Breaking Through a Mirror Maze
“In high school, walking down the halls and meeting new people with my anxiety felt like I was walking through a maze of mirrors, where every face that reflected was a blurred version of my own.”
When I was younger, I was a delighted and social kid without a care. I would joke, get along well with others, meet new people, and make friends easily. However, as time went on, I gradually began developing social anxiety. The feeling was like watching the once-clear water of a lake gradually turn murky, making it hard to see the bottom where I could comfortably stand. I could still be that same funny kid in a crowd of people I did not know, but I would be very uncomfortable. I hid this nervousness under a mask and a character. I would put on a smile and maintain conversation all the while I was tapping my foot. I maintained my facade in front of everybody I knew: my family, friends, and even my therapist. Everyone saw me as this blissful social butterfly. As I got older, my anxiety grew, and my persona evolved into a mix of humor and deflection.
Only seeing my outward persona, my family often put me in situations that made me feel uneasy. They would ask me to give a dinner toast or entertain my parents’ friends’ kids. No matter how much anxiety I felt, I would push through and provide entertainment to please the people around me and maintain my facade. Nobody had a clue that I was feeling uncomfortable. I have told my mom that I have social anxiety, and to this day, she does not believe me because of the act I could put on.
One time, when I was around 12 years old, my family and I were having dinner at my grandmother's house in Boston with many guests I did not know. I was put on the spot a few times to entertain everyone. As usual, I had to fake my way through it. After dinner, I went to the bathroom. I liked my grandmother’s house because she has two giant mirrors on opposite walls in her bathroom, so when you look into one, it creates infinite mirrors, like a mirror maze. I remember looking into the mirror, my eyes red and watery, holding back tears as I forced a smile, hoping that at least one of the infinite Adens’ smiles was genuine.
I have been in four school districts from kindergarten to high school. Each switch made it more challenging than the last to find friends. As time passed, cliques developed, making it increasingly difficult to fit in. With each school district switch came a school filled with people I had never met and the expectation from my family, close and extended, that I would be highly social and meet many friends. With every phone call from my grandparents came the infamous line, “How are the friends?” I always gave a vague answer because, in reality, there was no answer. Throughout my first and second school districts, I did not really make any close friends. It took me a while in both the third and fourth districts, but I would eventually make friends. The most brutal switch, however, was to high school.
In high school, walking down the halls and meeting new people with my anxiety felt like I was walking through a maze of mirrors, where every face that reflected was a blurred version of my own. With every step, I wondered If I was heading towards a friendship with somebody or walking towards inevitable embarrassment. I went through the days alone, quietly thinking disparaging thoughts. One time, during freshman year, I spoke to someone in the hallway and tried to act genuine. However, it came out awkward. After a bit, they made a face and turned away to return to their phone. The classrooms, too, were like sitting in that same maze of mirrors, cracking jokes at each reflection that was like a version of my face. Every time I had a great joke in mind, no matter the amount of debilitating anxiety I had, I would say the joke loud and proud to someone near. I would embarrass myself to make others laugh. I tried to make them laugh, hoping their smile would stick to the mirror and echo back to me.
High school taught me how to embrace myself. I slowly stopped caring about what other people thought of me. I learned this over time by working with my therapist on my self-esteem. I changed my approach to physical activity. I no longer focused on competing and looking at results, instead just participating for the love of the sport. My messed-up sleeping schedule would raise the level of my anxiety, so I made an effort to go to bed at the same time every day and get a healthy amount of sleep. I felt well-rested and had more energy, and with more energy, I could maintain my social battery charge. Because of my anxiety, I had not been paying attention to my caloric initiative, which resulted in more anxiety. I developed a meal schedule that fit my daily routine and stuck to it, which made me feel better and healthier. With these changes and other smaller ones, I began reverting to the social self I once was. I still have that social anxiety, but I keep working on managing it. I know that if I do not put on a mask, I will develop a social circle that will accept me for who I am.
I am yet again in a new school and social environment alone, not knowing anybody. This time, I came in working on bettering myself. I have broken through the mirrors with a different mindset.