I recently read a post somewhere on Instagram about how those who have experienced trauma prefer isolation. Being alone feels safer. We have control of our own surroundings and trust ourselves.

Isolation is not necessarily a bad thing. Ask any introvert. However, complete avoidance of other people and places is unhealthy.

I thought about this as I sat in church last night.

I am a member of a very intimate home church – and I love it. However, one thing I have learned from therapy is that I must find ways to refill my tank if I hope to continue pouring so much of myself out for the benefit of others. Work as a hospital chaplain is exhilarating – but exhausting – especially for an introvert. Being a member and pastor of a tiny church, whose sole aim is to BE the church as Christ called us to be and not merely to attend a service and be entertained, is rewarding, but also requires me to be “on.”

Therefore, a few months ago, I decided to start attending another church on Saturday nights. Community Bible Church in San Antonio is not Nazarene nor is it intimate. It is a non-denominational mega church. It is also extremely involved in the community and the pastor speaks highly about the importance of getting involved in small groups and not just showing up and being entertained. I have attended some of their small groups. They are not simply designed for socialization. They have deeper purpose, such as the Grief Share support group I attended a few years ago.

The pastor speaks from the Bible and is not afraid to speak truth, even unpopular truth, but he has a way of doing so with love for people – all people. A lot of churches want to be multicultural, but this church is organically. Why? I believe it is because of everything I mentioned above. You don’t need a plan or program to be multicultural when you know how to love people and love them well.

Anyway, because I have so much respect for them, and because they are so large, I figured I could attend and be refilled. I watched their services online, but it took me a while to get up the courage to go because, as a trauma survivor, the thought of being in a crowd of that size terrified me – and still does.

Working through the pandemic caused me to develop extreme social anxiety. I have always hated crowds, but during the pandemic, crowds could cause panic attacks. I am not nearly as bad as I was, but post-pandemic, crowds still cause some anxiety.

I remember the moment I realized I had a severe problem. I sat in the airport in Houston, waiting for my connecting flight to Kansas City. COVID was still in full force and masks were mandatory. I sat by my gate and watched all the people. During this time, multiple deaths from COVID was a daily reality in the hospitals. It was no longer the older adults. We were now dealing with otherwise young and healthy men and women. People my age and younger.

As I watched, I looked at faces – into eyes – and wondered how many would be dead in a week – a month – in a year.

The thought sent shivers down my spine, and I knew I was in crisis.

Well, that trip – being with friends, sharing my story in class, did a lot to heal me – as did my therapist. But that is another story.

I no longer have such morbid thoughts and am no longer consumed by the world of disease and death, but the social anxiety remains.

Isolation is good – but avoidance is not.

I have learned to respect the social anxiety without giving it all the power.

Going to CBC, a mega-church, is one example. I know a lot of people who go there, but I prefer to go alone. I do not want to meet or see anyone there. I do not want to socialize. I want only to be spiritually fed.

So, I show up just before start time. I park off to the side of the lot and enter through the side door where there are no greeters or loiterers. I enter the auditorium through a side entrance where, again, there are no greeters or loiterers. I sit on a seat at the end of an isle closest to the exit. Most of the time, I sit during the music. (I never have been one to raise my hands or dance around anyway. I prefer to sit and enjoy the music in solitude.) Then, I leave before the service is over so that I can avoid the rush out the door.

Even with all my social precautions, the crowd still makes me feel nervous, but I am always glad I came. I am with people without being with people and my soul gets refreshed.

Yesterday, as I sat there, I thought about friendship – the value of friendship for people like me.

I have never had a lot of friends. I am one of those who go through life with a handful of good friends rather than a hoard of friends. The introvert thing, I suppose.

Post-COVID, though, I realize I am not as good of a friend as I used to be. I could go weeks or months without reaching out to people. It’s not that I do not think about them or care about them. I simply get stuck in my day-to-day routine that I forget. Part of me is still in survival mode. Another part of me is trying to figure out my next steps post-pandemic and post-graduation. I am like a camel when it comes to socializing. A little goes a long, long way.

That is why good, understanding, faithful friends are so valuable to people like me. They give us space without letting us get too far away.

For example, I have a friend who knows about my struggles with social anxiety. She also knows things I enjoy doing. I enjoy movies but only go during the day on weekdays and will not go to a blockbuster movie on opening weekend.

I enjoy nature and water but will not go venturing out on a Saturday – and am reluctant to go anytime in the summer when I think things may be too crowded.

So, she invited me to go doing something early – before the crowds would get there. Smart. Good friend. I am thankful for her. We all need friends like that.

For most of my life, I have claimed that Jesus is my best friend. However, since the pandemic, I have allowed my relationship with him to fall by the wayside as well. I have become lukewarm. Just as with my human friends, I know I have been neglectful, and it breaks my heart. It’s not that I don’t make an effort. I do. It’s just . . . well, it’s tough to explain in a way those who do not suffer from mental illness will understand.

All I can think of to say is to quote Jesus: The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. (Matthew 26:41)

I wrote about this theme in my prayer journal this morning:

Good morning. Thank you so much for this morning, for the help getting up, the eagerness to get up. Day one of striving to get my life back on track. Yesterday I was thinking of this year’s theme. It seems to be starting over – again – and again – and again. Thank GOD (YOU) that YOU are the GOD of second chances. What chance am I on now? The gazillionth? More? Still, you never give up on me and you are there when I am finally ready.

I am thankful for friends who know me well and never give up on me. I am thankful for a loving God who knows me even better and who loves me even more.

I deal with social anxiety, but I will not let it have the final say. I cannot tackle this demon alone, though. It takes good friends and an even greater God. It also takes a willingness on my part to keep trying.