For many, activities like visiting the post office, returning ill-fitting items, or simply ordering pizza are mundane tasks that require little thought. However, for me, these ordinary actions feel like monumental challenges. The mere idea of executing any of them triggers an overwhelming wave of anxiety, forcing me to muster up significant mental energy before I can even contemplate moving forward. As a result, my closet is filled with unworn clothes waiting to be returned, I have a saved pizza order on the Domino’s website, and I usually avoid sending anything that can’t fit in my home mailbox (apologies for the less-than-stellar gifts, friends).
Just yesterday, I finished a book that my friends and I are sharing, and I found myself awake at 2 a.m., panicking about the thought of dropping it off at the post office. It’s absurd, I know. I can’t quite identify what triggers this anxiety — perhaps the fear of judgment? My rational mind attempts to reason with me, saying, “This is no big deal.” But that voice is drowned out by an overwhelming sense of dread, making my heart race and my breath hitch in my throat. It’s social anxiety, a heavy burden I’ve carried since it first appeared during my senior year of high school — invisible but suffocating.
I often find it hard to explain this struggle, so only a few close friends are aware of what I go through. I’ve developed coping strategies over the years, such as convincing myself that the unworn shirts in my closet are simply there because I “keep forgetting” to return them. To an outsider, I appear to be a functioning, even extroverted individual. In certain situations, I’m completely at ease. For nearly six years, I’ve worked as a group fitness instructor, where my students see me as lively and enthusiastic.
But on my worst days, when motivation feels like a distant memory, getting out of bed can feel like an insurmountable task. Even the thought of a simple trip to the mailbox becomes daunting. The idea of socializing — with friends, family, or anyone outside my home — feels overwhelming. I’ve even found myself hiding behind the couch in terror when someone unexpectedly knocks on my door, as if I’m an animal fleeing from a predator, rather than a grown woman evading a salesperson.
In those moments, logic returns, and I berate myself: “Why are you acting this way? Other people don’t feel like this, and if you were more put together, you wouldn’t either.” Would I ever speak to someone else that way? Absolutely not. I don’t view others’ struggles with the same harshness that I apply to myself. While I recognize that mental illness can be debilitating for anyone, I struggle to extend that compassion to myself. When it affects someone else, it’s a condition beyond their control. When it’s me, it’s a weakness, a sign that I’ll never measure up. I resent myself for having an issue that feels beyond my grasp.
Despite this, I manage to cope. I have a family, a home, and multiple jobs, so isolating myself isn’t an option. On my toughest days, I force myself to move forward, striving to maintain some semblance of normalcy, one step at a time. Once, I mustered the courage to visit a therapist, but I never returned after I felt she wouldn’t make eye contact and worried she thought I was odd.
Welcome to my reality. Just imagine how different life could be if I could navigate it like a typical person.
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Summary
Anxiety can create immense barriers in daily life, transforming simple tasks into daunting challenges. This narrative explores the internal struggles of living with social anxiety, the coping mechanisms developed, and the ongoing fight to maintain normalcy while grappling with self-doubt and fear.