Why do I hate being perceived?

Hello reader, do you have social anxiety? Yeah, me too. Obviously I don’t know how you answered that question, but I know there’s a reason you clicked on this title. This is different to the kind of thing I normally write. 

I get nervous on crowded buses because it means I have to inconvenience the people around me in order to get off the bus. I get freaked out when people watch me perform a task, or if I have to order at a restaurant. I stand on the corner of crowds, refusing to cheer or dance or participate in any way lest someone witnesses me experiencing joy. Why? I’m tired of living like that. I write poems and post them on this Substack page, and then do my best to make sure no one finds it. My two top superpowers to have are either reading minds or being invisible because both would allow me to control people’s perception of me or to not be perceived at all. 

I don’t know if I would call this social anxiety, just a general fear of being judged I suppose. A fear of making a mistake and someone knowing it. I don’t like it. I don’t like hiding or worrying anymore and then wondering why loneliness is so prevalent in my life. My husband is actually the reason I had this realisation. He is so unabashedly himself at all times, he has no fears about putting his opinions out there for people whether it’s controversial or not, of making phone calls or causing a scene in a public place. He is comfortable being a human in the world and not second guessing his every move and he is extremely popular with the people in his life. Even if he is judged, he will turn around and say, “what about it?” and for someone like me, that behaviour feels entirely foreign. It’s two completely different worlds, experiencing life with him and experiencing it on my own. When I’m with him, I’m an active participant in the world, part of life’s triumphs and foibles. On my own, I’m an observer, removed and distant, constantly contemplating and trying to understand human social patterns.

I used to think it was just because I was a woman with an immigrant mother. Girls just generally have more anxiety, right? Expected to apologise and not take up space, especially if you’re non-white and have dealt with the world already wanting you to disappear. But I think it goes beyond that. I know a lot of women and women of colour who are still confident, social beings. Even neurodivergent girls or chronically ill girls, they don’t spend their lives pretending they don’t exist. Why is it that I’m so scared of the world noticing me, pointing at me? Why can I not handle someone having any sort of an opinion about me when I’m deeply aware that someone’s opinion of me is none of my damn business? 

You know that New York Times piece by Tim Kreider about the mortifying ordeal of being known? 

“What other people think of you is none of your business.” Like a lot of wisdom, this sounds at first suspiciously similar to idiotic nonsense; obviously what other people think of you is your business, it’s your main job in life to try to control it, to do tireless P.R. and spin control for yourself.  Every woman who ever went out with you must pine for you forever. Those who rejected you must regret it. You must be loved, respected — above all, taken seriously! They who mocked you will rue the day! The problem is that this is insane — the psychology of dictators who regard all dissent as treason, and periodically order purges to ensure unquestioning loyalty. It’s no way to run a country.” 

I think part of me believes that if anyone has a thought about me, it’s because I’ve done something wrong, because why else would anyone take time out of their insanely busy, self-centred lives, to think about me? It means I’ve failed at my one task to not bother anybody, to not disturb the world and it’s natural order, to not accidentally leave a mark. Like accidentally getting dirt on new white trainers or trampling on a snail on the pavement. Tainting my reputation as the most agreeable and considerate person on the planet.

I know now that I’m more scared that this idea I have about not bothering people will mean I keep losing opportunities for connection and love. I’m scared of people reading my poems because what if they think I’m a bad writer and I write weird, uninteresting poems. But I would rather people think I’m a bad writer than not know I had anything to write about at all. At least being a bad person gives an opportunity for repentance. At least embarrassing yourself means you tried. I’m going to bother you today and I’m going to be okay with it. You’ll be okay too.