Most of you are probably aware that I suffer from a very thick form of shyness. Garrison Keillor would quaintly blame my Minnesotan upbringing and my Scandinavian relatives, and I wouldn't be quick to prove him otherwise. You could label it Social Anxiety. It has been diagnosed, medicated, counseled, and I have made large attempts to rewire it out of my brain.
I feel like in the past few years I have gotten to be ok and pretty functional with my everyday irrational feelings of self-consciousness, judgment, evaluation, and inferiority in social situations. I have taken, and done well in, several highly interactional jobs as a challenge to myself. Recruiting, training, placing, and managing 130 college kids to volunteer within a school, no problem. However, I have never in my life been up to calling to order a pizza or paying for a tank of gas inside the store, ever. (what if they laugh at my topping choice!?) Even small social interactions with people I know can be incredibly taxing for me.
In this country and culture I moved into, social anxiety is not a recognized or understood thing. People are loud, aggressive, and the passive question simply dose not exist in their language. It is not, "May I have a cup of coffee?" in this place it is, "Give me a cup of coffee!" and if you do not have one to give you are just expected to explain yourself frankly. Women approach me randomly in public outright asking for my phone number so I can come to their house and we can be friends. I tell them I do not have a phone. I curl up inside. I lie.
My husband has explained to many others before I meet them, "she is shy". I don't know if this really helps me or not. Here they take shyness as a positive virtue, a sign that this woman is modest and therefore probably loves god a lot. They would never think it to be a selfish and rude thing, but then again they have never experienced my "shy". A person with my "shy" would probably be committed to the back of their parents house in embarrassment from the family.
The woman downstairs was warned of my shyness, and treats it the nicest way she knows how. It is also my nightmare. She points things out directly, "You are not relaxing! Here are seven more pillows to put behind your back and you must put your feet up like this..." When a long time goes between visits she exclaims as I enter her home, "You have forgotten me?! You do not like me!? Why!?". I like her fine, I am just afraid she will not like me.
This week I have started my new job working with two second graders after school each day. I go through lessons with them, make them think for themselves, and have them coloring some serious butterfly lifecycle diagrams. I go to their beautiful apartment and I bring my two daughters along to be watched by their mother and maid as I teach. I get paid quite a bit and they feed me all kinds of nice things when I am there. It is a wonderful job, but I want to find any excuse to quit going.
The problem is not my students. It is not the extra time it takes out of my day. It is the fact that I have to interact with a Saudi woman on a regular basis, and she is not only judging me, but also my children. She is a nice lady and wants me to like her very much. But that dose not stop the cultural differences, "Lindsay, do not hold your baby like that!" I guess for the first four or five months infants here are not allowed to be in an upright position. Nora loves being held sitting up in my lap, her favorite is being held vertically against my chest. But this prompts a stern look and a comment in this country, you know, because they better save Nora from developing good head control and muscle tone, it might be too stressful for her.
Yesterday Nora was brought into my room crying. "You must take her to the hospital!" I try to assure the mother of four that Nora is simply overtired and needs to be placed in a dark, quiet room. "Oh Lindsay, Lindsay! No you must take her to the hospital as soon as we are done here. Something is wrong! You will not sleep tonight if you do not take her!" I should tell you that everyone here goes to the hospital for each cold or bump they get. The doctors give a note to give to the pharmacist for some Panadol (tylenol) and the patient is happy and cured! There was nothing wrong with Nora at all. The maid took her and put her in a dark room and all was saved. This did not stop me from my feelings, even though I was proven correct. My whole body shook in under-confidence and panic. I sent the kids to go work on their science project and I sat and drank some tea, hoping that no one would notice my unsteady hands and send me to the hospital.
I guess I am writing this to avoid letting myself quit. I am not looking for pity in this confession to you, I am simply trying to out the negative thoughts from my brain. Reinforce the point of not walking away from my fears. I have been strong before. Now, I should go work on my lesson for today. It is looking kind of cloudy out, and a bit windy, so I will honestly be hoping for rain. Then I do not have to go. Because if there is one thing that these people are more afraid of than holding your baby upright, it is the rain.
I feel like in the past few years I have gotten to be ok and pretty functional with my everyday irrational feelings of self-consciousness, judgment, evaluation, and inferiority in social situations. I have taken, and done well in, several highly interactional jobs as a challenge to myself. Recruiting, training, placing, and managing 130 college kids to volunteer within a school, no problem. However, I have never in my life been up to calling to order a pizza or paying for a tank of gas inside the store, ever. (what if they laugh at my topping choice!?) Even small social interactions with people I know can be incredibly taxing for me.
In this country and culture I moved into, social anxiety is not a recognized or understood thing. People are loud, aggressive, and the passive question simply dose not exist in their language. It is not, "May I have a cup of coffee?" in this place it is, "Give me a cup of coffee!" and if you do not have one to give you are just expected to explain yourself frankly. Women approach me randomly in public outright asking for my phone number so I can come to their house and we can be friends. I tell them I do not have a phone. I curl up inside. I lie.
My husband has explained to many others before I meet them, "she is shy". I don't know if this really helps me or not. Here they take shyness as a positive virtue, a sign that this woman is modest and therefore probably loves god a lot. They would never think it to be a selfish and rude thing, but then again they have never experienced my "shy". A person with my "shy" would probably be committed to the back of their parents house in embarrassment from the family.
The woman downstairs was warned of my shyness, and treats it the nicest way she knows how. It is also my nightmare. She points things out directly, "You are not relaxing! Here are seven more pillows to put behind your back and you must put your feet up like this..." When a long time goes between visits she exclaims as I enter her home, "You have forgotten me?! You do not like me!? Why!?". I like her fine, I am just afraid she will not like me.
This week I have started my new job working with two second graders after school each day. I go through lessons with them, make them think for themselves, and have them coloring some serious butterfly lifecycle diagrams. I go to their beautiful apartment and I bring my two daughters along to be watched by their mother and maid as I teach. I get paid quite a bit and they feed me all kinds of nice things when I am there. It is a wonderful job, but I want to find any excuse to quit going.
The problem is not my students. It is not the extra time it takes out of my day. It is the fact that I have to interact with a Saudi woman on a regular basis, and she is not only judging me, but also my children. She is a nice lady and wants me to like her very much. But that dose not stop the cultural differences, "Lindsay, do not hold your baby like that!" I guess for the first four or five months infants here are not allowed to be in an upright position. Nora loves being held sitting up in my lap, her favorite is being held vertically against my chest. But this prompts a stern look and a comment in this country, you know, because they better save Nora from developing good head control and muscle tone, it might be too stressful for her.
Yesterday Nora was brought into my room crying. "You must take her to the hospital!" I try to assure the mother of four that Nora is simply overtired and needs to be placed in a dark, quiet room. "Oh Lindsay, Lindsay! No you must take her to the hospital as soon as we are done here. Something is wrong! You will not sleep tonight if you do not take her!" I should tell you that everyone here goes to the hospital for each cold or bump they get. The doctors give a note to give to the pharmacist for some Panadol (tylenol) and the patient is happy and cured! There was nothing wrong with Nora at all. The maid took her and put her in a dark room and all was saved. This did not stop me from my feelings, even though I was proven correct. My whole body shook in under-confidence and panic. I sent the kids to go work on their science project and I sat and drank some tea, hoping that no one would notice my unsteady hands and send me to the hospital.
I guess I am writing this to avoid letting myself quit. I am not looking for pity in this confession to you, I am simply trying to out the negative thoughts from my brain. Reinforce the point of not walking away from my fears. I have been strong before. Now, I should go work on my lesson for today. It is looking kind of cloudy out, and a bit windy, so I will honestly be hoping for rain. Then I do not have to go. Because if there is one thing that these people are more afraid of than holding your baby upright, it is the rain.
