The Frustration of Living With Social Anxiety

*No AI has been used to write this article. All words are my own.*

It took me a really long time to recognize that what I was experiencing was social anxiety. 

For years, I carried the symptoms: a sore stomach, sweaty hands, gastrointestinal upset, a general feeling of discomfort. 

For a while, I even had a really weird symptom: calf swelling. Every day for several years, I would wake with normal-sized legs, only for my calves to slowly balloon over the course of the day. By evening, they could be almost double their usual size. 

I was particularly ashamed of this symptom. It changed the way I dressed; it affected my confidence. And nobody — no physician or healer — understood why my legs were swelling in such a way. 

Now, I think it’s clear: it’s how stress was manifesting in my body. I just didn’t know how to recognize it at the time.

While some made sourdough, my COVID project was a Diploma in Holistic Counselling. It was then, while studying mind-body medicine and the role of the amygdala, that I developed the language to understand my experience as social anxiety. 

Once I understood it, it became clear just how severe my anxiety was and had been for years — since I was a sickly child, afraid to go to school. 

I began to see just how acutely conscious I am of others’ judgements and expectations. How terrified I am of getting in trouble or being “found out” for being bad. I am extremely uncomfortable with others’ seeing me — in fact, I hate being the centre of attention. For an actress, this was a bizarre realization. But I suppose that’s why acting became appealing in the first instance (I could hide). 

I have done a lot of work on my social anxiety. 

When I first realized what I was dealing with, I took a specific course guided by my therapist that combined CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy) with exposure therapy. Then I saw a hypnotherapist weekly for three months. For years since, I’ve done regular self-hypnosis and nervous system regulation work in an attempt to free myself from the clutches of fear. 

Some days, I feel the work has paid off: I’m more relaxed and chatty. 

Other days, I feel as debilitated as though I had done no work on social anxiety at all.  

Because social anxiety is debilitating. I find it incredibly frustrating. 

I resent how my body doesn’t cooperate with my mind. Mentally, I’ll be telling myself that I’m safe, but my body betrays me. I sweat. Sometimes, I shake. It embarrasses me. It isolates me. It restricts what I feel comfortable wearing — knowing my anxious sweating will be more visible in certain outfits. I fear handshakes and high fives; I worry that they will give me away. 

I appear so calm on the surface; I know this. But what you can’t see is the storm of energy coursing through my system, screaming “You’re not safe!” 

When social anxiety becomes loud, I fall silent; I simply won’t speak. Some days, I won’t venture out at all.

Is there a way out? That’s what I want to know. I’ve done so much work on it, so much work to free myself… 

But then it comes crashing back down on me like a wave, telling me how stupid, rejectable, and offensive I am. 

Here is where I fall into despair, afraid I’ll never be free enough to live the life that I so desperately want: one where I am an artist who expresses herself fully, without self-consciousness. Where I am intimately connected to others, without shame. A life where I can allow myself to be visible, without fear.  

Will this ever be a possibility for me, I wonder? Or will I always be cloaked in anxiety, terrified of other people?

These days, I am intimately aware of social anxiety and how it shows up in my body. As somebody living with frequent migraines, I have learned that I have a threshold. My body will tell me when I am overstimulated and underresourced; when I need time and space to recalibrate. 

I’m empathic by nature — I see and feel everything. Therefore, I try to have compassion with myself for getting overloaded so easily.  

However, compassion is difficult when you feel incapacitated by the sensitivity of your own system.

I look forward to the day when I can hold my sensitivity AND feel safe to exist without so much fear. When I can share all of myself without hiding, drenched in shame. 

Will I ever reach that point? I can’t say. All I can do is keep working with the sensitive system I possess. 

All I can do is hope. 

Did this piece resonate with you?
I’d love to hear your thoughts — or for you to share it with someone who might relate.
You can email me, subscribe for new Moonlight posts, or explore similar reflections to this one:
Taking Up Space as a Soft-Hearted Person