How I overcame my fear of talking to people

You don’t just get over social anxiety but it’s totally treatable

Throughout my childhood, I struggled to talk to anyone outside of my immediate circle. It seemed physically impossible to get a word out, for my lips to just move and a hearable sound to emerge. Often this was in response to a perfectly appropriate question, like “Do you want a lollipop?” My answer would always be complete silence.

An imperfect sketch

Everytime I needed to speak, it felt like all the mechanisms in my throat would turn into an impermeable cement wall, and the only sound permitted to pass was the thumping of my heart. This physical overwhelm accompanied me throughout my school-going life, and often surfaced in adulthood. Group settings, which up until I graduated from university formed an integral part of life, were unbearable. I was always the “shy” one, who didn’t talk — although I did feel more comfortable in some situations than others, and was able to make some solid friends. But in school, classmates bullied me for not talking, and blushing and trembling when I was forced to speak by a teacher. For most of my life, I bounced between thinking that I was either just unchangeably born this way, or I needed to somehow toughen up a bit and be less reserved. These attempts at bravery, which often followed people’s advice to “just be myself”, always ended in frustration, and confirmed my initial belief that I’m doomed to loneliness and ridicule.

I would inwardly die with shame and anger when people commented on the unusualness of my behaviour in rare moments of courage, such as when I was drinking: “Wow, I would have never believed you could dance like that” or “You don’t seem like somebody who would ever get angry.” Until fairly recently, I could never really place the irritation and self-punishment that was eating me up from the inside. Why couldn’t I just be myself and not care what people thought about me?

A lot of time passed until I heard the term “social anxiety”, and I actually had the maturity to engage with its definition. Years before I had been given a book on overcoming shyness but I refused to read it — shyness was a weakness and I could rarely admit, even when I was completely alone with my thoughts, that I was shy. But “social anxiety” sounded better — it referred to a treatable condition that was to be taken seriously, as opposed to an innate character trait or a personal preference you should just get over.

The US-based National Social Anxiety Center ‘s website explains how social anxiety is about a debilitating fear of judgement and embarrassment. An irrational obsession with what people are thinking causes inhibited and avoidant behaviour, basically an inability to expose who one truly is to others, or express one’s needs and opinions. Situations that seem normal to many people — such as asking a stranger for directions or eating in front of others — can cause trembling, profuse sweating and blushing for individuals with social anxiety. At some point in your life, usually during childhood, you learned that social settings are like a stage that’s being watched by impossibly scrutinising judges — if you don’t “perform” perfectly, you will be punished. Catastrophising thought patterns, such as, “If I say the wrong thing, everyone will hate me”, and the behavioural responses, got embedded so deep that they’re automatic, and you might have no idea where they came from in the first place. I was only aware of the physical symptoms, and not the thoughts that cause them.

The reasons for socially anxious behaviour differ from individual to individual, and can have both genetic and environmental reasons. But after engaging with some of the possible causes, some clarity on the roots of my fear emerged. There’s no doubt that my mother worries a lot about what other people think about her, and especially what people think of her children. To friends and neighbours, we had to appear polite, appropriately-dressed and hardworking with a promising academic career — else lies were told. I recently watched my mother almost faint in a church because she didn’t want to cough during a choral performance — which may be the perfect example of what I learned through observing her behaviour as a child: you put the needs of others before your own because upsetting people is dangerous.

Our precision-focused, reward-and-punishment-based culture and schooling system likely also plays a role, as well as other societal norms that have been passed down over generations. The origins are way too complex to discuss here, but what’s important is that there are very valid reasons for individuals to act this way in a social setting, and this is not their choice. Often individuals with social anxiety are very aware of how irrational their behaviour is, but feel unable to change it. Yet in school and university, instead of providing useful information on how to combat social anxiety, it was treated as undesirable behaviour.

I was told that I was lazy by teachers because I didn’t participate in class discussions, and got marked down because oral participation formed 50% of the final mark. Being quiet was seen as anti-social, an unwillingness to integrate yourself, an arrogance even. When someone asked me why I didn’t participate, I didn’t answer, not just because I was afraid to speak, but because I had no idea why. There was no helpful information, and mostly “quiet ones” were simply ignored, or picked on to answer questions in class, which resulted in my brain capacity being taken up by fear, instead of focusing on what was being said. When I did receive some advice, it was along the lines of the following feedback I received after having to do a class presentation at university: “You need to learn to relax more when you speak”. I was devastated because I had no idea how to learn this, but I also didn’t want to ask anyone for help, because I considered being quiet as shameful.

Perhaps some of this has changed since I was at school, but even in 2021, when I decided to do a year of follow-up studies, I realised that quietness and nervousness around speaking is still treated in a similar way. During orientation for instance, when a student bravely disclosed that they struggle in presentation situations, the mentor’s advice was to: “figure out why that is and then get over it”. Or, after completing an internship, I was told that my presence was welcome in the office, “although” I come across as “a little quiet and reserved”. I had actually felt like I made a major effort to “integrate” (because compared to similar previous situations, I actually talked). At this point I had much better tools to cope and didn’t take this too badly, but it did highlight that there’s an awareness problem. What made this feedback unpleasant was of course the word “although”. You wouldn’t write the following on a feedback form: “Although [student name] has a broken leg, her presence is welcome.”

To those who have the courage to talk to strangers, if you see someone being quiet in a corner, consider asking them for their opinion on something, and make them feel that their input is valid. But whatever you do, don’t ask why they are so quiet. I realise now that my irritation, especially at this question, was because somewhere deep down I thought my problem was unchangeable, and someone bringing it up just meant my innate faultiness was exposed. Luckily, although you can’t just think or decide blushing and trembling away, social anxiety is totally treatable. Cognitive behavioural therapy, for instance, is an evidence-based approach.

If you have access to a suitable therapist, they will guide you through a step-by-step approach to gradually face your fears, and replace those automated negative thought patterns with healthier ones. But having lived in South Africa for many years, I know that access to therapeutic services is a luxury. Even in European countries where this service is free-of-charge with health insurance, there are long waitlists and — thinking back to my teenage experiences — going to therapy is not something you would shout from the rooftops. Nonetheless, I would recommend therapy to those who can, but I believe that simply having access to some valuable information can already make a major difference. Reading How to Be Yourself: Quiet Your Inner Critic and Rise Above Social Anxiety by Ellen Hendriksen was a crucial turning point, as this book helped me make sense of, and gradually apply, some of the below concepts:

1. Social anxiety is a treatable condition. One of the first steps was to grasp that social anxiety is not shyness or introversion, and therefore not a character trait or something you just get over. Knowing this gave me the permission to identify problematic thoughts and behaviours in myself, and not see them as a weakness that I need to hide.
2. Do it anyway, even if you’re scared. Once I admitted to myself that I wasn’t comfortable in social settings, I realised how problematic it was for instance, when I considered turning down a lift by someone I looked up to, because I thought spending this much time with this person would lead them to realise how socially inadequate I was, and hence dislike me. I was nervous, but with this new understanding, I could attempt situations like these anyway, and challenge my negative thoughts around them.
3. Focus your attention outward. This means practising the concept of turning the spotlight away from yourself, and listening to what others are saying instead of worrying what they might be thinking about you. In reality this is much easier said than done because it requires an acceptance of just existing there in your quietness while others are talking around you — something I found humiliating for most of life. But once you take the pressure to talk away from yourself, and focus your attention outward, communication eventually happens more naturally and authentically. Your brain actually has some capacity to think of things to say, when you take away the fear and pressure to “perform”.
4. Have compassion for yourself. Putting myself into situations where I felt naked and vulnerable, and being kind to myself afterwards. In the beginning, this may have just been disclosing something personal and intimate to someone I didn’t know that well. Later, these naked moments became more daring, like participating in an online dance class with my video on, or singing karaoke in a bar. No matter how big or small the challenge, it was important to try and focus on the fact that I did it, not what the outcome was. In the past I would have beaten myself up for simple things like sending a text message, and I wouldn’t stop thinking about how embarrassing that was. Even bringing up some past situations that I considered embarrassing, and forgiving myself for them, helped me to be less fearful and more self-forgiving in future situations.
5. Quitting alcohol. Attending social events sober not only taught me how to say no to people, but it enabled me to experience life in its full rawness, without hiding behind a safety behaviour. If I hadn’t quit it, I wouldn’t have reached the point where I can accept myself with all the uncomfortable awkwardness and imperfections, and eventually settle into a new ease, a more authentic way of existing. Gradually, I was able to realise that my worth is defined within me, not externally. I can’t control what people are thinking, so there really is no point in living my life for others. A book that really helped me understand what it takes to quit something that’s so normalised by society was We Are the Luckiest: The Surprising Magic of a Sober Life by Laura McKowen.
6. Being in the moment. My angry teenage self used to frown upon concepts that sounded “esoteric”, but now I can’t live without them. “Being in the moment” was difficult for me to grasp at first, and with that I mean actually feeling it in my body. When I attempt something daunting, like the other day when I started telling a personal anecdote in a seminar setting with close to 20 people listening and felt my voice quiver, I now remind myself that I can take it one step at a time. It’s okay for my listeners to wait as I breathe, and think of the next sentence I want to say. My body needs to feel good when I speak, and until that happens, everything else is on hold.
7. Life is a gamified earth school. Lastly, I started to entertain the idea that life is a game, something to not take so seriously all the time — like the people who talk about earth being a computer simulation, and we are its players. Of course there are situations that are serious and horrific, but if one is safe, it is always worth considering what one could learn from the past, and look at something painful with less self-punishment, and more compassion. Especially when it comes to embarrassment — which of course really isn’t that bad. Most people are unlikely to remember or care about your mishap and, if you imagine someone else being in your situation, you wouldn’t treat them with the same kind of belligerence, would you? Seeing life as a gamified earth school takes the edge off certain situations and has enabled me to actually see and feel what is happening around me.

I couldn’t have understood all these things without access to the right information. After reading Ellen Hendriksen’s book, and engaging with other information around social anxiety, I was able to attempt things that petrified me, and slowly became more and more adventurous (and still am). The crucial point was to practise and be okay with not getting it right the first time around, and then acknowledge my own development. For instance, from not being able to talk to a single person without trembling, I was able to:

• ask a question during an online lecture
• send voice notes
• address an uncomfortable feeling in a relationship
• give presentations, online and in-person
• call people I looked up to
• survive job interviews
• say no to a job opportunity

And finally, the most daring of all, things I would have never thought possible

• sing in front of other people (even just one person)
• give online coding lectures
• talk in a room full of people

I am not fully healed. Catastrophising thoughts and maladaptive perfectionism still exist in me, but I have some very useful tools I can access. My body knows now that it can survive without negative thoughts and behaviours, and is slowly learning to incorporate the new ideas into its system. I’m trying to treat it with love, compassion and admiration — giving it the time it needs to adapt.

For anyone attempting this journey, I recommend remembering the following advice on changing your life by type-II-diabetic and ex-drug-and-fast-food addict, Adam Sud:

“first, you have to become comfortable with being uncomfortable.”

– Adam Sud on The Plant-Powered People Podcast

Originally published at https://findingthesoundwithin.substack.com.