Overcoming The Disconnect
Socialising is supposed to be like a muscle; the more you do it, the easier it should become. And yet, I’ve been experiencing the opposite in recent years. It could be the lasting impact from the pandemic and months of social distancing measures we were forced to abide by (Singapore was stricter and started these earlier than most — I also had to quarantine 4 times while traveling in this period). Nowadays, a simple get-together with people can make me feel uncomfortable and uneasy. It usually starts off smoothly without concern, then halfway through, I feel it creeping in, that familiar sense of anxiety and my over conscious mind begins to get loud. Suddenly, I feel like an observer in my own body, watching myself talk, nod, making sure I laugh at the right moments, but not fully feeling present. It’s hard to explain to someone who’s never felt it: how you can be surrounded by warmth and conversation and still feel like you’re watching the scene through frosted glass.
It starts subtly. I’ll second-guess a comment I made or notice how everyone else seems so comfortable, so at ease. The feeling grows, and soon it’s like my voice doesn’t quite sound like mine, every tone carefully filtered. My face feels strained and I’m not entirely sure how long to give eye contact before looking away, my limbs feel heavy and disconnected. I laugh a little too hard or stay too quiet. The internal dialogue starts: Whens a good time to speak up? Are they bored? Why am I here?
It’s exhausting, honestly. Socialising is supposed to feel good, not like I’m navigating a mental obstacle course.
I’ve spent a lot of time trying to understand why this happens. Part of it, I think, is the pressure I put on myself to “perform” socially—to say the right thing, to not be awkward, to make sure people like me. I carry this fear of being judged, even when logically, I know most people are too busy thinking about their own lives to scrutinise me.
But knowing and feeling are two very different things. I’ve spent lots of time thinking about what I can do to bring myself back into the moment and to live the moment. These are a few small ways I’ve been working through the disconnect.
Grounding Myself in the Present
When I start to feel out of body, I focus on something tangible and try to bring myself back to my senses. The feel of the chair I’m sitting on, the taste and temperature of my drink, the warmth of laughter around me. Anchoring myself in the physical world helps me balance out and counteract the overthinking.Reframing My Perspective
I remind myself that everyone has insecurities, even the people who seem the most confident. Chances are, someone else in the room is feeling just as self-conscious as I am. By reframing the feelings as normal, I practice self compassion.Leaning Into Authenticity
This one is tough but a liberating practice: consciously letting go of the need to impress. When I let myself just be—awkward pauses and all—it often surprises me how much easier conversations flow. People respond to realness, not perfection.
All of these focuses ultimately help me to practice self compassion, making it easier to connect with others. It helps me skip the internal frustration, and meet myself where I am that day. Not every social situation is going to suit me, and that’s fine. I’m learning to protect my energy while still challenging myself to connect and be present.
It’s a work in progress, and that’s okay too. Social anxiety might only have come into my periphery recently, but I’m starting to see it less as an enemy and more as a part of me I can work with going forward. The key is giving myself grace—not every conversation has to be perfect, not every interaction has to be smooth.
This morning, when I got home from a lovely brunch, I thought about the moments I’d laughed, the times I’d felt warm and included, even if they were a part of the full picture in my mind. I told myself that those moments matter more than the awkward ones I’m so quick to fixate on.
Maybe the real lesson for myself is this: you don’t have to feel fully at ease in social settings; that’s not what it is about. It’s okay to be a little anxious, a little out of sync. What matters is that you show up—and that you keep showing up, even when it’s hard and uncomfortable.
