[Queen]  A Light Ahead

File Photo

by Funmi Franklin
Dec. 28, 2011

Having a friend with depth and the ability to shoot from the hip is always a plus. But having one who has those characteristics and a degree in social work equals a huge win for me.

I have a couple of associates who are social workers, but one is very deliberate and intuitive. She doesn't mind telling anyone what she thinks, and I'm no exception. Recently, while we were sharing a cocktail, she stopped me mid-sentence and said, "I'm pretty sure you have some social-anxiety issues."

I've always considered myself to be a people-person and I am often involved in community activities, organizations and small group meetings. But I've learned there's always truth to what my friend says, So, I quickly made my way to the computer to research Social Anxiety Disorder.

"Social anxiety disorder is a persistent fear of one or more situations in which the person is exposed to possible scrutiny by others and fears that he or she may do something or act in a way that will be humiliating or embarrassing," I read on Wikipedia.

Thinking back, I'd guess my first brush with this disorder happened when I was around 6 or 7. Despite my family's assurance, I was still timid and reserved. It wasn't easy to observe because I dwelled in my comfort zone. I was rarely forced to step outside of the box that sheltered me.

I was pushed from that cozy little comfort box when I was forced to sing my first solo. I had a great voice at 6. My father was proud, but I hadn't developed my own pride before he started putting me on programs. The first time I sang in front of a room full of people, I was terrified. I sang low and refused to step up to the microphone. People shouted "sing up," and "We can't hear you!" I felt defeated and forgot the words to the song. I cried.

Years later, I made my second attempt at a solo. I was in the gospel choir at Tougaloo College. I was at ease singing in the choir, but the director started urging me to sing a solo. I resisted for a long time. Finally I thought I could do it. I gave it my all. It just wasn't good enough. I could hear my nervous voice trembling. I was horrible.

I have never attempted to sing publicly again. But I give full-out concerts in my bathroom mirror.

When I was between 10 and 11, my father was diagnosed with lung cancer and decided he wanted to go to seminary. He packed up my mother, sister and I and moved to the Big Apple--New York City. BOOM! Just like that, my world was turned upside down.

In my little neighborhood in Clinton, I knew everyone on my street, and they were all friends of mine. In New York, I didn't know a soul. The city was horrifying. The buildings were tall and creepy looking. There was no grass, and the people never looked at you in the eye. If I didn't walk fast enough or move out the way, I could easily get run over. I didn't hear "excuse me" much.

I started walking with my eyes lowered, refusing to look anyone in the eye. If I happened to catch someone's eye, my look was returned with a glare or aan unfriendly smirk. The children at my Catholic junior high were no different.

It took about two days for my new classmates to acknowledge my Mississippi-ness. The accent was a dead give-away. I grew increasingly afraid to speak in class because the more vocal students laughed at my slow drawl. I either had to start speaking like them or just say nothing if I didn't want to be laughed at. I accepted that I just wouldn't talk.

I hated that. I love sharing myself, and it was torture. I spent the next two years eating lunch alone. I found comfort in nothing except being home with my family. I taught myself to never speak unless I was just repeating what someone else said. I refused to take the risk of being wrong or embarrassed.

"Social anxiety disorder may be caused by the longer-term effects of not fitting in, or being bullied, rejected or ignored." Wikipedia continues. "Shy adolescents or avoidant adults have emphasized unpleasant experiences with peers or childhood bullying or harassment."

At 11 years old, I began seeing a therapist because I was experiencing severe stomach cramps and headaches, and the doctors had no idea why. Nothing eased the pain. I was depressed and miserable.

From that point on, I've had trouble speaking to large groups of people. In recent years, I've tried to tackle this, because I am a poet and a writer. I am supposed to be able to recite my poetry to people. I should be able to share more of myself than I am. I've been using the excuse that I want people to internalize my poetry without the burden of my ideas about what I've written. Really though, it's pretty much just fear.

I was asked to read poetry at the Writer's Spotlight some years back, and I accepted. I invited familiar faces so I would be more at ease. I did it, but I never felt comfortable. I asked everyone to close their eyes, and they did. I literally was about to pass out as I read my poetry. I couldn't stick around to listen to anyone else. I could hear my heart beating in my ears and I was shaking. I had a panic attack before I got to the door, which I tried to hide. I am "supposed" to be able to do this.

Since that night, I have turned down every opportunity to participate in spoken-word performances. I simply can't bring myself to do it.

It seems that there is some light swaying over me now. At the very least I know what to call it. I know that it affects my decisions, and that I'm not just an insecure wreck. And acceptance, I've heard is the key to improvement. There's too much life to live to allow SAD-ness to control me.

Funmi Franklin, aka Queen, is a word lover and poet. She's a reality-show fanatic and is awaiting an opportunity to star in her own show to be titled, "The Queen & I."

COMMENTS

Page 1 of 1 pages

100 recent comments »