When I was in pre-kindergarten, when I was supposed to be sitting and talking with other children, I sat in my own corner doing what I wanted to do, barely interacting with anyone else. I felt abandoned. Most of my good friends from preschool were not there and my best friend was in another classroom. My teacher tried to get me to come and sit in a circle on the carpet with everyone else, but I spent most of my time coloring. That was one of the early signs of the social phobia, or social anxiety, that I was diagnosed with a few years ago.
My aunt recently told me that not only did I have selective mutism as a young child, but that my younger cousin, Cara, has had it as well. I had not even heard of selective mutism when I was younger, but nobody had really heard of it when my aunt and mother probably had it forty years ago. I am not sure if anxiety and selective mutism run in families, but if they do, I definitely had a predisposition for it. Selective mutism is characterized by the inability to successfully communicate with others in specific social settings.
When a person has selective mutism, it is often found hand in hand with other disorders such as certain forms of anxiety. I have had different types of anxiety for my entire life, especially social phobia. While I am comfortably loud at home with my brother and parents, I am far less comfortable socializing with other children, especially those who I have not known for very long. Early on, my discomfort around kids my age only disappeared around a select few: close friends and certain relatives. I still find that I am unnecessarily uncomfortable around my peers.
That has caused difficulties for me in social situations and work environments, as I have experienced it for such a long time. One year after I was sitting alone in pre- kindergarten, I was supposed to participate in a short skit about moths circling the moon. I would be on stage in front of the whole school in a special, felt costume, running around with my friend Isabel. I was supposed to speak one line, but even with Isabel tugging on my hair, I could not say a word in front of all of the parents and siblings in the audience.
That experience was so terrible that I would not go up on that stage again until three years later. This shyness, which has been prevalent in my life, followed me to first grade, in which I talked so little that my teachers did not know I could read. My teacher, Ms. Dorsey, placed me in a reading group for kids at a low reading level. We later learned in second grade, through special testing, that my reading comprehension exceeded those of most kids in my grade, but of course nobody knew that because I refused, or maybe could not speak.
Later, I packed my anxiety in my backpack every day of third grade, in which I was later specifically trained at lunch so I could represent my class in the school-wide spelling bee. Fortunately, this prepared me for two more years of being on stage at future bees, in which I ended up doing very well. If only I could spell as well now as I did then! All of the issues culminated into one big ordeal in fifth grade, when my selective mutism resulted in me bursting into tears because I could not read a passage of a book with my teacher watching me.
It was just one short chapter of Joey Pigza Swallowed a key, yet I could not utter a single sound. When I was supposed to sing in the choir at church once, the only time I would ever be required to at my first communion, I sat with my mom in the pews acting like I was in the right place. Again, I did not speak up later that year when someone copied my design for our class’s field day shirt. The same person who had produced the final template had also told me to throw away the design I had made first, even though his later one was essentially the same.
I tried to say something, but he acted like I had never shown him my template. I’m still bitter about this today, but I know that back then, there was nothing I could have done short of digging into the trash, something I was too shy and submissive to do at the time. By the time I reached middle school, I had heard people ask “you can talk? ” and say “I have never heard you say more than one word before,” for what felt like one thousand times. I had made some new friends in the after-school program in sixth grade, but once they discovered that I was not always as quiet as I seemed, they became confused and mistrustful.
Fast forward to seventh grade when one of my favorite teachers said the same thing when he saw me enjoying myself around my best friend. That same year, I tried playing in a soccer tournament, but I only scored a goal and really started to play once the rain drove our audience inside. In eighth grade, I never said more than a snarky comment in English class and other than that I was quiet around everyone, excluding the people | had been friends with for years.
I did not directly make any new friends, I just attached myself to someone I had known for a while and waited for them to make friends I could share. In that awkward period between elementary and high school, I did not have much reason to speak up or converse with teachers and other authority figures, other than to cite my false religion as an excuse to get out of dancing in Physical Education class. Funnily enough, it was only when meeting famous people like President George Bush and President Barack Obama that I had no difficulty.
When I was four, I told President Bush to stop traveling too much so my mom could stay at home. She worked as a White House reporter for Thomson Reuters and her job required her to follow the president when he traveled across the country, including to his Texas ranch the day after every Christmas. Additionally, she would write stories about Bush and eventually, presidential candidates like current president Barack Obama. Thanks to her job,she was invited to a yearly Christmas reception at the White House and in 2004, she brought me as her guest.
Each year, reporters are allowed to bring one guest to the reception and take a picture with the president and the first lady. When I had a photo opportunity with President and Laura Bush, I chose to express my concerns about my mother’s frequent travels. In 2008, I also got to meet Obama for the first time, though then he was just Senator Obama. My mom invited my brother and me to a Virginia rally where we were scheduled to meet the Senator after his speech. Normally I was shy around everyone, whether or not they were young or old, but mysteriously, this rule excluded people who were in positions of power.
When I first met Mr. Obama, instead of staying silent, I was so excited that I rushed forward to talk to him, while my brother approached him more slowly. This was an enlightening experience. I discovered that I could be much more courageous when I wanted to be, though my speaking abilities in average situations are still unimpressive. Lately, I still get surprised reactions and sometimes suspicious glances from other teenagers when they see me in a different mood or interacting with my friends.
At first, they usually think I am cute or younger than I am, but other times they make fun of me because of it. I feel like they think I am pretending to be shy, which makes me feel bad about myself. Their reactions alter the view I have of myself because I base who I am off of what others think. I have noticed it in the past two weeks from people who were new to my class and School Without Walls. At first, they look at me and think I am cute and quiet like a little kid, but when they see me talking to people I know later they act annoyed by it.
There have been times when I have felt unable to speak for no other reason than I was uncomfortable, or just overall feeling odd. The trouble I have with expressing myself stems from how people respond to my quirks and my anxiety. Despite receiving professional help from a trained workers for almost 3 years, every single school year starts the same with me barely speaking a word for a few weeks because of my anxiety. When I require assistance, I find it difficult to consult teachers for help or communicate to them that I am having problems.
Though when I do, I find it to be very helpful. Two years ago, there was a terrible anxiety-fueled incident when the threat of an upcoming oral presentation of a story I wrote led me to start scratching my hands violently and running out of a classroom in tears. Then, I when I had to give my tenth grade speech, I did not take a single breath throughout. I won best speech, but I lost points for delivery and I’m pretty sure I only won either because I had a decently interesting topic or because it was a known fact that I had anxiety and people partially felt sorry for me.
Another time, an incident on the bus changed my speech patterns in a different way. I was talking so fast that nobody could understand what I was saying! In a joking sort of way, I find it almost laughable how often my social and generalized anxiety, as well as poor communication skills, have made me cry and brought me to Ms. Brock’s office or Ms. Mussenden’s office. As much as I wish I did not have this anxiety, I do not think that it will disappear anytime soon. Even now, I still get nervous about the idea of having to speak publicly or in front of my entire class.
Luckily for me, I did not have an additional language barrier that could have affected me the way it affected Ms. Kingston. I am a fourth or fifth generation American and both of my parents have only spoken English at home since I was born. However, just like her, I have to practice what to say before saying it aloud and work on speaking loder. Selective mutism and social anxiety have been like a heavy boulder blocking my path to success and happiness for almost sixteen years now. When I started elementary school, I also started having issues speaking up or even speaking at all.
These issues have followed me from pre- kindergarten to my junior year of high school, whether they cause me to speak too fast, too slow, or not at all. My voice and demeanor change depending on what mood I am in so I never know what I am going to sound like. I still hold my breath every time I have to introduce myself in social contexts and hesitate to consult adults for advice or assistance. The charismatic persona I put on in front of prestigious figures is starting to fade, as well. Even though I still get practice in with those types of situations one or twice a year, sometimes I feel like my shyness is taking over my life.
Over time, I hope that feeling will go away and that my anxiety disorders will finally become manageable. I want to be as charismatic all the time as I am on occasion. Additionally, I want to appear to be as outgoing and friendly to every person | meet in the same way that I appear to a certain sophomore friend. My anxiety, social phobia, and selective mutism have served as barriers throughout my life, but not unbreachable ones. I still wish that I could have spoken up a few times over the years, but maybe in the future I will not have as many regrets.
