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Navigating through social anxiety and life
When someone asks, “Have you ever been to a WWE event, concert, or meet and greet?” The truth is—I haven’t. And it’s not because I don’t want to go. I’ve wanted to go for the longest time. I would love to go to a WWE event, a concert, or a meet and greet—especially if it meant meeting someone like Chris Jericho or seeing my favorite band, Fozzy, live. That would mean everything to me.
But the truth is, my anxiety holds me back in ways most people don’t see or understand.
When I’m around people—whether I know them or not—I freeze. I get so nervous that I can’t talk or start the conversation first, I can’t make eye contact, and I never know what to say. I end up standing there quietly, feeling completely out of place. And that’s not new. It’s been that way since I was younger. Now that I’m an adult, it’s only gotten harder.
Being in a crowd—no matter who’s around—is one of the hardest things for me. My hands shake, my heart races, and I don’t know what to do, where to go, how to act, or how to handle myself. I get overwhelmed so fast. And because of that, I usually avoid those situations altogether—especially if I’d have to go alone.
People don’t really understand how much anxiety affects someone. They think it’s as simple as “just push through it,” but it’s not. I’ve tried. I’ve pushed myself to go places when I was nervous. I’ve shown up to things hoping it would get better. But every single time, I end up silent, overwhelmed, and wishing I hadn’t gone. It never gets easier.
There are things I really want to do—concerts, events, meet and greets—but I can’t do them by myself. I wouldn’t know how to navigate a big crowd, who to ask for help, where to go, or even what to say. I have social anxiety and a disability, and the combination of both makes everything that much harder. I don’t have anyone to go with. My mom works a lot, and I don’t have the kind of support system others do. If I had someone there with me, I’d feel so much safer. Having support would change everything.
But even with that, my mom is often too tired. She says she never has time, but she drinks every day, and that makes it harder for me to do the things I want to do. It messes with me and makes me feel like I don’t have support, and that’s tough. It’s like she’s just not there when I need her, even though I know she’s my mom. It’s complicated and only makes it harder to go out and do things.
I’m not independent, and I don’t plan to be. People always tell me I should try harder or do more on my own—but they don’t understand. I get overwhelmed easily. Even small things like errands, phone calls, paperwork, or traveling alone feel impossible sometimes. I’ve even hung up during phone calls just from being too nervous. Booking a hotel, figuring out how to get back home, traveling—it all terrifies me. I’ve never handled those things well. And I shouldn’t be forced into doing something that feels impossible for me.
It’s not about not trying. I have tried. I’ve pushed myself. I’ve tried being social. I’ve tried going to things. But every time, I end up feeling like I don’t belong—standing there alone, scared, and silent. And that feeling sticks with me even long after I’m home again.
People say things like, “You’ll feel better once you’re there.” But I don’t. Those comments don’t help. They only trigger more fear, pressure, and pain. My anxiety is real. It’s deep. It’s not something I can just snap out of. Telling me to “just go anyway” doesn’t help—it makes it worse.
Social media is the only place I feel kind of safe. I can express myself and post how I feel without the pressure of face-to-face interaction. But even then, I still get ignored. I’ll see people active, talking, posting, making time for others—but not for me. It’s hard to keep trying when I constantly feel unseen.
It hurts watching people make time for everyone else while I sit here wondering why I’m never included. It’s not about being too busy—because they somehow always have time for everyone else. They just don’t have time for me.
I’m shy. I’m quiet. I’m nervous. I don’t reach out first. That doesn’t mean I don’t care. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to connect. I’ve just never had the courage to start conversations. I never know what to say. And I’ve been ignored and left on read too many times. That’s why I’ve stopped trying. That’s why I distance myself.
Right now, I’m even going through it with my best friend. She only reached out once—to ask who I was dating—and then left me on read. That’s not what friends do. Friends should care, ask how you’re doing, check in, include you, and make you feel like you matter. I gave her space, hoping she’d come around. But it’s been four months. Nothing changed. I’ve posted things hoping she’d notice—but still nothing.
It’s like I’m the only one who cares. I try in my own way, even if I don’t reach out first—but even that goes unnoticed. It makes me feel unwanted, not needed, and forgotten.
So when people ask if I’ve been to a WWE meet and greet, a concert, or an event… No, I haven’t. But it’s not because I don’t want to—it’s because I can’t do it alone.
I love music. I look up to Chris Jericho. Seeing Fozzy in concert would mean everything to me. But even if they came to Georgia, I still wouldn’t be able to go—not because I don’t want to, but because of everything I just said. The anxiety, the fear, the lack of support, the money, the transportation—it all adds up and creates this wall that I can’t get through by myself.
Social anxiety isn’t being lazy, weak, or dramatic. It’s real. It’s waking up and trying in ways no one sees. It’s being afraid to speak, afraid to be seen, afraid to be judged. It’s choosing to stay home not because you don’t care—but because it feels safer than being around people who might hurt or ignore you.
I shouldn’t have to change who I am to be accepted or included. I’m shy. I’m quiet. I’m anxious—but I’m still me. And I deserve to be treated with kindness and understanding. If I wanted to do something, I would’ve done it already. But anxiety has always held me back. It’s not as easy as people think.
So when people tell me, “Just push yourself,” “Just go,” “Force yourself to get out there”—they don’t understand. It’s not that simple. It’s not just a mindset. It’s not something you can switch off like a light. It’s a struggle I live with every single day. It’s real. It’s exhausting. It’s painful.
You never know how hard someone is fighting just to exist in a world that makes them feel invisible. So before you judge or tell someone what they should do—try listening first. Try understanding.
Because sometimes, the biggest battles are the ones no one ever sees.
Even if they did come to Georgia, I still wouldn’t be able to go—not because I don’t want to, but because of everything I just mentioned. The anxiety, the fear of crowds, the lack of support, the overwhelming emotions, and the logistical issues—like transportation, money, and the uncertainty of handling it all alone or anything that requires independence I can't do alone. It is not something that has changed, it never will and I don't want to be because it just feels like too much. I want to go, but those barriers are too high to overcome by myself.
It doesn't help when If I get judged, ignored, not supported, hurt by the people who I think that won't hurt me, that will make rude comments, laugh reactions I would end up getting so angry that I wouldn't be able to handle it that I would get angry, lash out until I break down crying is why I don't put myself in situations because I have noticed firsthand how people in my city when someone is posting in the group about expressing how they feel, asking for help or just randomly post I always see a rude comment, a laugh reaction or people being so judgemental is why I don't post or comment in groups because it can happen to me which is why I don't leave the house either.
It's everything
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