Is there an inherent irony or contradiction in sharing your struggles with social anxiety online?
If not, why do I find it so much easier to publish my experience into the void than to go out among the humans and have real-life people interactions?
I have a theory:
No, not that theory. But that’s the kind of thing my inner critic once made me fear others would think. That’s why I held back from writing for so long.
But eventually, the desire to create, to write, to connect with digital humanity, to help others (if I may dare to dream) — those forces overrode my fear of sharing this part of my life.
And since that moment when I decided to just go for it and write about life as a socially anxious hu-mom, and all the moments since (because being brave is not a one-and-done decision), I’ve felt powerful.
I have the power to write about social anxiety and connect with you, the dear readers who choose to spend a few minutes of your day reading my posts. Speaking of which…
Hi, new readers!
I’ve been so pleased to see quite a few new followers since my post went up on Ashley’s site yesterday, so hi and thank you and welcome!
I’m still figuring out my posting schedule and writing tone (I like funny writing but I’m afraid that if I try too hard for funny I’ll end up just writing an endless series of bad dad jokes or is that my social anxiety talking and my impostor syndrome acting up probably shush you).
And I’m still trying to gauge whether it’s more interesting (for me and for you) and helpful (for me and for you) for me to do journal-style super-intimate posts or more polished, article-type posts.
So it will be a work in progress. And that’s okay.
Soul-searching (but they say gingers don’t have souls… so that’s a problem)
I had a mini-epiphany this week when I realized that in my attempt to make THE BEST BLOG AND INSTAGRAM FEED IN EXISTENCE, with endless philosophical and earth-changing and orbit-shattering revelations, I was holding back the parts of myself that might be what make me a likeable and relatable human.
Like my dorkery and geekery and inability to be scandalized (try me) and goofiness and insatiable desire to please people that is constantly at war with what feels like my failed duties to live up to the stereotype of the feisty red-head AND sexy librarian at the same time.
So I will attempt to care a little less and a little more about how I come across. I don’t have to solve the world’s social anxiety in every post. Or any post.
This post is a pretty good example of social anxiety’s inner tug-of-war
And that, my friends (you’re my friends right? be my friends please), is social anxiety in action.
It’s like a blanket of angsty self-judgement that gets set on fire and thrown over you any time your real, not-so-meek, not-so-polished self tries to peek out of its meerkat hidey hole. (There is NO way I’ll find a GIF to capture that image.)
So, now to actually answer the question, “Why do I write about social anxiety even though I have social anxiety?”
Here’s my actual, sincere answer:
Does that make sense?
I’m delaying ending this post because it’s fun and liberating and scary to write like this.