I have long grappled with anxiety, which often manifests as awkwardness in social situations—especially around unfamiliar faces. Friends who understand my anxious tendencies often say I manage to conceal it well. While it doesn’t feel that way to me, I appreciate their perspective. After years of navigating social interactions, I’ve developed a certain finesse for masking my discomfort.
Despite my preference for cozy nights at home with reliable Wi-Fi and my favorite elastic-waist pants, I find myself venturing into social settings, primarily due to my children’s vibrant social lives. Whether it’s a sports event or a birthday celebration, I’d much rather hide in my car, engrossed in a book or scrolling through my phone. Unfortunately, that approach isn’t viewed as socially acceptable, so I muster the courage to mingle. Picture me, an awkward baby giraffe, stumbling into conversations with other parents. The truth is, I’d rather endure a hundred paper cuts than engage in small talk.
Who can relate? Okay, maybe that was a bit dramatic, but it’s not far from the truth. Small talk fills me with dread and discomfort. I partake in it out of necessity, but the entire time, I’m caught in a whirlwind of overthinking.
Am I saying enough? Am I dominating the conversation? Was that question out of line? Do I seem engaged? Spoiler alert: I’m not. Am I asking too many questions? How long must I endure this conversation? Should I seek out someone else to talk to? How do I gracefully exit this chat? Does this person think I’m odd? Because I am. I should leave.
Add in some shifty eye contact and awkward body language, and you have a pretty accurate representation of my small-talk approach. Honestly, just writing that made me sweat. Oh, and did I mention that I break into a sweat when I’m anxious? Who wants to chat with the sweaty weird girl? I certainly don’t even want to converse with a non-sweaty weird girl. No thanks!
But here’s the flip side: I genuinely enjoy socializing once you get past my initial awkwardness and any potentially cringeworthy comments I might make. I aim to bring joy and laughter to others, and I’m fiercely loyal as a friend. That said, in social settings, I can be a bundle of nerves. And if there’s an obstacle in my vicinity, I will trip over it before I even have a drink in hand.
One strategy I’ve found effective is having a “buffer” person during social interactions. I fare much better when accompanied by someone who can soften my awkward vibes. My partner, Jamie, is an excellent buffer; his charisma and easy-going nature make him a magnet for conversation. I often stand by his side, smiling and nodding until I feel brave enough to chime in. Bless him! Why he chooses to be with me remains one of life’s delightful mysteries, but I’m grateful he does.
I don’t expect my anxiety to vanish anytime soon, although that would be a miracle. Consequently, my reluctance toward socializing is likely to persist. If you enjoy observing people from a distance without the pressure of small talk, I’m your gal. Look for me at the next gathering; I’ll be the one in the corner, avoiding eye contact, perhaps wishing for a cozy retreat.
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Summary:
Navigating small talk can be particularly challenging for those with anxiety. The pressure to engage often leads to overthinking and discomfort. Having support from a sociable partner can ease social interactions, allowing anxious individuals to participate more comfortably. For those who prefer to observe rather than engage, it’s perfectly acceptable to find solace in the background.