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I have met about a dozen people in the last three or four months who admit to (or even proudly claim) shyness. Of those, roughly half admit to anxiety attacks at various intensities and intervals.
A little side trip about labels: Many people think that naming the problem is the first step to solving the problem. Isn't so. Naming the problem is the first step to accepting that the problems is "just the way it is." "Shy" is a label. It doesn't serve anyone.
Claiming to be shy, is hiding something else. It's a safe label and most people will accept a declaration of shyness without a second glance. What it is hiding each shy person will have to discover for themselves.
Here's what I was hiding when I was shy and anxiety attacks were common (though mild). I believed I wasn't worthy of love and any and all possibility for love would end in rejection and ridicule. The ridicule part was the worst. It was the source of the anxiety attacks. Another thing it hid was that I believed that I was so different that I was in great danger of attack and great bodily harm -- possibly death -- if anyone found out.
LIke the shyness itself, I made all that crap up. Something happened in my early child that caused me to decide that people were dangerous and I spent the next ten years collecting evidence for that to be true. I had been a popular child but became less and less social. By the time I was a mid teen I was completely withdrawn.
I present here, a sampling of events that added fuel to my fire. I had two girl friends at a time from about 3 to about 8. We were caught three different times playing doctor. The start of shame about my desires. No more girlfriends for years and years. When I was about 7 my best friend ( I think his name was Robbie) was suddenly forbidden to play with me. I still don't know what prompted his parents to make that decision, but I was at the age where I was sure I was the cause of the problem. A couple of years later (I was 10), my older sister (she was 15 at the time) ran away from home and lived with her boyfriends parents. She had been my protector. I loved her more than I have ever loved any single person (more shame for my desires). I just knew she was leaving ME. Turns out she was leaving my very abusive mother. Add to this lot the fact that I went from city living to country living between 7th and 8th grade where I didn't fit into the culture at all.
There are many more stories, too. With all that evidence I was left with a really loud story about my unworthiness, shamefulness and differences. There was no place to go but into the black hole of my own mind. (I should never go there alone.)
I made it all mean something. I made it mean something bad about me. But the meaning was my creation. But it still shows up to haunt me. I tell people I love them all the time. After all, I have declared that I am love and compassion in the world. And I do feel love and compassion for people. Rarely do I lapse into the cynical, nasty, brutish old me. But when I am really attracted to someone the voice in my head gets so loud that it shouts down nearly everything. NEARLY.
The difference? Well, it's a matter of collecting evidence that the lie is, in fact, a lie. It takes longer to collect counter evidence because we don't see most of it. We have a filter that dismisses the great things in our lives. We count the flirt we didn't do with someone and dismiss the flirt we did do with someone else.
I even have a label for the dismissed flirting. "Flirting without intent." How's that for denial!
Unfortunately, knowing that we made it up isn't enough. To use a Stranger in a Strange Land concept, we have to grok it. We have to really get that it's all made up and we can decide which fantasy we want. Did I want to go through life like a whipped puppy or did I want to risk everything for anything. Turns out it wasn't much of a risk. I didn't have much! I got a lot.
A couple of acronyms to leave you with:
FEAR False Evidence Appearing Real
FEAR Feel Everything and Rejoice
FEAR Fuck Everything and Run
Who loves you, Baby!
Love and Light,
Lynn
A little side trip about labels: Many people think that naming the problem is the first step to solving the problem. Isn't so. Naming the problem is the first step to accepting that the problems is "just the way it is." "Shy" is a label. It doesn't serve anyone.
Claiming to be shy, is hiding something else. It's a safe label and most people will accept a declaration of shyness without a second glance. What it is hiding each shy person will have to discover for themselves.
Here's what I was hiding when I was shy and anxiety attacks were common (though mild). I believed I wasn't worthy of love and any and all possibility for love would end in rejection and ridicule. The ridicule part was the worst. It was the source of the anxiety attacks. Another thing it hid was that I believed that I was so different that I was in great danger of attack and great bodily harm -- possibly death -- if anyone found out.
LIke the shyness itself, I made all that crap up. Something happened in my early child that caused me to decide that people were dangerous and I spent the next ten years collecting evidence for that to be true. I had been a popular child but became less and less social. By the time I was a mid teen I was completely withdrawn.
I present here, a sampling of events that added fuel to my fire. I had two girl friends at a time from about 3 to about 8. We were caught three different times playing doctor. The start of shame about my desires. No more girlfriends for years and years. When I was about 7 my best friend ( I think his name was Robbie) was suddenly forbidden to play with me. I still don't know what prompted his parents to make that decision, but I was at the age where I was sure I was the cause of the problem. A couple of years later (I was 10), my older sister (she was 15 at the time) ran away from home and lived with her boyfriends parents. She had been my protector. I loved her more than I have ever loved any single person (more shame for my desires). I just knew she was leaving ME. Turns out she was leaving my very abusive mother. Add to this lot the fact that I went from city living to country living between 7th and 8th grade where I didn't fit into the culture at all.
There are many more stories, too. With all that evidence I was left with a really loud story about my unworthiness, shamefulness and differences. There was no place to go but into the black hole of my own mind. (I should never go there alone.)
I made it all mean something. I made it mean something bad about me. But the meaning was my creation. But it still shows up to haunt me. I tell people I love them all the time. After all, I have declared that I am love and compassion in the world. And I do feel love and compassion for people. Rarely do I lapse into the cynical, nasty, brutish old me. But when I am really attracted to someone the voice in my head gets so loud that it shouts down nearly everything. NEARLY.
The difference? Well, it's a matter of collecting evidence that the lie is, in fact, a lie. It takes longer to collect counter evidence because we don't see most of it. We have a filter that dismisses the great things in our lives. We count the flirt we didn't do with someone and dismiss the flirt we did do with someone else.
I even have a label for the dismissed flirting. "Flirting without intent." How's that for denial!
Unfortunately, knowing that we made it up isn't enough. To use a Stranger in a Strange Land concept, we have to grok it. We have to really get that it's all made up and we can decide which fantasy we want. Did I want to go through life like a whipped puppy or did I want to risk everything for anything. Turns out it wasn't much of a risk. I didn't have much! I got a lot.
A couple of acronyms to leave you with:
FEAR False Evidence Appearing Real
FEAR Feel Everything and Rejoice
FEAR Fuck Everything and Run
Who loves you, Baby!
Love and Light,
Lynn