Hello Anxiety, My Old Familiar Friend.

This time last year, I thought I had conquered anxiety once and for all. I thought my social anxiety/generalized anxiety was a thing of the past. I thought I had gone through all of the scenarios that one could possibly go through and worked through all of it. (HA!) And even though I wasn’t 100% “recovered”, per se, interacting with people, dealing with authority figures, and being able to communicate were much, much easier than they previously were.

While it still does hold true that I am much, much better in dealing with social situations and scenarios, my old familiar friend, social anxiety, has come for a visit.

My Journey With Social Anxiety

At this point in my mental health journey in dealing with social anxiety disorder, I can look back and confidently say that I have definitely come a long way in my journey. Unlike many people with social anxiety who struggle with peer situations and feeling judged in large groups of people, my social anxiety disorder has mainly been in the realm of being intensely afraid of authority figures/teachers.

I can recall moments up through college, being terrified to ask my teachers questions, fearing that they would judge me and think I was “stupid” for asking a question or asking for help. I only went to office hours the first — and only time — during my 4th year of college. And even then, I was terrified that my professor would think I was an idiot.

Grad school was a whole different ball game. I worked with my therapists (SchoolT, OT, & CT) on **multiple** anxiety provoking situations that I was avoiding like the plague. Going to office hours, sending/answering emails, communicating about basically anything, because again — I was terrified that they were going to judge me for being stupid or incompetent. It took months of repeated exposure to the same situations (replying to emails, actually going to and sitting in their offices, not avoiding (to the best of my ability) situations where I would have to talk to a professor), and having neutral (or positive) experiences of realizing that my professors weren’t judging me for my email writing and weren’t judging me for asking a question, and weren’t judging me for submitting a document late, that my anxiety slowly began to fade away. And obviously, we can’t forget that one session with CT where we spent 40 minutes of a 50 minute session time crafting, writing, and sending an email. But once that email was sent out, that was a turning point. I had had a successful experience sending an email (albeit with CT’s support), but if I could do it that time, I could do it again.

However, even in the midst of dealing with and tackling all these aspects of anxiety, I continue to struggle with admitting that I need help/asking for help, both individually and in a group setting.

Anxiety and Figure Skating Meet

I started taking figure skating lessons last summer. I had promised myself that once I found a “full time job”, that I would start to take lessons. Initially, I decided to start with semi-private lessons, mainly because I figured that it seemed less intimidating for me if there was someone else around that I could “hide behind”. This was a social situation of having to interact with an authority figure — something that I had not dealt with in a while. I figured I would feel less exposed if someone else was around. In a way, I would be able to do what I was used to, and what was easiest — rely on someone else to communicate for me. When it slowly became evident that that was the case (I was falling back on my tendency of relying on the person I was taking semi-private lessons with to communicate for me), I decided I was going to switch to private lessons instead.

Simply making that switch was already a huge hurdle for me. I suddenly felt very exposed in every lesson. No longer was there someone there to hide behind. I could no longer use someone to communicate for me. It felt like everything I was doing was being examined under a microscope. It took a few weeks before that feeling of being exposed during each lesson wore off, and for a while, everything went on as usual.

Enter: December and Freestyle Sessions

It was in December when I started experimenting with my skating schedule. I knew I wanted to skate more (and hopefully gain more confidence on the ice & with myself), so I tried skating at different rinks, different times of day, working outside of the house so I could fit skating in to my schedule — all the variations were included.

One day, I happened to sign up for a freestyle session that my coach was also skating on (that I was unaware would happen). I panicked. Not only did I feel exposed, but also, I was the only other person at the rink that session…and it was not within the context of a lesson. There were skills that I wanted to practice that day that I knew I sucked at. But it was a different type of anxiety knowing that she knew that I sucked at those skills, because suddenly I felt like I had to magically show some type of improvement or have a certain skill that was “perfect”. The panic I felt that day was eerily similar to the first panic attack I had experienced during my freshman year of high school — where I was completely unprepared for and was basically “shoved” into my high school English teacher’s classroom to ask him a question. The panic I felt was like being pushed off of the high dive — when you’re unaware of when someone will push you off.

It was after that day that this anxiety — the “my coach is watching and judging everything I’m doing” anxiety — really took off. Logically, I totally get it. She’s there to help me improve and not giving me corrections to make me feel bad. But anxiety brain is having a blast at the current moment feeding me with messages like: She’s going to see every single mistake that you make. You’re hopeless for not remembering/not being able to apply corrections. You should’ve been able to do this skill months ago — you’re so slow at this.

The most challenging aspect in all of this is that I’m not able to fight against these thoughts yet. The fear that I’m being scrutinized over every move I’m making. The fear that she might think I’m “hopeless” for not remembering/being able to apply corrections from one week to the next. The fear that I’ll come across as stupid or incompetent because I don’t get how to do a certain skill, even after I’ve tried it and seen it demonstrated a billion times. And the worst fear: The fear that it’ll come across that I’m not trying hard enough, or that I’m intentionally [not] listening or paying attention, when the reality is that it’s actually the complete opposite. Quite a few of these fears overlap with my social anxiety fears as well. I used to feel terrible when my teachers would just assume that I wouldn’t talk in class or turn in my work due to being unwilling to do so, and I would always assume that if I asked a question, my teachers would assume that I was an idiot for doing so.

Thus, I recognize these fears as being directly related to my social anxiety — just in a slightly different form. Unfortunately (or fortunately?) based on my previous experience, it just takes time to overcome this new social anxiety-related challenge. And what I mean by time is LOTS of repetition (wash, rinse, repeat) of having neutral (or positive) experiences that prove to anxiety brain that all these fears are unwarranted. Or — not as bad as I think they’re going to be.

Hopefully a year from now, I can look back on this current challenge I’m dealing with and confidently say that I’ve come so far in dealing with this situation. For now — we’ll just take it one step at a time, I guess…

Early Diagnosis (Would Things Have Been Easier?)

A few weeks ago, I had an incident that made the fact that I had a selective mutism diagnosis rush to the forefront of my mind. I don’t mention it much, because most I’m not (physically) in school anymore, and I’m not being forced to speak aloud in many situations, and I’ve –for the most part– been able to find good ways to cope/avoid like the plague/use sarcasm as a way to hide how anxious I was.

This is exactly what happened a few weeks ago during my skating class. At the beginning of our class, after we had done some drills to warm up, the instructor of our class gathered us all around and asked what we wanted to work on.

We we all standing in a circle, so naturally, she looked at me and asked what I wanted to work on. I completely clammed up, looked away, and pointed to one of my classmates. “You decide.” I said, with a nervous laugh.

And that was that. Most people would read this and think “So…what? Everyone has that type of reaction at one point or another…?” To me, it was a reminder of years and years of direct questions, not (physically) being able to respond, and eventually avoiding the question… or the teacher moving on. Or, it was wanting to raise my hand to ask a question, but physically feeling like my hands were superglued to the seat. Someone was strangling my neck whenever I wanted to speak. No. These feelings are not normal.

Often I wonder if selective mutism was more well-known when I was a child, would I have gotten help? Children now who are growing up with selective mutism have so many excellent resources at their disposal. In addition to therapists, psychiatrists, and speech therapists who are more knowledgeable (or at least aware of this type of condition), there are three well-known summer/winter camps/intensive therapies for children these days.

CommuniCamp (which was started by Dr. Elisa Shipon Blum, who I think of as the “pioneer” expert in the arena of selective mutism). Her daughter, probably around my age now, had selective mutism, and because of her daughter, she began this type of treatment. Then, I heard about Dr. Steven Kurtz’ “Brave Buddies” program. Again, it’s based off intensive exposure therapy, and (I believe?) one of the first programs in the nation to be in a simulated “classroom environment”. Finally, Adventure Camp, is a third type, based in the Chicago area, it’s designed and based off of Steven Kurtz’ program.

Based off anecdotes of children who received treatment early — and the keyword is early — many children were able to overcome SM and become fully verbal in the classroom, even being able to speak aloud to their teachers. The research also reflects this. SM is a disorder that should be nipped in the bud — diagnosed and treated early. If treated early, many children eventually overcome the disorder entirely.

Yet there are a crop of people like me — adults who never received treatment in childhood — who still struggle with the effects/symptoms of childhood SM. In essence, what could’ve/should’ve been treated early on in life is something that takes 10x more effort in adulthood to overcome.

When I get frustrated with myself and the SM symptoms that come paying me an (unwelcome) visit, I remind myself to take things moment by moment. And just like all the young children, I continue to practice BRAVE talking each time I face unpleasant(?) and uncomfortable situations.

Social Anxiety at School: “I Promise, I Won’t Bite”

“I promise, I won’t bite.”

Growing up, I heard that phrase more than a couple times from my teachers. Whether it was because I was terrified and looked like a deer in headlights if I had to walk up to my teacher and ask any question, or whether it was the aftermath of having to meet with one of my teachers because of “not communicating” and feeling so much anxiety that it could fill multiple planets, many of my instructors have reassured me of this before.

Unlike some people whose anxiety started in high school or middle school because of bullying or other factors that come with teenagehood and feeling self-conscious, I will say, my social anxiety in school settings likely started way back in preschool. In fact, I think if I was a child of the current era, I would’ve been sent for an evaluation of Selective Mutism or Social Anxiety. But because I attended elementary school in the 90’s, my parents, and I assume most teachers thought I was just “shy” or “extremely shy” and would eventually grow out of it.

I was told I cried most of my first few months of preschool, and really only participated in the singing activities. When I wasn’t singing, I was sitting in the corner of the classroom crying. Oh, and I wet my pants often — not because I wasn’t potty trained, but because I was scared to ask to go to the bathroom. (Obviously, I have no conscious memories of this time of my life). Even as early as kindergarten, my experience of having to raise my hand to ask to go to the bathroom was terrifying — but again, I have no distinct conscious memories from this period of my life.

Second grade. I’m sure many people have some “I waited too long, and wet my pants” story, but this one sticks out to me clear as day, even now, 20 years later. I remember one of my classmates getting his name on the board (getting in trouble?) for going to the bathroom right after coming back from recess. So — after this classmate got in trouble, I was terrified of the same situation happening to me. Fast forward to P.E. class… I really need to go. We are playing baseball, and I’m up to bat. It’s taking forever….and then. It all comes out. Pee everywhere. Pee on the baseball mat, too. Legit, in front of my class. My teacher tells us: “Ok, let’s pack up and go back to class now!” I’m now wondering whether I’m going to be in trouble. So… my PE teacher obviously has to tell my teacher. And I’m just embarrassed beyond anything. On top of that, I’m scared that my parents will be angry, and my teacher’s going to be angry as well.

Although the accidents eventually stopped, the fear of asking for help or raising my hand to ask questions or approaching teachers stayed. And grew. Because as I grew older, I discovered two new tactics. Friends, and avoidance.

Having to ask a question in class, or ask my teachers for help terrified me. I remember being in elementary school (maybe around 4th or 5th grade), and describing the scenario of having to raise my hand or talk out loud in class as being like the following experience: Someone is squeezing my throat. I can’t breathe. My lips are super-glued together. My hands are held down by weights. I can’t move from my seat. I’m stuck. I need someone to notice me. To help me.

Being afraid to approach my teachers also meant not being able to ask for help on homework, and being afraid to turn in late assignments. So eventually missing assignments led to having to talk to my teachers because of said missing assignments. Predictably, having to endure the individual talks with my teachers terrified me. More than once, I’d hear some variation of: “I won’t bite.”; “Just communicate with me.”; “I’m not that scary.”

I suppose on some level, my conscious brain understood this, but it was like I needed to be constantly reminded of that, and to be reassured that they were “safe” to communicate with.

Common thoughts that would pop into my head are: “[XYZ] teacher will think I’m stupid.”; “I’m so scared. What’s going to happen?”; “I would honestly rather be pushed off a cliff or get shot in the head with a gun than talk to/ask [XYZ] for help.”; “[XYZ] teacher will be so angry with me.”; “I can’t do this.” 

To ease the anxiety in the short-term, I would turn to classmates and friends to help communicate for me. I would drag [XYZ] friend into the classroom with me, and have them ask questions for me. Once, is fine. Twice is OK, too. But for me, suddenly I’m death gripping said friend, because I literally cannot see a way for me to communicate with my teachers by myself.

Elementary school. Middle school. High school. College. This continued on and on like a horrible cycle, and some type of nightmare. All the while I hoped and prayed that maybe I’d grow up one day and “get over” my anxiety. Maybe I’d grow an extra backbone and be extra brave one day.

At the same time, nobody ever noticed my anxiety. Why? With my peers, I was seemingly normal. I could communicate, laugh, and joke with my friends around. In fact, if I was with a friend, I would feel comfortable talking with my teachers. As long as a peer was there, I would feel safe enough to talk.

Most of my experience at school consisted of me avoiding my teachers/authority like the plague, because anxiety would peak the moment I had to communicate with them, or dragging friends along to help talk for me.

To this day, I still struggle with communicating in these exact situations. Treatment has helped tremendously, but there are days when I wish I had been diagnosed and treated at a young age. Maybe my condition would not be as debilitating as it is now?

Most days though, I just need to hear: “I promise, I won’t bite.”