This Is What Social Anxiety Actually Is, Because It’s Not Just Being Quiet At Parties

Understanding Social Anxiety

Social anxiety is far more than just being the “quiet one” at the party — the person who would rather socialize with the host’s dog than be the “social butterfly.” It’s all-consuming, chipping away at your confidence far before you’ve arrived at the party and long after you’ve left the drunken affair and settled in for the night.

 

Analyzing

It’s constantly analyzing your every word. And every action and every movement. And falsely believing that you are a collection of flaws, mistakes and ineptitude — and that your perceived shortcomings are all the world sees.

 

Fearing

It’s fearing that you are unlovable, that all of your friends secretly hate you no matter how fervently they convince you otherwise and that your partner stays with you not out of love, but rather to save his image as a faithful lover.

 

Frozen

It’s standing frozen in front of the phone, your heart racing as your mind battles itself. And it’s wishing that you could simply make that call without rehearsing your responses and fearing the impression you will make on the person on the other end of the line, convincing yourself to dial,and then hanging up before the dial tone sounds.

 

To The Friends Who’ve Helped Me Through My Worst Moments With Anxiety

My Dear Friends,

Before I began sharing about my anxiety, I was terrified to open up to you. I worried that disclosing my anxiety would darken the light, cheery nature of our friendships. I wondered if “anxious” would gradually become my sole identity, overshadowing the many traits that comprise who I am. My greatest hope was that you would understand that anxiety challenges me, but does not define me. The moment I disclosed my anxiety, my fears dissipated.

I am incredibly thankful that choosing to be vulnerable about my anxiety has strengthened our friendships, created inextricable, deep connections and brought us closer than I could have ever imagined. Moreover, I am extremely grateful for your presence in my life and for the numerous ways in which you have supported me through the most difficult times.

Thank you for understanding.

Whenever I arrived late to meet you for coffee, my hair disheveled, my eyes wet from an onslaught of panic and my slight figure clad in an old, shapeless sweatshirt. I appreciate that you never commented on my anxiety-ridden appearance and always took the time to listen to whatever was on my mind as we sipped our drinks.

This Is The Way A Strong Woman Loves

Strong Woman

 

A strong woman loves like a gentle rain swirling into a hurricane. Her love is cautious as she fights to maintain her independence; reserved as she convinces herself that she doesn’t need a man in her life. But slowly and steadily, she lets herself fall into him, washing away her inhibitions, loving him fiercely.

 

A strong woman loves with steadfast reserve turned to unquellable passion. She wades into his life unafraid that he will break her but constantly wondering if she should embrace her ability to feel. His love for her strikes her in the center of her hardened heart, and she rapidly melts under its weight. As she plummets, courageously aware that there is nothing to cushion the pain, her strength manifests in her powerful, steady feelings for him.

I Hope I Never Wake Up From You

You feel like a dream as you stride over to me. The world fades as you embrace me, holding me as if I am the only woman you have ever loved. As you play with my windswept hair and look into my eyes, you realize there is no one but me. You hope to hold me in your heart forever.

As I admire your roses, I pray that even as the petals fall around me, you will never run. As the beautiful flowers grow brittle, drying and cracking under the sun, you remain. You hold me in your strong arms and love me through every trial.

Your passion and loyalty feel surreal. I convince myself that your pure, true love is an illusion, a fairytale that will end in tears and goodbyes. But every time you speak my name, I fall more deeply in love as you charm me. I admire the way your heart rests in mine.

I am afraid that at any moment, I will wake up from you. I worry that I have simply imagined you, writing a grand love story that you will never read. I constantly wonder if you will disappear, leaving me to pick up the pieces and find traces of your love as I cry over you.

I spend sleepless nights looking out over the city, admiring the skyline as I try to wish you back to me. Your unconditional love seems too rare to believe, so I lie awake, persuading myself that this is real.

I hope I never wake up from you, your kind eyes, your gentle voice, your blooming roses, and your love. You are my dream come to life, the miracle that keeps my heart beating day by day. As I watch the lights brighten the city skyline, I wish for your body next to mine. I imagine a forever with you. Areal, raw love that will never die.

This article was originally published on Thought Catalog by Kelly Douglas. 

Date Someone Who Texts You Good Morning

Good Morning Texts

You’re tired of people who stand you up, the people with narcissist complexes, those who never bother to ask how you’re feeling. You constantly search for something more, the simple, intangible love you can never seem to find, the person whose small, kind gestures can make your heart race.

 

Date someone who texts you “good morning.”

They’re unafraid to reveal their love for you, sharing every piece of their heart, leaving you without questions, without doubts. And they’re in touch with their deepest emotions, unapologetic in their love for you. They’re unwilling to shy away from passion, ready to transcend their insecurities and prioritize feelings.

 

Date someone who is willing to put you first.

They wake up every morning and immediately praise your beauty, encouraging you to finally embrace your gentle curves, flowing hair, and shining eyes. As the sun streams through the window, they send you sincere, thoughtful words, celebrating their love for you and you alone. With every simple gesture, they establish you as a top priority, as their first thought as they begin day after day.

 

Your Words Are My Drug Of Choice

Your words are my drug of choice. They hoist me up to the heavens, leaving me awash in airy lightness as you strip the weight of life from my soul. They leave me high off a blissful euphoria as I long to hold onto every coveted syllable, hoping I can remain among the clouds for eternity.

As the words cascade from your lips, every hit of you leaves me longing for more, clinging to your promises that I am your future, wishing you were beside me. My worries escape me as I savor your powerful high; a sense of unquellable serenity. I drift further and further away from my problems as I immerse myself in your swirling kaleidoscope of colors, knowing there is nothing on Earth but me, you, and your magical mirage of deep blues and pure golds.

Your vivacious appellations seem to vanish too quickly, a mystical haze of fragrant smoke too alluring to resist. They can never seem to satiate my powerful hunger for endless sweet nothings, until you faithfully supply me with your linguistic charm, the drug that keeps my heart beating only for you.

I aimlessly flit away the days mindlessly dreaming of the music that flows from your lips and endure the nights lying awake in your absence, tossing and turning as my entire body burns with a passionate fever, itching for you as if you are the sole key to my survival. With an aching heart, I withdraw from the gentle rhythm of your voice, fruitlessly convincing myself that I can live without you.

But I am hopelessly addicted to your adoring locutions, the powerful ecstasy of pure love. Every trip takes me higher, further into your heart’s endless wonders. I ensconced myself in your dreamy euphoria, too faded on your love to return below the clouds.

Perhaps, I will recover from my unyielding desire for your passionate language. Perhaps, I will discover the natural high of self-validation. But every time the fantastical syllables slip from your mouth, leaving me high off your addictive love, I know that your words will always be my drug of choice.

This article originally appeared on Thought Catalog.

What It Means To Love Each Other, Even When You’re Miles Apart

He’s miles away from you, on the other side of the country, or perhaps, halfway across the world. The distance makes your heart pine for him, even as it pushes you apart. But, love always remains, even as times change and the distance between you increases.

Your love transcends the physical. You wish you could hold each other, hug each other, kiss each other. You long to wrap your hands around each other, to feel your hearts beating in synchronicity as your chests caress each other. But, you discover your connection is richer, more emotional. You no longer need to rely on gentle touches and sweet kisses when you know each other’s souls more deeply than each other’s lips.

I Am Slowly Learning To Lose Control

I am slowly learning to lose control.

I feel myself slipping, releasing my grip on everything that seems to give me power, falling without rescue. The descent is a dizzying whirlwind, an undying headache, a pervasive sense of anxiety that will never subside. But, in my plummet to the ground, lightyears away from the expectations that stifle me, I feel liberated, leaving me with a jittery excitement to discover my destiny.

I am slowly learning to let the universe lead me. Instead of brazenly thrusting myself into the life of my dreams, I am leaving my fate to the capricious will of the stars. I understand that the powers that be know the marks on my soul far more deeply than I know myself. They will let go of what’s not meant to be before I fully understand their plan, but I will allow them gustily open and close the doors of opportunity, steering me in whichever direction they desire. I will let the universe cradle me, rock me, hold me up to my fate as I float through life, uninhibited by my lust for control.

I am slowly learning that what will be, will be. I am willing myself to make peace with what I cannot control, to accept what I cannot change. I am vehemently attempting to see the beauty in the consequences of the decisions the world makes for me, swaying to fit the transient whim of life itself. The samba of c’est la vie enchants the beating of my heart; the chaconne of que sera, sera enraptures the rhythm of my soul. I will dance to life’s tempo alone as it consumes me, leading me through destiny’s music, rocking me to fate’s beat.

I am slowly learning to take life as it comes, to let each day wash over me like the fresh morning dew. I am gradually discovering that each hour is sacred in its lack of expectations, each moment is precious in its absence of control. The days, in their infinite beauty, carry me through life, gently lifting me above my burdens, whispering to me to relinquish my worries. I am discovering that once I allow each day of my life to lift me, hoisting me above the heavens, I no longer suffer under their suffocating weight. In meandering from one day to the next without prospect, without plan, without control, I am light, airy, high, free.

I am slowly learning to lose control, to allow the universe to take ahold of my dreams, to surrender what no longer serves me. I am slowly shedding the burden of expectation as I let fate steer me. I may not fully understand the glyphs written in the stars, dictating my path, but I am choosing to cave to their whim, allowing destiny to consume me as I sway through each day; unbridled, unburdened, and unformed.

This article originally appeared on Thought Catalog.

I’m Finally Ready To Stop Being The ‘Undeniably Single’ Girl

“Next year, I expect you to have a boyfriend.” The lyricism in her voice was still evident, but my typically jovial aunt was undeniably serious.

She had overheard my all-too-conspicuous laughter from the next room over, just as my sister and I were debating the attributes of the “perfect guy,” and she popped into my grandparents’ studio to inform me that my standards for my future partner (muscular, at least 6 feet tall, dark, handsome, kind, intelligent, caring, cat-loving, great cook, attorney) were — like every other expectation I’ve held for my life — impossibly high.

I soon realized, however, based on her expectation that I would kindle a relationship within a year, that she had hope for my nonexistent love life.

Hope that I lacked.

Despite my aunt’s fervent belief that I could find a relationship within a year, three years later, I still have never been in a relationship. I’m 22 years old and undeniably single.

Over the years, excuse after excuse for my perpetual singlehood has escaped my lips. “I’m too busy for a relationship.” “I need to focus on school.” “I haven’t found the right guy.” “I’m unemployed, for crying out loud!” “Where the heck am I supposed to meet a nice guy?” But the simple excuses defending my blissful, breezy, single-20-something life shroud the undeniable reality.

My relationship status may be “forever single,” but as for my motivation to remain single, it’s complicated.

I’ve spent years awash in a plethora of self-esteem and identity issues — and consequently, have long felt unworthy of being in a loving relationship. I’ve never perceived myself to be the “pretty” girl — the beautiful woman whose warm, outgoing personality can capture any man’s heart. My fraught relationship with my body — my height, my weight, my body type, and especially my disability — has consumed me for years. Internalized ableism nearly suffocated my hope of a fulfilling relationship — relationships are “supposed” to be for able-bodied people, not the girl with cerebral palsy, surgical scars, and uneven legs.

And the conundrum of my deeply-entrenched, faulty self-image and sparse self-esteem barely scrapes the surface of my crippling reluctance to enter a relationship.

There’s the bullying that occurred nearly every day for four years in junior high and high school — from a boy I’ve since tried but failed to forget, a boy who has etched deep scars on my heart. In front of our entire physics class, he asked me to Winter Formal as a joke, valiantly attempting to suppress his own laughter while I fought back tears as my worst nightmare became my reality. In that moment, I understood that, in the game of high school romance, I was little more than a pawn, a joker reduced to occupying a highly unfavorable position — the class laughingstock.

There’s the night that left me feeling objectified, violated, and ashamed. The night a boy from another school began grinding on me without my consent, provoking a flood of self-accusation. Was my skirt too short? Had I inadvertently consented by not saying “no” before he danced away? Was I complicit in his crime, a willing accomplice to his unforeseen touch?

My fractured image of boys has evolved into a shattered faith in men. Consequently, I’m terrified of vulnerability, both emotionally and physically. I’m afraid to tell a prospective partner that I write about heartache and loss, self-disclosure and self-love. I agonize over the moment I reveal I have cerebral palsy — what if he accuses me of breaking his trust? What if he no longer accepts me? I’m terrified that innocent kisses will devolve into nonconsensual touches, gradually snatching away my sense of bodily autonomy. I fear that once a potential partner has come to know me, truly know me, he will leave, or worse, I will become trapped in a cycle of abuse, too afraid to leave. I have avoided seeking a relationship out of pure, unadulterated fear, the lifelong terror that a man will see me — pure, bare, raw, unfiltered — and, on account of my vulnerability, will unremorsefully break my heart.

I often wonder if I will ever truly be ready for a relationship — a healthy, loving relationship built on honesty, vulnerability, and trust. But I am working to make peace with my difficult past. I continually foster self-acceptance. I no longer criticize my appearance. I fully understand that, on that long-ago night, I wasn’t “asking for it” and that our patriarchal society, rather than the length of my skirt, is to blame for men’s pervasive sense of entitlement. I don’t deserve what was said to me. I don’t deserve what was done to me. I deserve happiness. I deserve fulfillment. I deserve love.

I’m reluctant to open myself up to heartbreak. I’m terrified of getting hurt. But I’m finally ready to stop being the “forever single” girl. I’m finally ready to mend my broken heart. I’m finally ready to find love.

This article originally appeared on Thought Catalog.

Even In My Darkest Moments, I Believe That Life Will Get Better

The world feels pitch black, heavy in its seemingly constant fogI am clawing at stability, grasping above the rising waves in complete darkness. But somewhere in the ebony night, I can just make out a glimmer of light because I believe that life will get better.

The world feels harsh, unforgiving in revealing its inner workings. I am lost in the midst of doubt and disbelief, wondering if I can shield myself from the nagging thought that maybe I will never be enough. But deep in my heart, I choose to press on because I believe that life will get better.

The days feel monotonous, tiring in their unceasing routine. I am worried in the wake of my exhaustion, afraid that maybe, I will never discover the powerful sense of fulfillment for which I constantly long. But even as I begin to shut down, I promise myself to never stop searching for the key to contentment because I believe that life will get better.

The hours pass slowly as if time is frozen. I am weakened with every passing moment, fighting the anxious thoughts that threaten to infiltrate my mind, willing myself to breathe steadily, to desperately grasp at any iota of calm I can feel. But even as I struggle to breathe, as I wonder if my humanity is failing me, I attempt to lure myself into a timeless, hazy serenity because I believe that life will get better.

The minutes are unceasing as if they are taunting me in my breathlessness. I find myself longing to feel again, to feel time rushing by, to feel purposeful, to feel whole, to feel fulfilled, to feel distressed, to feel angry, to feel anything besides complete numbness. But as the minutes drone on, as I long to feel sentient again, I discover a spark swelling deep within, urging me to hold onto every moment because I believe that life will get better.

As the weight of the world bears down on me, threatening to break me, I realize that maybe, the darkness enshrouding me isn’t the heartbreaking ending I constantly feared; it’s the bittersweet beginning of a life of opportunity, happiness, and fulfillment. I hold onto hope in the wake of my struggles because I believe that life will get better.

Even in my darkest moments, I believe that life will get better. And, as the weight of the world bears down on you, as you claw at stability, numbly wishing for a life of fulfillment, I hope you believe that life will get better, too.

This article originally appeared on Thought Catalog

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