That day at the grocery store, I took home a lot more than bananas. I took home a little booster shot reminding me of what it took years to learn: my anxiety is not credible. Seldom does anyone actually say, “Wow, you sure seem uncomfortable. You’re weird and don’t deserve to be here.” Or, “That’s it. You’ve paused in conversation one too many times—we’re all going to turn our backs on you now.” Or in my case, “Ma’am, is there a problem? The volume of milk in your cart clearly indicates you’re a freak.” Even if someone did, it would be the accuser who was unreasonable, not me. And if someone
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