Social Anxiety in the Age of Social Distancing by Eleanor Willner-Fraser (22, Canada)

In high school, the first day of school always made me nervous. Would any of my friends be in my classes? Where would I end up sitting? In my imagination, confident, popular students glided into the classroom and straight to a desk surrounded by admiring friends. Then there was me, standing by the doorway looking stupid as I searched desperately for anyone that I knew. It seemed that where you sat on the first day and who you knew set the course of the whole semester in stone.

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My anxiety about entering uncontrollable environments has increased during the COVID-19 pandemic. It’s bad enough entering a business for the first time without fearing that people will judge you for inadvertently disobeying a COVID-19 guideline. Thanks to my social anxiety, I simultaneously expect people to have a low opinion of me and assume that they spend a lot of time thinking about me, judging my every move.

At least once, my anxious planning of what to say has so dominated my mind that I’ve failed to read the sign on a business’s door telling me to ring the bell. In one of social anxiety’s great ironies, my fear of looking stupid made me look stupid as the employee unlocked the door, indicating the sign (and now my mind is returning to the mistake several months later). 
     
Wearing face masks has been both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it’s reassuring to hide my expression—and any blushing—behind a shield of fabric. During social interactions, I tend to be so focused on myself and so uncomfortable making eye contact that I haven’t even noticed how much of a person’s expression it’s possible to discern from behind a mask. 
    
On the other hand, wearing a mask makes it particularly difficult for people to hear me when I talk. Of course, mask wearing is an essential public health measure. Nonetheless, people not being able to understand what I’ve said causes me distress. Getting people to hear me has always been a struggle, both because of my naturally quiet voice and because of my fear that speaking loudly will call attention to me. There’s another irony, though: the other person often has trouble hearing me, meaning they focus more on what I’ve said, not less.

As I approach, or imagine approaching, a social situation, my mind fills with anxious thoughts. Things like “The other person will not be able to hear me,” “The other person will think I am weird,” or “I will not know what to talk about.” With masked interactions, the latest version is “The other person will not be able to hear me through my mask.” It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. My anxiety affects my body, through symptoms like my throat tightening, and my behaviour, leading me to be hesitant and speak more quietly. Then the other person actually cannot hear me, which only fuels my anxious predictions of the future in a vicious cycle.
    
A typical interaction at the grocery store goes something like this: the cashier asks me whether I have a student card for getting the discount. I say no because I don’t anymore. The cashier repeats the question because they didn’t hear what I said and assume I didn’t understand the question. This time, I shake my head no. This situation might seem miniscule, but the prospect of it is enough to make me avoid going to the grocery store on student discount day when possible (combined with all the students hunting for deals on the same products that I’m likely to be buying).
    
Sometimes, when a store employee cannot hear me through my mask, I’ve noticed myself apologizing. I don’t know what I’m apologizing for—sorry you had to experience the inconvenience of not being able to hear me? Sorry I did not make more of an effort to speak loudly? Maybe it’s just a phrase to fill the awkward silence.

Doing Exposure Therapy at a Distance
    
Part of the treatment for anxiety involves exposure therapy—systematically putting yourself into anxiety-provoking situations to show your mind that it’s okay. The things that you’re afraid of are unlikely to happen, but, even if they do, you’re strong enough to handle them. Many of the situations that somebody with social anxiety might work toward—such as asking a question in class, attending a party, or giving an oral presentation—are impossible or only possible in a modified form during the pandemic. Although Zoom calls have their own challenges for people with social anxiety, there’s nothing like standing next to a stranger to get that anxious-thought hamster wheel spinning. 

Between living by myself, working from home, and trying to limit trips to stores, I get far fewer “natural exposures” than I did while attending in-person university classes. These days, it’s necessary to be creative when coming up with possible exposures, whether that’s calling a business with a pretend question or recording your voice and playing it back.

In general, I feel at my calmest and most comfortable when I’m on my own. However, the pandemic’s forced isolation has taken its toll. I’m spending too much time stuck inside my head. My vocal cords and social skills are out of practice. When I do talk to someone, whether that’s a shelf stocker at a store or even my family on FaceTime, I feel awkward and unsure what to talk about.
    
Like everyone, I look forward to the end of the pandemic—to being able to get together with family and friends, to dining at restaurants and participating in activities that I enjoy, even to working in an office. Yet those positive feelings are tangled up with my anxiety about gradually relaxing restrictions and how different people will respond to those changes.

The pandemic, with its social distancing requirements, would seem like the perfect situation for someone with social anxiety—not having to make small talk at social gatherings, spending less time out in public. Yet it has the same sense of guilty relief I felt in high school when another day went by without the teacher picking me for giving a presentation. I may have escaped doing the thing I was dreading for that day, but, sooner or later, I would need to present my project, and I would feel better for it, too. The return to a “normal” level of social interaction may not be easy for those of us with social anxiety, but it will also be vital.

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