Why am I like this?

I spent most of my life wondering why I felt so different from everyone around me. I often felt deeply isolated, even among my own family members. At school, my classmates easily formed friendship groups, scribbled and passed secrets in folded notes, and quizzed each other on Blues and R&B lyrics between classes. At home, my siblings effortlessly teased each other, laughed over inside jokes, and playfully argued about music and TV shows.

I didn’t fully understand what was happening to me. The concept of mental health was never discussed in my surroundings. At school, the term “stress” was the go-to word for everything: exam anxiety, missed deadlines, and romantic breakups. However, that was where the conversation ended. No one talked about anxiety, especially not social anxiety. So, I had no reason to suspect that what I was experiencing was anything more than shyness.

I Thought I was an Introvert

Out of school, stress remained the catch-all explanation for everything that made me feel off balance. One afternoon, I came home from a job interview that left me drained. I curled up on the couch, half-wrapped in a blanket, replaying every answer.

Later that evening, my roommate Pesh pushed the door open with her elbow, juggling a takeout bag and keys.

“Reporting for debrief!” she called out, kicking off her shoes. “How’d it go?”

I barely looked up. “It was… not great.”

“Uh-oh.” Pesh dropped her bag and sat on the armrest. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” I sighed. “Just too many people in the room. I could barely track who was talking. I lost my train of thought like five times. And one guy kept smiling at me strangely, like he was waiting for a punchline.”

Pesh handed me a box from the takeout bag as a way of offering comfort. “Well, you’re still a star in my book. Interviewers are overrated anyway.”

“Yeah,” I responded. “I slept the minute I got back.”

“You and those naps,” Pesh teased. “That’s your coping strategy for everything.”

“It works. I just sleep it off and reset.”

“See, I’d be out dancing to purge the stress,” Pesh said, gesturing dramatically. “Sweat it out and distract the mind.”

“Clearly,” I replied softly. Then, after a pause, “I think I just operate differently. Like I need silence to re-energize.”

Pesh nodded. “Sounds like introvert central.”

“Introvert?” “Is that what this is?” I asked.

“Totally,” Pesh said. “You need alone time to recharge. I get energy from people. Classic introvert-extrovert stuff.”

I considered it for a moment. “Huh. That actually makes sense.”

From that day on, I began to see myself through the lens of ‘introvert’.

Building a Life Around the Introvert Identity

In the months that followed, I landed a role that demanded constant client calls, back-to-back presentations, and impromptu office meetings. The lack of structure left me feeling emotionally depleted. It didn’t take long for me to realize I needed a working environment more aligned with how I processed the world.

I transitioned into remote qualitative analysis, a shift that offered structure and autonomy. As I immersed myself in this new field, I began building a strong professional profile and gradually developed a portfolio. Clients started to notice my work, appreciating my keen attention to detail, critical thinking skills, and ability to generate new insights from complex data sets. The positive reviews, along with the trust of returning clients, reinforced my confidence.

The Internal Conflict

Despite building a life that should’ve felt “right,” I was still struggling. The silence that once comforted me became suffocating, and loneliness began to creep in. I longed for companionship, and this reflected in the shows I binged like Girlfriends. I would listen to their banter while folding laundry or cooking dinner, lingering in scenes where Joan and Toni teased one another in the kitchen or where Maya’s quick wit lit up the room.

The more I tried to ignore the longing for connection, the more persistent it became. It snuck up in the sound of laughter from a neighbor’s apartment, in the sight of a table of friends clustered around coffee and conversation, or in couples laughing together in grocery aisles. I often found myself wondering what it would feel like to exist that comfortably around another person.

Something wasn’t aligning, and the question began to arise more often:

I’m I just being true to myself, or did I simply find a way to live around the fear?

The Night I Learned About Social Anxiety

One night, I went looking for answers.

With my laptop balanced on my knees, I typed: “Why is being around people so exhausting?” At the top of the search results was a video titled “Introvert, Social Anxiety, or Depression?”¹ The discussion hosted by Kyle Kittleson and featuring clinical psychologist Dr. Ramani explored the fine distinctions between these often-confused experiences. She explained that introversion is a preference for solitude, while social anxiety stems from fear of judgment or rejection. Introversion is your way, while social anxiety is in your way.

This was my first encounter with the term Social Anxiety Disorder (SAD). Memories began to surface as Dr. Ramani outlined the symptoms, like an intense fear of judgment, avoidance of social situations, and physiological responses like a racing heartbeat, sweating, flushing, or trembling. I recalled moments when I had skipped family gatherings under the pretense of being too busy, avoided school social events, and remained quiet in workplace meetings even when I had something to contribute.

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My earliest memories of anxiety date back to high school. I share these in Chapter 2.

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Footnote

1. The YouTube video aims to clarify the often-overlapping concepts (introversion, social anxiety, and depression), helping viewers better understand themselves and others. ↩︎