This is a story I don’t share all that often.
I have mentioned here, not all that overtly because I still don’t like the stigma of it following me, but I have mentioned here that I have social anxiety disorder. It was diagnosed very early in my life (I was fourteen, I think). I actually manage it so well that most people don’t realize I have it at all, but there are still situations where it hits me pretty hard. It also sort of blends into my racial identity, as Cherokee are generally quiet and withdrawn anyway.
I’m also an extroverted-introvert, which sort of plays in weird ways with my social anxiety. I can get “up” for things and be “on” for a while and actually seem super-extroverted. I like spending time with people when I have the emotional energy to spend, and while I’ve never been accused of being too charismatic, I like to think that on occasion I’m entertaining and fun.
But when I was first learning to deal with my social anxiety, I was… awful. I used to feel my heart racing in classes when we were doing that “go around and everyone read aloud” thing, or when everyone had to answer a question. Presentations were terrifying.
I had this teacher my sophomore year who helped me cope with it in the most obvious but also most dastardly way. She was the speech team coach, and my honors English teacher, and she told me point blank that if I wouldn’t compete on the speech team she wouldn’t give me an A (it was deeper than that– I couldn’t handle in class presentations, so the speech team thing was my substitute for that). I didn’t want to do it. At all. Like the degree to which I didn’t want to do it was horrifying. But I was also not willing to give up my straight As over something.
So I did it. At first, I was just flat out awful, pink faced and sweating, fumbling lines, my script in my shaking hands. It was awful. I placed last every competition. My friend who did comedic duo with me (one or our two events every meet) wasn’t much better. But we slogged through, and I somehow slogged through a year of doing impromptu. By the end, I almost didn’t feel like I was going to die each time I stood up there.
The next year came, and I was out of my obligation; I got my A and I was now a Junior, away from the reach of that crazy Speech team coach. But… I went back.
As an adult, I want to say I went back because I knew it was important to overpower my fears and be a grown-up. I really want to claim that’s why. But the truth is that the other people on the team were not exactly supportive. I got picked on pretty hardcore. And the coach told me, when I finished, that she was proud that I tried but it clearly wasn’t my thing.
So I went back.
I made it to the regionals that year.
My senior year, I made it to semi-state.
Two years after I graduated, I coached that team while that pain-in-the-ass teacher was on maternity leave.
What I came to realize in that process was a five-part sort of solution for handling social anxiety (at least for me):
- You have to become stubborn, like crazy “fuck you I won’t do what you tell me” stubborn. Anxiety is energy, and you can use it to do good things if you learn to channel it.
- You have to be able to realize that the anxiety isn’t completely real. I mean it is real– it’s super-real, and it hurts. But you have to realize that just as a method actor assumes a role and stays in it, you, too, can assume the role of someone who is not hindered by anxiety. In my life, that became my teaching persona, my presenting persona.
- You have to make sure anyone who is actually close to you knows that you have a problem, but you need to make sure that people who are sort-of-close to you and would be well intentioned don’t. I know that probably sounds backward, but let me explain. My wife– even since we were first dating– had to know I had social anxiety because if someone doesn’t know that about me and I go silent or have to beg off a party, I look like a total ass. But the reality is that maintaining numbers 1 and 2 above comes with the baked in cost that sooner or later the energy runs out. People who don’t have social anxiety– particularly charismatic extroverts– will never understand this (and that’s okay), but sometimes I literally cannot function around a large group anymore. Sometimes it has to be just me, or just me and people I know really well. So my closest friends and family have to understand it. Now the more backward part: if people who you work with but who don’t know you well enough find out, they will start acting like you’re made of glass. Or worse, as I’ve seen first hand, people will assume you’re weak. Don’t mistake it for a second– it’s not weakness. Some people can’t handle being alone. Some people can’t tap dance. I can’t hang out with a group of ten chatty people for long periods of time. It doesn’t mean I am incapable of anything. I’ve spoken before crowds in the hundreds (maybe thousands). I can lead projects with big teams. I’m perfectly capable. Just sometimes I need quiet. It’s no different than someone who won’t use a Mac computer or who can’t work in an office with music playing. It’s just a thing. And when people start thinking it makes you weak, they treat you strange. That’s not cool.
- You have to build in the refresh time. When I schedule my classes, I prefer to have big blocks on MWF or TR when possible. People often think it’s because I don’t want to drive to Oxford every day; but that’s not all of it (true, a day not driving is cool, but I felt this way when I could walk to campus, too). The thing is that teaching and doing major meetings for me is exhausting because at some point I’m spending more of my energy than usual to stay “on.” Again, it’s not a weakness. I know people who don’t have social anxiety that get crabby and assified mid-day that could benefit from learning to spend the energy to be better at the job. But the energy it takes means that I could really use a day afterward of not having to find that energy, so I can just focus on writing/other tasks.
- You have to remind yourself, when the anxiety gets bad, that people aren’t usually out to get you. The sad thing in life is that sometimes someone will be out to get you, and that one time in 100 reaffirms your anxieties. But sometimes I just have to take a second to center and realize that while what came out of someone’s mouth triggered my anxious state, they were just being who they are and were not antagonizing me. This one is a constant struggle in academia, where the behavior of most is extremely entitled and aggressive. The nice side effect is that it enhances my own philosophy of being careful and thinking before I speak. The built in extra time I use to protect myself– my self-care– actually makes me better at dealing with most others.
I never would have imagined that when I was forced to compete on speech team I was building one of the most important skills for my chosen career. But every time I go into a classroom, I’m enacting what I learned there. So thanks, Speech Teamsters, for scaring me and ribbing me and pissing me off and then teaching me how to deal with speaking in front of people.
Could we cut it with the Monty Python bits, though? They’re not bad when the Monty Python Troop performs them, but they’re sort of lacking when it’s three nerds who are hopped up on Mountain Dew and Reese’s Cups.
*mic drop*