Social Anxiety and Communal Living

Two years ago, when I moved to Crestone full-time, my social anxiety was at an all-time high. Recently, when I realized this was no longer the case, I began to reflect on what had changed.

I’ve suffered from social anxiety for as long as I can remember. When I was a kid, I refused to talk to anyone on the phone, and felt a crushing sense of dread when I needed to do something as simple as order a muffin at a café.

I remember vomiting from overwhelming anxiety at my own birthday party, and throwing myself on the floor and screaming to avoid social interactions.

As a highly motivated, curious and generally energetic person, having social anxiety has always felt inconvenient at best, infuriating at worst. It feels as though my anxiety wrestles with my desire to be engaged; my fearful self punishing my courageous self in a self-destructive act that I felt unable to control.

I use “social anxiety” as an umbrella term, but “social rumination” is an equally accurate description. “Is this person trustworthy?” “Did I say the wrong thing?” “Did I reveal too much?” “What are they going to think of me now that I said….” “Is that person going to badmouth me to the entire town because I made a mistake, or said the wrong thing, or just existed in a way they did not like or felt triggered by?” I’ve come to recognize that my anxiety co-exists with the unknown. Once I get to know someone and trust them, the anxiety, rumination and overwhelm tend to decrease.

I’ve worked hard to cope and exist in the world without being controlled by the crushing weight of social anxiety, but living in Crestone has offered unexpected insights. Undoubtedly, living in a small town comes with many social anxiety-provoking situations. I have also taken a prominent role in two well-known and public-facing local organizations, which has put me in the spotlight. I have made decisions that some people dislike, and have opened myself up to judgement.

I stand by my decisions, and I have seen the positive result of these choices, but it would be delusional to expect everyone to agree with me all the time. I have had to make an effort to explain or defend myself, apologize when I felt I didn’t communicate clearly or effectively, and ask for help when I couldn’t do something successfully on my own.

Despite these choices, and despite putting myself in the spotlight, my anxiety still feels much more manageable than it did before I came to Crestone.

Why?

Living in a small town makes it difficult to hide behind anonymity and to avoid social discomfort.

Everyone sees each other at the grocery store, at the post office, the bank, and at the hardware store. It’s impossible to run an errand without running into someone you know.

Do you have an enemy? Are you trying to avoid someone you’re in an argument with? Good luck! Unless you plan on locking yourself in your house, there is no way to avoid people here.

It wasn’t entirely conscious, but I realized early on that the best way to avoid anxious rumination was to eliminate the unknown that was at the heart of my anxiety. If I’m afraid someone is mad at me, I can approach them directly, face to face, and ask if everything is ok. If I know I owe someone an apology, I can apologize right then and there. If I need clarification, I can ask for it. There is no need to wait days or weeks to get the answer to a question. No need to resort to easily-misinterpreted texts or emails. I can look people in the eye and talk to them. I have never met anyone in this town unwilling to have a conversation. While a direct conversation may not always solve the problem, it does prevent rumination and eliminate inaccurate assumptions.

Engaging directly provides clarity, and that clarity reduces my anxiety.

In a city, when you fire someone from their job, you’re unlikely to ever see them again. If you say something that pisses someone off, you will never be forced to look them in the eye and see the hurt you’ve caused.

Avoidance and anonymity may seem like the solution to social anxiety, but in my experience, avoidance and anonymity are the source of anxiety.

I feel grateful that I never discarded my desire to be engaged in the world as a result of my anxiety, because I’m learning that direct engagement is actually the cure.

I spent years believing that avoiding social discomfort would ease my anxiety. In the end, I realize the cure isn’t to hide — it’s to show up.