think there is something wrong with us, and we avoid in order to conceal it. In our minds, if The Reveal comes to pass we’ll be rejected, humiliated, or exposed.
The Reveal falls into one of four categories:
1. Our anxiety. First, we might be afraid people will see the physical signs of anxiety itself
2. Our appearance. Second, we might think there is something shameful about how we look
4. Our social skills. This is another big one. We might think that we have no personality or are embarrassingly awkward.
Avoidance is your brain’s equivalent of a fussy mother hen—it means well, but in protecting you from a situation it inadvertently sends the message that you can’t deal. In shielding you from threat, avoidance keeps you from learning “Hey, that wasn’t so bad,” or, “Wait, nothing terrible happened,” and blocks the resulting confidence that comes with succeeding in ever-larger challenges.
“If I had done the opposite all those years ago we might be coming up on our thirtieth anniversary. I want to feel less anxious so I can live my life,” he said. “Absolutely,” I said. “We’ll do that, but how about in a different order? You’ll feel less anxious by living your life.”
I promise this—The Moment—to clients. I’ve seen it happen time and time again. It works like this: as you grow and practice and challenge yourself, you won’t notice your anxiety changing in real time. Only after your transformation can you look back and realize something is different. The Moment is when you realize, Huh, I would never have flagged down the waiter for another napkin before, or, Wait, I just went to a holiday party without thinking of a million excuses to stay home, or, Hey, I can’t remember the last time I stayed in all weekend.
First, introversion is born, while social anxiety is made. Both Jim and Jennifer came out of the womb with behavioral inhibition, but remember, two things were necessary to trigger Jim’s social anxiety. Let’s say it together: learning and avoidance.
Second, with introversion, solitude makes you feel good. But with social anxiety, it just makes you less anxious.
Third, social anxiety thrives on perfectionism. We’ll cover this one in chapter 13, but here’s a sneak peak. With perfectionism, far from fifty shades of gray, you think your social performance is black or white. As you see it, only a flawless social showing can stave off harsh criticism. You’re either perfect—you come off as witty, articulate, and cool as a cucumber—or you’re a stammering idiot whom everyone sneers at and turns their backs on. And that kind of pressure is paralyzing; we think we’ll be rejected unless we come off as the paragon of effortless social banter, which instead just
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If you’re still not sure where you fall, try this: picture what your social life would be like if you felt comfortable and confident. If you picture something different from what it is now, the cause is likely anxiety, not just introversion.
“There are people who cannot raise their hand or speak freely in a group,” she told me when I interviewed her and recounted my story. “I need to assess their interaction and involvement in a different way.” Rather than docking my grade, she evaluated my understanding of the material through my writing, my exams, and my final project. She knew I was watching and listening like a sponge, just like Jennifer drinking in the scene of the dolls sharing breakfast.
However, the first time I found myself in the grocery store with the co-op’s five-page shopping list, I realized I would need two carts, which in retrospect made sense for a week’s worth of twice-a-day snacks for fifty children. I wheeled the first cart around the store, loading it to the brim, and then dropped it off at Customer Service while I set out with the second. But when I looked at what remained on the list and realized my new cart would contain nothing but ten gallons of milk, forty bananas, and thirty apples, I felt that old sensation start to rise. As I maneuvered the cart over to
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Ironically, the Inner Critic thinks it is being helpful. In its own harsh way, it is trying to keep us safe. Think of the Inner Critic as a helicopter parent, swooping in to save us from any upset. It tells us we can’t do it, we might get embarrassed, that it’s too much for us. Just sit this one out so you don’t make a fool of yourself, it instructs. Don’t risk it because people might notice. But at the same time, the Critic expects only the best from us. Just as the helicopter parent thinks their child is a special snowflake destined to rule the world, so does your Inner Critic expect great
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When we’re alone or with people we trust, we feel comfortable. Our perceived flaws don’t even cross our minds. Indeed, with the exception of when I buy thirty apples I don’t walk around thinking I’m weird. It’s only in a public context that these mistaken beliefs become salient
Think of a scenario that gives you the social heebie-jeebies. Then let Social Anxiety Mad Libs help you fill it in: When _____________________________________, (SOCIAL SITUATION WHERE I FEEL ANXIOUS) it will become obvious that I am ______________________________________ (WHAT MY INNER CRITIC SAYS IS WRONG WITH ME).
Call it overthinking. Call it obsessing. Call it rumination. Call it the self-rated performance review from hell. Researchers call it post-event processing. Whatever you call it, it’s a postmortem review of the bloopers reel of your social performance.
It’s a vicious cycle: by focusing on the stuff we think went wrong, we conclude, as Loren said, we’re not good at this stuff, which just restarts the dread next time around.
The enormity of the anticipation is what makes us throw in the towel, hide, or call in sick. Researchers call it anticipatory processing, though the best word to describe it is simply this: dread.
if the Inner Critic had a recipe for anticipatory anxiety, this would be it: 1. Try to think of a social situation that did not go well, where you felt uncomfortable or others formed an unfavorable impression of you. 2. Try to imagine how you appeared in that situation. How do you think you looked to others? 3. Now try to imagine how you will appear during the speech you are about to give. How will you appear to others? What will they see? 4. Try to analyze in as much detail as possible what could go wrong while you are giving the speech. 5. Try to anticipate the worst thing that could
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Freaking out did nothing to help them prepare. In fact, it only made them feel bad.