I want to go to the thing but I have social anxiety
And other stories I tell myself
Note: this text was written 100% by me, a human, not AI.
I’ve had full blown panic attacks before social events. I’ve skipped parties and paced around my apartment angry with myself for not being better at this. The dogs looked at me with concern. Funny enough, I am them. I’m Yaya, the social one. The frisky one. The dog that wants to meet everyone and jump on everyone and be everyone’s friend. And I’m Boo. The introvert. The one who needs to recharge alone. The one who can get overstimulated to the point of just being awkward. It’s cute when it’s dogs. It’s not when it’s me.
I have a diagnosis from a real doctor that I have real social anxiety. It’s a real thing. I swear. And sometimes I really identify with it. Sometimes, even sending a text is nearly impossible. Whereas other times, I know the truth. I know that it’s just a story. I have days when it’s crippling, though. And sometimes that’s the same day something important is happening and I need to show up, and I just... can’t. That’s why going to a week long animation conference was daunting.
I’m an extrovert with social anxiety. That’s one way to put it. And a week long festival conference thing was a real litmus test. But those labels are just stories. They can’t be absolutes. Because there are days where I am not an extrovert. And there are days when I don’t have social anxiety. That’s how I know these are stories. It doesn’t make the diagnosis less true, it just reaffirms that these are, in fact, stories.
The festival conference thing was amazing. I met people that I know I’ll be in touch with forever. I also nearly had a panic attack once or twice, but I managed.
I remembered a few tools that I developed to deal with anxiety:
Be around people that make you feel you is the best one. I end up absorbing this energy like a good vibes vampire.
Do it anyways is a mantra I use. Sometimes, telling myself that I have anxiety is what exacerbates the anxiety, so I just schedule the thing. Usually, the anxiety wears off by the time the thing happens. More often than not, I surprise myself. Action is the antidote to anxiety.
And if all else fails, and I really hate to say it, but have a drink or two. But that one has physical repercussions and I’m often struck with a 48-hour emotional hangover. Sometimes it’s not worth it. But sometimes I can remedy this by suffering through a run or a workout the morning after. The “sweat it out” method.
But the most important tool is to remember that social anxiety is a story. It isn’t a limb or an organ. This removes its power. It’s a part of me the same way Boo is a part of me. I have to love it, and it’s going to follow me around no matter what I do, but it’s separate. It needs and deserves attention, sometimes I really do need to hide inside of my sweater eating chips, but I’m not my anxiety. And I’m not Boo. Even if I want to be.
I’m on a quest to figure out where the power to change your mind comes from. I know there are a dozen self-help books about this. And books can help, but we’re really in charge of figuring out our own minds. If some people can bring out the extrovert in me even on my worst days, then how much of it is within my own control? Where is that power? How do I call upon it? I guess we can talk about placebos all day long. Or just find the triggers and know how to call upon those, maybe that’s where the power lies. Maybe when I need the power, I just phone that friend and steal their good energy. I dunno. What do you think?
A funny thing happens when you struggle with mental illness*. Maybe it’s just me. When I’m feeling awful I cannot move. But when I’m feeling good I want nothing to do with the bad days. When I’m feeling truly anxious I’m absolutely embodied by this feeling. It snakes into every part of me like life sucking tentacles. I can’t even see out of the cloud I’m in. But when I’m feeling good? I don’t want to even think about anxiety. I just want to enjoy the good day. It even feels fake writing about this right now, when I’m feeling good. I can only write when I’m not feeling anxious. I can do anything but I really don’t want to think about my dumb anxiety. I want nothing to do with it. Does that makes sense? Can you relate to that?
I’m glad I went to the animation festival conference thing. It shaped my animated series that I’m working on in a way I didn’t expect. It gave me insight into how these things work. How big this world is. I watched pitches by people that looked like they too might tell themselves stories of social anxiety and being introverted and extroverted. I met producers and animators and hungry talented students and incredible people that may actually help me with the series. I also somehow ran a half marathon one morning on only 3 hours of sleep.
The problem I have with labels (even diagnoses) like social anxiety is that it’s too easy to use them as a copout. As a crutch. Especially for someone with a tendency of self-victimization**. Existing in this world is a practice. We’re constantly shaping who we are and who we’ll become. I had to dig for that diagnosis from a real doctor and it helped put that part of me into perspective, but I can’t let it be who I am. A label just helps you name it. It doesn’t take away power, it gives you power.
Before the diagnosis, my social anxiety was a mystery. It was impossible to navigate. Like someone never taught me what glass doors were so I kept walking into them. It was a part of myself that I couldn’t ignore but couldn’t quell. Now, it’s something I can label, sort through, and act upon. Action really is the antidote to anxiety, and if I forget that, I can forget that I have power.
It’s funny to look at my dogs in their duality and see myself. Yin and Yang. One black with a little white and one white with a little black. Is it by accident or design that my own contradiction is projected in them? But just like my dogs, it’s not perfect. There are times when Boo is social (see my video from Ocean Village), and there are times when Yaya is... well... no he’s a pretty consistent party animal. And that’s part of the messiness. My social anxiety comes and goes. As does my desire to be alone. And just as nothing is black or white, there are times when I hold the power, and there are times when I have to surrender to it.
Love ya,
Andrew, Yaya, & Boo
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*I use mental illness accurately but lightly. Even though I have my struggles I consider myself lucky, it affects me, but maybe only slightly more than the average person. I also can’t discount the good things social anxiety and ADHD have given me. A story for another day.
**That’s me, or at least it used to be. This is something else I want to deep dive into.
What sometimes helps me when I’m anxious, is that I just say out loud that I’m feeling anxious or that I’m about to have a panic attack, then I say something amusing or crack a joke, and then it fades. It’s almost as if by me telling them about it I put the pressure on them and it takes away from me. Just something to try.
I so appreciate your vulnerability. Interesting that you have the yin and yang of canine personalities. Our dogs are always teaching us about ourselves (such a fabulous perk).