The journey so far.
When I started this website three years ago, I set out to explore those of us on the ‘queerer end of the quiet spectrum’ – the schizoids, the asocial, the extremely introverted. It was inspired by the solitary life I was living at the time, when I would go for days without speaking to another human being. I had become self-employed, just a few months before the Covid-19 pandemic. This meant by the time we were forced into lockdown, I had already become acclimatised to a life working from home with minimal social contact.
And it suited me just fine. My day in, day out solitude didn’t bother me in the slightest. I didn’t get lonely, didn’t recognise myself in the scare stories that would pop up every now and again, warning of the dangers pandemic isolation held for those who lived alone.
I came to the conclusion that I simply didn’t need other people all that much. Socially Distant started out as an attempt to articulate this way of being in the world, and to offer a counter argument to the notion that all humans are inherently, inescapably, social (or, rather, sociable).
But then things started to change. Once the world had opened up again, I started to wonder whether I was spending too much time alone. I also made the decision to return to regular full-time employment. By May 2023, I was in a new job, and back to interacting with people on a more regular basis.
The job was mainly work from home. Being an introvert, I’d assumed this would suit me down to the ground. So it was somewhat surprising to find myself struggling with some aspects of virtual working.
Two years on, I’m still in the job, and I’ve managed to establish some good relationships with my colleagues. I ‘fit in’ and ‘gel’ with them. In my annual performance review, I scored highly, largely because of my ability to work well with my teammates.
This too has come as something of a surprise. Whilst I’ve always got on with the people I’ve worked with throughout my ‘career’ I’ve also always been ‘the quiet one’, and therefore always had this sense of not quite fitting in, of being disconnected, different. I haven’t experienced that so much in this job. I think that has something to do with the fact that, for the first time in my life, I have colleagues who are more quiet and shy than me!
Working with people regularly again, albeit remotely, has awakened a different side of me, a side that doesn’t mind a bit of a chat, a bit of a laugh, some social connection. That even gets a bit of a buzz from it. Furthermore, I like that I get on with people, that I’m a good listener, and come across as calm and reassuring to others. And I’ve found myself wanting to lean into this – less socially distant – side of myself.
Work isn’t the only thing that’s caused this shift in my ‘social self’, however. Just generally in the last couple of years, I’ve become a bit more ambivalent about my socially distant ways, questioning whether I need more connection than I’ve always led myself to believe. I’ve experienced feelings of loneliness. I also became an auntie, which stirred something in me I hadn’t really known before; love.
Still schizoid?
All of which is to say, I now have a different sense of myself than I did three years ago when I created this website, to the extent that I no longer really consider myself ‘schizoid’ or ‘asocial’. I identified with these labels when I was living a life of solitude, but they make less sense now I’m interacting with people more regularly, and finding that I need, and quite often enjoy, those interactions, whether they be with co-workers or members of my family.
This has made me wonder whether it’s more useful to think about ‘being socially distant’ in terms of ‘state’, rather than ‘trait’. Our biology may have some bearing on how social we are, but it’s not the sole determinant; our environment also plays a key role. I’ve become more interested in exploring how changes in our external world can influence what’s going on on the inside; literally, inside our bodies; and how this relates to our need (or not) for social interaction at any given point in our lives.
Still shy
‘Schizoid’ may no longer resonate with me, but ‘shy’ certainly does.
Whilst I may have become a bit less solitary, and sensed the awakening of something slightly more social in me, my shyness, and social anxiety, remain stubbornly sticky, and continue to constitute a large part of who I am.
Essentially, I struggle with intimacy, getting too close to people, letting them get to know me.
I still carry a lot of fear – of being rejected, characterised as weird. ‘Weird’ – for I still lead a pretty solitary life. I still don’t have any friends, and I don’t have a social life, as in I don’t go to pubs or parties with people.
And I don’t mind this! I still love flying solo in my spare time – to the cinema, on holiday, to cafes, on walks.
However, I can never shake off this insecurity I have about being seen alone in public, particularly when everyone else (appears) to be partnered up or with friends and/or family. And I carry this insecurity into my interactions, not only with colleagues, when I freeze when they ask me what I got up to at the weekend, but with family members too. I worry they’ll think me strange, a sad loser, if I admit to my loner activities or reveal that no, I don’t have any friends/a social life actually.
The journey continues
Do I want friends? I don’t know. Do I want to have less anxiety in social situations, to be more open to the possibility of establishing more meaningful connections with people? Maybe… yes… the idea does appeal somewhat, in a way I wouldn’t have fathomed (or admitted to myself) three years ago, when I was telling myself (and the readers of this site) that I didn’t ‘need’ people.
I do need people. All humans are social animals, to a greater or lesser extent. I’m learning that being alone energises me, but so does being around people. In order to realise my full potential, to become my whole ‘true’ self, I need not only solitude, but some social time as well.
I’ve recognised that when I avoid eye contact with people to avoid small talk – when I’m on a walk, for example, or in a cafe – I’m not necessarily doing that because I want to be left alone. I’m doing it because I’m afraid.
What would it be like to do away with that fear? To have my channel for social interaction – and relationships – prised open, even just a little bit more?
This is another question I find myself pondering three years down the road. Along with – where did that fear come from in the first place? My childhood experiences of being shamed for being shy, bullied and ostracised for being too quiet? Is there more work for me to do in reckoning with that in order to move forward?
TBC…
Socially Distant 