About Me – Page 26

Categories: About Me

On Being a Socially Anxious Introvert

I spent a lot of my younger years hating the fact that I was shy, that social situations intimidated me, and that I generally enjoyed being home by myself more than out with other people.

My mom and my brother are the same way. We are all shy and quiet and introverted, homebodies to our core. My dad, on the other hand, is the exact opposite. He is loud and brash and extroverted and can make friends with just about anyone. He’s friendly and outgoing; I am not. It drove him crazy that he fathered two introverted kids who were quiet and shy.

And because of that, I spent a lot of time wishing I was more outgoing and making friends came easy to me. I wanted new situations and being around people to feel exciting, not intimidating. Extroverts tend to rule the world, probably because they’re just more outspoken and their personalities seem to shine a bit brighter than that of introverts. Introverts are happy working behind the scenes, while extroverts want the starring role.

I wanted to be a star. I wanted to exude confidence and friendliness and openness. I wanted to be that girl who had no problem making friends, who could easily chat it up with a stranger on the street, who could enter new situations feeling curious and excited, not terrified and overwhelmed. And I hated, hated, hated that I was not that girl. But more than that, I think, deep down, I always knew I wasn’t meant to be that girl. That wasn’t my calling in life, that’s not the person God created me to be.

And then I discovered what being an introvert really means. For my entire life, I had drawn the distinction that introverts are shy and extroverts are outgoing when that’s actually not what it means to be an introvert at all. (Or an extrovert, for that matter. Shy extroverts do exist!) Introversion and extroversion depends on where you draw your energy from. For me, being around people can be overstimulating, overwhelming, and ultimately draining. It is only when I am alone that I can recharge my batteries and start to feel more like myself. That’s when I can restore my energy.

Truth be told, I actually really hate when I have more than one social engagement on a weekend. For me, if I have more than one social event happening on a weekend (and forget about weekdays – I hold those sacred and plan-free unless absolutely necessary), I feel overwhelmed. More than anything, I love quiet weekends where I have little to no plans. I will never be the girl with the full social calendar and I am A-OK with that. I’ve never needed to be social all the time (or even most of the time), and I’m learning to harness that knowledge and be okay with it.

So there’s one side of the coin: introversion. And I love that I’m an introvert. I love being a homebody, being quiet, being alone. There’s so much power in understanding yourself and learning to accept yourself for who you are and what you need.

And then there is the other side of the coin: social anxiety. I’ve never been formally diagnosed with social anxiety, but I can relate to many of the common symptoms of this disorder. So if I don’t have social anxiety, I have a very high level of shyness. Both social anxiety and shyness are largely ego-driven and come from the fear of being in unknown social situations and worrying about what other people will think of you. Being in new social situations can be extremely terrifying for me. I get stomachaches, headaches, and so much anxiety racing through my body that it makes me shiver (my teeth will actually chatter when I’m deep in fear mode).

The amount of anxiety I had when I started my current job almost brought me to my knees. It was the most intense anxiety I have ever had. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop my racing thoughts, couldn’t see past the unknown. I was so worried about my new coworkers and what they would think of me. I distinctly remember my second day of work, where I brought a frozen meal to heat up for lunch. It took so much courage for me to get up from my desk, walk to the break room, heat up my lunch, and take it back to my desk. Just the simple fact of knowing I would go into that unknown area of my new office where my coworkers would be chit-chatting with one another to heat up my lunch made my palms sweat, my teeth chatter, and my heart race. For most people, this is no big thing and, in hindsight, I feel silly acknowledging how difficult it was, but for me, it was a moment of celebration. This simple act took so much courage and, because of it, I was able to build on it and grow more and more comfortable at my new place of work.

My shyness is largely due to my low self-esteem and insecurity. I’m so concerned about what others might think of me that it turns me into someone who would rather keep to herself than try to engage people in conversation. It’s why I’m always the quietest one in a group of people (even when surrounded by friends I know well) and why I hate, more than anything, having attention on myself. It’s like there’s this bubble that forms when the attention is on me and all I can hear is the rushing sound of my anxiety racing through my ears. Everything else is muted, my whole body starts heating up, and forming words is nearly impossible. Everything seems to happen at warp speed and I don’t have enough time to keep up. My mind is five minutes behind while everyone else is operating in the present.

And that’s why most people who know me in real life don’t really know me. Because I can write 1,000 words on being a shy introvert and what it actually feels like to be one, but speaking about it is almost impossible for me, without stumbling over my words, forgetting phrases, and feeling completely overwhelmed by the attention. I guess that’s why I love writing so much. Because it is only through my words that I can freely be me. I can be honestly, authentically myself and get these words out of my head.

So while I would love to be a more outgoing, friendlier version of myself, I’m acknowledging and accepting my shy, quiet introverted nature. It’s freeing when you hone in on the truest parts of your authentic self, when you find your truth and learn how to live in it. I wasn’t made to be loud and brash and extroverted. I was made for the behind-the-scenes, I was made for quiet and calm and peace. That’s who I am, I’m accepting it, and I’m going to live in this truth with joy.

Categories: About Me

NaNoWriMo13: Failure and Acceptance

I didn’t win NaNoWriMo this year. After all my months of preparation, all my excitement at getting started, and all my certainty that this was the novel I was meant to write, I called it quits at the halfway point.

I’m sure I could have finished it, but things just started falling apart for me around ten days in. The story I carefully outlined wasn’t coming alive on paper as it did in my head. The doubts crowded into my brain, shouting at me and gleefully laughing every time I had a bad writing day. The story felt too technical at the beginning and I was missing some key background and research to make it stronger. The girl I so lovingly created felt snobby and rude and not at all the person I wanted her to be.

And it wasn’t just the process of writing that got to me, it was having the time. I know, I know, I know. You make the time. If I can make the time to read 10 books on average each month, I can make the time to sit down and write for an hour every day. Yet it was harder than I anticipated. It’s hard when you’ve spent over 8 hours of your day doing SEO content creation to go home and sit in front of the computer to bang out another thousand words. It’s hard when my nights are so short as it is, and I just wanted a few hours to myself, where I could zone out in front of the TV or with a book. It just wasn’t working for me. I came to terms with the fact that writing on a weekday isn’t possible. Well, okay, it’s possible, but I don’t want to do it. The work for which I get paid (nicely, may I add), comes first. I have to meet deadlines and I’m still in the stages of proving I can handle this job and all the writing it entails. That will always come first. My fiction novel follows a little farther down the totem poll.

I think there’s also this weirdness about putting so much work and effort and time into a project that may never earn me money. I may write novels, but never be a successful novelist. (Successful, in my eyes, is being able to be a full-time novelist and not have to work dozens of side jobs to pay rent.) It’s the way of writers, though. It’s the way of anyone going forth with creative pursuits. Artists and photographers and designers. We all put so much work into our craft because we have to. It’s essential to us. A world where I’m not crafting a fiction novel, either in my head or on paper, is a world I don’t want to experience. I love these stories I have buzzing around in my brain. I love thinking of characters and imagining plots and seeing some little thing when I’m out and about, and finding a way to put that in my novel. I love the entire process of writing, but loving something doesn’t mean your dreams will come true. Heck, even working hard at something you love doesn’t mean your dreams will come true.

NaNoWriMo 2013 wasn’t in the cards for me this year. I think I found it easier last year because I wasn’t focused on making a great novel. I just wanted to write. I wanted to just get 50,000 words on paper, no matter how awful or goofy they sounded. This year, I was more concerned with writing something I could be proud of. I wanted this novel to be one that changed the game for me. It wasn’t meant to be. It wasn’t my time.

I want my writing time to mean something. I can write 1,500 words in one hour and every single word can be utter and complete shit. Or I can spend an hour and write 500 words that mean something. That propels the story further. That opens my character up to the reader. That showcases the problem in an authentic way. I will always be a fan of NaNoWriMo, but perhaps it’s just not my path to take. Perhaps writing a novel in one month isn’t where I should be focusing my energy.

This weekend, I took two hours to sit down at my computer and start plotting out a new novel. The one that I truly wanted to write. The one that has been on my heart for years, but I’ve been too scared to really let myself sit down with it because I didn’t know if I could write it in the way I want to write it. It was two hours of just settling in, listening to my voice, and slowly making progress. If all I can dedicate my time to is two hours a week to writing, then that’s all I have time for. I want to write my novel, but I also know there is no timeline for when I need to finish it. I can take my time, research it fully, and get to know myself as a writer better. I know the saying is “Done is better than perfect” but sometimes, done slowly is better than done frantically.

I let fears cloud my vision too often, and I question myself constantly if I can really do this. Can I really write a satisfying full novel that makes people excited? I’m not sure. But I know I have to at least try.

Categories: About Me

On Twenty-Five

Oh, twenty-five.

I will always remember twenty-five.

Twenty-five was the year I quit a job I hated to start my writing career.

Twenty-five was the year I understood the power of girlfriends and finding your tribe.

Twenty-five was the year I started owning the person I am. The girl who covets early bedtimes, fiercely protects her alone time, and doesn’t apologize for her insane love of reading and cruises and dachshunds.

Twenty-five was the year I parasailed in Grand Cayman and ran around the streets of Cozumel in a pseudo-Amazing Race, interacting with locals and getting an authentic Mexican experience.

Twenty-five was the year I bought my first car and started standing on my own two feet, financially.

Twenty-five was the year I met a really great guy and laid my heart on the line for him. It was also the year I experienced a broken heart and still imagine what could have been.

Twenty-five was the year I began accepting the fact that my mom found love and accepting his place in our family.

Twenty-five was the year I didn’t lose the weight, didn’t get that tattoo, didn’t write that novel, didn’t get out of debt… but it was still a beautiful, crazy, wonderful year.

I enjoyed this past year so much. I learned so much over the past twelve months, about myself, about what I want from my life, about where I see my life going. I’m at this place in my life, now 26, and realizing it’s not turning out the way I envisioned it would, but that doesn’t make it any less amazing. A birthday always makes me nostalgic, and the fact that my birthday falls during a time when I’m already looking back upon my year and making plans for what I want to happen in the coming one makes me very introspective.

Plus, I’m participating in the Holiday Council again – so I am definitely in full-on soul-seeking, goal-setting, dream-envisioning mode!

And so, I’d like to talk about a few lessons I learned in my 25th year*, as well as my hopes for 26.

Lessons Learned at 25

1. Nobody deserves to be stuck in a crappy job.

My last job was awful. While I had wonderful coworkers, they were the only reason I stuck around for as long as I did. I had a terrible boss (different from my immediate one, who was amazing in all sorts of ways) who was condescending, forgetful, and made me cry more than once. The work environment was volatile and I am just so glad I was able to find my way out of that job… and into a job that is a billion times better. I am so happy at my new company. The lesson to be learned, if you are unhappy with where you are working, do your damnedest to get out of it. It took me a year to find this job so it may take a while, but find your way out. It can be done.

2. You will never regret laying your heart on the line.

I find it easy to be vulnerable and open on my blog, but it is incredibly hard for me to do so in real life. It’s hard to talk about my feelings out loud. But this year, I did this in a big way and sure, it didn’t work out and I still wonder if I came on too strong, but honestly? I am so proud of myself for stepping up and opening myself up, even when my heart was pounding through my chest and I wanted to throw up. The lesson to be learned, even when things don’t work out and possibly explode in front of your face, laying your heart on the line and being vulnerable to another person is so worth it.

3. You need girlfriends to get through life.

I’ve gone through the majority of my life without setting down roots with close girlfriends. I think it partly comes from not having good, supportive friends growing up so it was just easier to not put effort into making friends. It felt safer. But this year has shown me how amazing it is to have supportive girlfriends who want to help you through life. They make you feel good when you’re around them. They can laugh with you and understand your awkwardness and they don’t make you feel bad about yourself. I’ve made wonderful girlfriends locally, and have strengthened the bonds I’ve made through friends I met through blogging. You all mean so much to me and have helped me through so much. The lesson to be learned is that finding the girlfriends who get you is possible. I didn’t think it was, and sure, some of those friends are located hundreds of miles away, but distance doesn’t matter when it comes to finding your tribe.

My Hopes for 26

1. I want to be healthy.

We’re not going to talk about how this is my major goal every year, but here it is again. I want this year to be the year I really cultivate healthy habits – from the way I eat to the way I move to my emotional well-being. I found a picture of me from when I was at my thinnest and it just motivated me so much to get back there. I want to be happy when I look in the mirror. I want to be proud of my reflection. I don’t want to feel the way I feel anymore. It doesn’t feel good.

2. I want to strengthen my connections.

While I worked hard to strengthen the friendships around me this past year, I want to do better in the upcoming year. I still have a tendency to draw inward and to protect myself by not putting myself out there. And sometimes, I’m just lazy and I don’t feel like going out, even when I need to. In this next year, I want to work harder at being social and saying yes, even when I want to say no.

3. I want to be a better money manager.

I want to get myself out of credit card debt, start working towards getting my student loans paid off, and finally move out on my own. All three things are capable of happening, as long as I am smart about managing my money. I’ve never been great at my finances, it’s a point of contention for me, but I really want to be at the right place where I can move out and be on my own (my biggest goal for this upcoming year!). It won’t be fun or easy, but it is completely doable.

Twenty-five was a great year for me. So many good things happened and as long as I put in the time and effort, I know I can make twenty-six even better.

What is one life lesson you’ve learned over the past year?

*Yes, yes, yes. I know this past year was actually my 26th year. But I’m still calling it my 25th year because this is my blog and I can do what I want. SO. THERE.

Categories: About Me

Four Days

November is my favorite month for many reasons. It’s my birthday month and holds my very favorite holiday, Thanksgiving. It also feels like the kick-off to the holiday season, which is the best time of year. And November is the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). Last year, I “won” by writing 50,000 words in less than 30 days and I’m aiming to do the same this year.

I’ve been doing a lot of things differently this time around. Last year, I had a minor freak out the day before NaNoWriMo started and decided to completely change my story. I really wasn’t feeling motivated or inspired by the novel I had been planning on writing, so on October 31st, I hurriedly wrote a short blurb for a story I’d been planning in my head for many years. I didn’t have my characters nailed down and I didn’t have any sort of plot written out. I didn’t really know what I wanted my main character to learn. I didn’t know what her goals were, her motivations, or what was standing in her way. I didn’t know why I was writing this book.

But still, I wrote. I wrote over 2,000 words every day and managed to turn in a messy first draft of the book. I finished the book, and I got it all down, but it wasn’t very good.

And more than that, I didn’t enjoy that process. It felt very chaotic. I let things happen to my character that messed up the flow of my plot. I let my character do things that weren’t authentic or real. But it was a good experience. It helped me to understand the plot better and what writing a book is like. It helped me to see that I love the writing process, that these stories are in my head for a reason and I need to bring them to life.

So I am entering NaNoWriMo 2013 in a completely different state. The story I am writing is one that I am hoping to turn into a four-book series if all goes according to plan. I wrote the overview of the books over the summer and spent the past few months writing detailed character analyses on my two main characters, reading up on how to write plot, and then this whole weekend I spent hours crafting the perfect plot. I learned about the fateful GMC (goals, motivation, conflict), something my other book didn’t have, and I spent two hours working through prompts to figure them out and how to work my plot around them. And then I spent hours writing down the plot. Scene by scene, making sure it moved along at the right pace and that it led up, authentically, to the climax and resulting resolution.

It was hard work. I had a few minor freakouts that my plot was horrible and I couldn’t go anywhere with this book but, usually, if I stepped away from it for a little while, I could come back with a fresh mind and a new idea of how to make it work. And there were times it felt overwhelming, but mostly? Mostly, it was really, really fun. It was fun to write this plot down, to figure out how to get my character out of the messes she created for herself, and how to make things happen for her.

And now I’m here. Four days until NaNoWriMo begins and I get to write this story. While I could get started early (since my finished product will be around 70,000 words, give or take), I’m going to wait until Friday to start writing.

My whole being has been consumed by this story for the past three days. I want this to be The Book, the one I revise and edit and pursue for publishing. And I really believe in this book. I believe it can be a publishable book. It’s a contemporary romance novel, but there’s an element to it that elevates it to another level and adds depth to the plot. It’s one of those feel-good romances that I hope people will finish and feel all gooey and swoony and in love with love. I want people to finish my book and be sad that they finished it because the characters meant that much to them.

So the journey begins in four days. And I am so ready for it.

Categories: About Me

Anxiety, Honesty, and Learning to Ask for Help

Almost a year ago, I set out on a mission to find a way to control my anxiety. I wanted to start therapy and learn how to move past all the things that were holding me back, like my father leaving me, my shaky faith, and my social anxiety. I went into therapy full throttle, expecting it to be this grand time of gabbing and opening my heart and crying and feeling so great about letting it all hang out.

The truth is, letting it all hang out is hard. So hard that I… really didn’t know how to do it. I didn’t know how to open up to someone I had just met. I think this is partly where my self-esteem issues lie, where I’m worried that I’m wasting this therapist’s time with my little woe-is-me problems. I’m not depressed or suicidal or dealing with the death of a loved one or anything like that. I’m just… anxious a lot. Feeling abandoned. Feeling confused. Feeling hurt.

During my first therapy session, I had to fill out a questionnaire about myself, mainly to give the therapist an idea of where I was at mentally and how she could help me. The questionnaire scared me to death. I felt my hands growing cold and clammy and my mind racing as my eyes scanned the page. I don’t remember exactly the questions that were asked, but I remember this crippling feeling of fear as I thought about what I was doing. I was admitting I had a problem. I couldn’t handle this problem on my own. I needed help. But reaching out and asking for help isn’t in my nature, it isn’t something I do naturally. I would rather spend 30 minutes trying to figure out a work problem on my own than take 1 minute to ask a coworker because I don’t want to inconvenience them and I want to do it on my own. So admitting this? Admitting that I needed therapy to solve a problem? That was hard. It’s still hard to come to terms with. I know, logically, it’s not weak to ask for help. I know it takes intense courage and bravery and strength to ask for help, to go to therapy. But I felt weak. I felt broken and used and discouraged and even a little hopeless. I filled out that questionnaire with a shaky hand, knowing I wasn’t completely truthful in my answers, and that I marked some things as “never” or “once in a while” that should have been marked as “often.” I didn’t want her to automatically think I was a basket case. Even though I most likely was. (Am?)

I couldn’t be honest with myself, because I was so scared of what someone – this stranger, this person who deals with people like me for a living, who wants to help me – might think. I was terrified of really putting a name on this mental battle I was waging every day.

And then there were my therapy appointments. My therapist was a woman, a Christian, someone who seemed like the perfect fit for me. And while the sessions were enlightening, I couldn’t open up to her. I didn’t know how to really go about telling her how I felt about some things. And maybe part of that is that I’ve been so good at hiding what I’m feeling, of tucking away these little pieces of my anxiety into their safe place, that I didn’t know how to express what I was feeling. I couldn’t be honest with her because I didn’t know how to be honest with myself.

I felt lost in therapy. I felt as if I was floundering and I was wasting her time and wasting my time and it all felt pointless. I didn’t know what to say. I guess I just thought therapy would be a little bit easier. Not in the way where it would feel as if I were at Disney World for an hour, but easy in the way where I would have a place where I could talk openly and freely. As if she would ask the questions and I would answer them. But she didn’t ask the questions.

Perhaps we just weren’t a good match, and perhaps I wasn’t ready then.

But then my job change happened and my anxiety was at its all-time worst. I was anxious about leaving a decent job for a new one. (What if I was fired?) I was anxious about telling my boss I was leaving. (What if she gets upset?) I was anxious about starting a new job. (What if I’m expected to know everything there is to know about SEO copywriting on the first day?) I was anxious about where I would sit and the people I would work with. (What if they were mean?) I was anxious about a new commute, a new building, a new lunch room. (What if I hate this new job?)

Obviously, these are probably the same fears most people have when leaving the comfortable for the unfamiliar, when going through a big change, but it all felt magnified. I couldn’t sleep and I felt as if I was in a constant state of panic and fear and doubt and played the “What If” game like a pro. While everyone around me was telling me how excited they were for me, I was just trying to keep my head above water. I was just trying to not fall apart.

It was then I decided I needed to be honest with myself. While I am a generally happy person, can find the silver lining in most situations, and know how blessed I am with the life I have, I struggle with anxiety and it holds me back from so many things. Coupled with my anxiety is my low self-esteem which, at 25 years old, I had hoped to have had a handle on. I had hoped I could look past everything I’m not to see everything I am. But I can’t and I struggle with it and when you struggle with low self-esteem, it’s hard to get ahead in life. You second-guess everything, from building strong friendships to finding love to taking leaps of faith to even understanding your place in therapy. My self-esteem held me back from fully diving into all therapy could bring me because I was too worried that my therapist had better things to do than listen to little ole me blabber about the silly things that brought her pain.

I don’t have a neat way to wrap up this post. I didn’t come to any major epiphanies about how to control my anxiety or help my self-esteem. And I’m still struggling with learning how to be honest with myself. I know I need to be in therapy, so if you’re going to give me advice about that, I know I need it. And maybe the major epiphany is that I realize how much I still struggle with my self-worth and self-esteem. Maybe it’s understanding that I need to learn to be honest with myself. And that opening up to a stranger doesn’t have to be scary. And that my problems are important, even if they feel small in the grand scheme of things. If it’s affecting my life and causing me to miss out on experiences and relationships, then these small-to-me problems are big problems.

So maybe my first try at therapy didn’t work out. Maybe I didn’t connect with the right therapist and maybe it wasn’t the right time and maybe I didn’t magically learn how to be open about my feelings and what I’m going through. I still believe in therapy, I still want to find the right person. But if it taught me one thing, it taught me that I have to believe I am worthy enough for therapy. I have to be truthful with myself and with my therapist about my emotions and thoughts and feelings and stop downgrading how I feel because it makes me nervous or feel bad about myself. I have to trust that giving a voice to my anxiety, it will be the catalyst to change.