My Instagram story post 30 minutes prior to the official start of the conference:

Our bodies tell us when something is wrong. So, what does my severe social anxiety tell me?

First of all, what is it about crowds that create this anxiety in the first place? I mean, I know it has always been part of my DNA so to speak, and I realize that it became significantly worse during-and-post pandemic. But what exactly triggers me?

It is the noise and the bodies.

So, what is it about the noise and the bodies?

Noise:

I am deaf in my right ear. Although most people would never know unless I told them, this does create significant challenges and causes me to do some things differently from those with “normal” hearing.

I cannot tell when someone is walking behind me or talking to me if they come at me from the right side.

I make up for this by being hyper vigilant. When walking, my guard is on high alert. I keep my eyes focused and my head on a swivel. My left ear overcompensates, working to pick up sounds on the right and on the left.

It is exhausting.

When I am lost in my own thoughts or otherwise not paying attention, it is easy for people to catch me off guard and scare me.

It is overwhelming.

I can’t tell from which direction a sound originates so my reaction time is slower.

That can be scary.

When there is too much noise, I am unable to pay attention or clearly hear any one conversation. This is why I HATE going to noisy restaurants. If you want to eat AND talk to me, we better go to a quiet place, order out, or go during off-peak hours. I get restless when too many conversations are going on at once. It takes all my energy to stay put and NOT run.

I feel like a caged animal.

Bodies:

This one is more difficult to decipher. I understand why crowds freak me out post-pandemic. I won’t get into all that here. I’ve discussed that plenty before. But the gist is the isolation, precautions, things I’ve done and seen during the pandemic that caused the post-pandemic social anxiety.

But before then? Perhaps an old childhood fear of being left behind, lost in the crowd? Perhaps it is my work in women’s self-defense and my knowledge of what can happen to a woman who is not vigilant in crowded settings? Maybe it is my experience with law enforcement and knowing how easy it is to commit a crime and get away with it in larger crowds?

Maybe it is as simple as my disgust for how rude people can be in crowds – the me-first attitudes that pop up in most crowded situations – to be the first in line, to get the best seats – me-me- me. Or the simple way people stop and talk right in the middle of the flow of traffic or bump into you without saying sorry.

Yep…there must be something to that because I feel my blood boil as I type that.

But maybe it is my distrust of people in general. I have been let down so many times. Trust is a difficult thing for me.

Maybe it is my lack of control.

Or maybe it is as simple as the fact that the bigger the crowd, the noisier the atmosphere . . . and I already explained why noise is a trigger for me.

Yep. It is probably that simple.

Noise.

Whenever I am in a large and/or noisy crowd, the voice of the (original) Grinch replays in my head. Perhaps the green creature who hated Christmas was simply misunderstood. Perhaps he, too, had a hearing and not a heart deficit.

Anyway, back to this conference. During the second workshop, I gave up my seat in the back to an older man and sat in the corner on the floor. It was in this moment, after 3 1/2 hours of feeling like an elephant stood on my chest and fighting for every breath that I finally felt calm(er).

Why? With people now towering over me and me in a corner with no way out, I should have logically felt more stressed. In self-defense, we teach how to fight when backed into a corner, but we never willingly put ourselves in a corner. We must always be on guard for an escape route.

For me, in this circumstance, sitting in a corner made me feel more free – invisible – and in my invisibility, I could breathe again.

I could hear again.

Maybe that’s why the Grinch preferred hiding out in his cave rather than meandering amongst the WHO’s with their jingtinglers, floofloovers, and whohoopers. I get it.

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As this day approached, I longed for a reason not to go. I expended a great deal of energy trying to talk myself into attending. I came once before, years ago with other church leaders and I loved it. I found it beneficial and looked forward to returning this year – until the long-awaited day actually came.

Now, post-pandemic, post-school, because of my own mental health issues and my desire to help others going through similar things, combined with my love for learning, I felt like I needed to be there.

As the day drew nearer, I realized I could not mentally handle the full 2-day training even though I already paid for lunch on both days (and I am extremely frugal). When I got there, within the first 30 minutes, I knew it would torture me to stay the full day.

I did, however, vow to stay until lunch. The first two workshops were the most important to me anyway. They were both about trauma and faith – most important to me personally and professionally.

It also mattered that I try. Whatever happened, I knew that I would hate myself if I talked myself out of coming. If I failed to even try, I would feel miserable.

So, there I sat on the floor, desperately trying to pay attention while simultaneously making my escape plan to grab my lunch before the crowds, get outside into the quiet, and breathe.

I only lasted for 1/4 of the conference, but this is not a failure.

One of the final questions of the second workshop (made of licensed therapists and a pastor) was how you know that therapy was successful. I stood up and almost raised my hand to answer when someone else said what I was thinking:

There is no finish line – just a continual movement forward.

I thought back to where I was in August two years ago. I remember being terrified that I would never be “me” again, and that the pain I was feeling was going to be my new normal.

I have come to realize that I will never again be who I was pre-pandemic, but neither am I stuck in the suffering.

I remember telling my therapist that I felt like I had been stuck under the clouds for years and could finally see the sun trying to peak through.

Another analogy I used was feeling like the only part of me sticking out of the water was my nose. Bit by bit, more of me emerged from the depths of the water.

How do I know treatment worked – or should I say – is working?

Before I sought help – before I put in the work, I would have seen that day as a failure. I would have reprimanded myself for not being better, stronger, able to push on through and finish what I started. And I certainly would never have admitted my (perceived) weakness and failure to anyone – neither in person nor in writing.

Now, I feel proud of myself. This was not a failure. It was a win because I took that step and gave it my all.

I couldn’t wait to go home and isolate again and that, too, is okay. It’s what I needed to recover.

When I got home, I got halfway undressed and lay sprawled on my bed. My legs felt like a combination of lead and rubber. I talked it out with my imaginary friend (another self-care technique and post for another day) before I felt well enough to get up, finish changing, and go about the rest of my day – alone.

And that, too, is okay because I did something. I faced my fear – met a challenge head on – and took a step forward. I didn’t allow my social anxiety – whatever the root cause – to keep me from venturing into WHOVILLE for a while.