One thing that keeps coming up, even in the smallest of moments, is that I fundamentally do not trust myself.  It started as a flash of insight, a kind of recognition of the obviousness of something I had been dancing around for some time, and grew form there.  Over the last few weeks I have begun to understand just how many parts of my life it affects.

I do not trust my own judgment.  I do not trust my ability to make good decisions, to say the right things, to behave in the appropriate manner.  I do not trust the choices I make.

This lack of trust leads to a lot of doubt and second-guessing.  It leads to fear and inaction.

But this distrust is not even remotely rational.  It’s a deeply ingrained pattern so familiar that it took a lot of self-examination before I was even able to spot it and begin to understand its influence.

So how does one get at something so deeply ingrained?

I want to write more about this, as it feels important.  I’ll be looking for ways to better understand it, to work with it.  If anyone knows of any avenues worth pursing, I’d be grateful.

Is this kind of doubt common to people dealing with social anxiety?

Some part of me wishes deeply that I could somehow stop or prevent their behavior.  If I could, I’d make it so that no one ever does anything embarrassing, so that no one ever acts inappropriately.

If I see it done on TV, a character thoroughly embarrassing him or herself, I have trouble watching.  Some voice in my heads, says, “Please don’t do that.  Please don’t do that.”

It seems like this is a fairly clear example of projection.  I am seeing my inner feelings in all of these outside events.  In many cases, the people I’m feeling so embarrassed for might not feel the least bit of embarrassment.  Some people don’t mind standing out.  Some crave it.

This is most difficult when I am with friends whose behavior I sometimes find embarrassing in just this way.  I try not to let my discomfort show, but have not always been successful.  More than one person has thought me judgmental because I was so obviously uncomfortable with their behavior.  I didn’t know at the time to explain that it was simply my own anxiety that I was wrestling with.

Sometimes, if I remind myself to relax and breath, if I tell myself over and over that I am not responsible for anyone else’s choices, I can let go of this discomfort.  But it isn’t easy.

Does anyone else have trouble like this?

In each of my relationships, I put a lot of effort into making sure I do not make whomever I am with uncomfortable. I try not to say or do anything that might seem, even mildly, out of place.

A simple example brought this home recently. I was out hiking with a group of friends. A man stopped to ask us for directions.

I probably knew the area he was asking about better than anyone, but I let one of my friends give directions. I didn’t speak up because I didn’t want the people I was with to see me behave in a way (outgoing, etc) that might make them uncomfortable.

I didn’t immediately understand as much. I mostly thought about how I probably should have spoken up (although the directions my friend gave were certainly good enough). What got me to thinking about appropriateness was the thought that, if alone, I would have had no problem giving directions and might have even enjoyed chatting with a fellow hiker for a few minutes.  But there is something in the way I perceive the social expectations of my friends that made it impossible for me to do the same thing when I was with them.

So it seems, upon reflection, that my anxiety has a lot to do with the fear of acting inappropriately and thereby embarrassing other people, particularly those who are closest to me. Has anyone else noticed this about their anxiety? Is the idea that, free of my usual social expectations and relationships, I could be a less anxious person, that I would talk easily to a stranger, merely wishful thinking?

The first has to do with how I talk to people.

I was having lunch with a couple of friends who I have known for awhile, one who I’ve been spending more time with recently and another who I hadn’t seen in awhile. The first guy, who I’ve been spending time with, started talking to the second. He spoke to him exactly the same way he talks to me. And immediately a thought popped up in my head, “Be careful. You might say the wrong thing.” Which is a little odd as the second guy is a very reasonable person. It’s just that I have always interacted with him fairly differently than I do with the first guy.

I change how I am around different people.  My friend doesn’t.

It goes beyond something as simple as I swear around some people and not others, or that with some people I revel in being silly. It’s that I let the other person lead. I watch for what they seem to think good interaction is and then tend towards that.  Over time it develops into a particular way of being around each person.
I might not have looked closely at this habit if it hadn’t been for that moment when I thought, “Be careful.”  It speaks to a closely self-monitored behavior of trying to control interactions through appropriateness.

So is this behavior about anxiety?  Could it possibly be a useful skill as well?

Now, finally, I am beginning to relate to it as anxiety.

I have moments when I am confident, when I feel good and capable.  And at such moments I think I could do pretty much whatever I might like.  By that I mean talk to people, try things without embarrassment, do whatever it is I want without immediately fearing how stupid it might make me look.  And then I wake up the next morning, or a few hours go by, and there is that feeling of foolishness.

So how do I convince myself to listen during the confident moments?  How do I remind myself that when I wake up feeling a fool those thoughts are not the truth?

I went to the show I wrote about last week. And I wore the shirt. And, believe it or not, nothing happened. No one pointed and laughed. No one stared. Other western shirts were worn, though few as colorful and glorious as mine.

So, what is the lesson to learn?

You’d think the obvious thing would be to see how unrealistic all those anxious thoughts were. I could perhaps feel good; maybe even feel a sense of triumph, seeing as I went through with something that I had me so worried. And I do feel some of that, but I also feel embarrassment over what a big deal I made of this. Heck, I think I’d feel pretty uncomfortable right now were I to reread last week’s post. How seriously foolish I can be.

And so it seems, given the way I am used to talking to myself, I can snatch discomfort from the jaws of any good turn.

But speaking of good turns. This did reinforce my mad love for this shirt. It now represents a moment of unembarassing indulgence.

There’s a concert coming up, one of my favorite artists.  And there’s a shirt I recently purchased.  I have a thing for retro-style western shirts.  But they tend to be a bit… loud… flashy… colorful.  And this one is of the more extravagant variety, similar to these examples (though, no, I was not lucky enough to pick up a Rockmount).

I dig this shirt.  I dig this artist.  And in my initial burst of enthusiasm I thought how cool it would be to wear this shirt to this show.  It’s the kind of crowd that just might appreciate a good western shirt.

But then, as the concert has gotten closer (it’s tomorrow), I’ve begun to think to myself that I can’t wear this shirt.  I’ll stand out.  I’ll draw attention to myself.  I’ll draw attention to the fact that I want to draw attention to myself.  People will see my desperation.

I tell myself things.  What kind of grown man gets this excited about a shirt?  I am too old.  The time for such joys has passed.  What kind of person wants to wear something so showy?  And why do I love western shirts (oh, it’s a fondness brought out by – or picked up from – an ex-girlfriend).  So, not only am I going to stand out and not only is that going to make me look childish and desperate.  I’m a phony.

Well, yes, this thinking is a touch over the top.  But there it is.  Now I don’t want to wear the shirt.  But I don’t want to not want to wear the shirt because that means I’m giving in to my fear.  And now I can’t figure out how much I wanted to wear it in the first place (oh, I can be honest, when I saw the shirt and that it was affordable I was nearly overcome with joy) and I might just skip it because the whole sorry mess has me feeling like such a loser.

Because if I do wear it I’ll feel like I might as well be wearing a clown wig and if I don’t wear it I’ll feel like I’m the same ridiculous coward I’ve always been.

This is my social anxiety played out in slow motion.  This is a deeply ingrained pattern, initial excitement turning to dread turning to avoidance.  For some reason I got excited about this shirt.  I got excited about this show.  I got excited about a combination of the two.  And then I got really, really embarrassed by my enthusiasm.  Eventually the whole thing became a source of stress.

I can’t even enjoy a simple shirt (thought maybe simple is the wrong word) and I can’t even enjoy a simple concert.  I feel deep shame for wanting any kind of attention, deep shame for standing out in any way.

So, what’s a western shirt loving, M. Ward fan to do?