As you may know, I have diagnosed avoidant personality disorder (AVPD), which, if you’re unfamiliar, could be concisely described as a really extreme version of social anxiety, but actually, is not the same thing at all.
The difference (at least as I understand and personally experience it): social anxiety is characterized by symptoms of anxiety (shortness of breath, lightheadedness, nausea, racing heart, etc.) that arise in social situations. Some people with AVPD don’t experience social anxiety; most people with social anxiety don’t have AVPD. I only get actual social anxiety sometimes; other times, socializing is agonizing without causing any actual anxiety.
For those with AVPD, it’s more like we avoid social situations or struggle with them because of a deep, unshakable, fundamental belief that we are essentially bad and wrong, and everyone either can see it or will soon find out. This may or may not cause anxiety symptoms. The extent to which one is bothered by this belief varies. Some people are deeply bothered by their inability to connect with others, and it tortures them, as they long to be normal and crave close relationships. Other people are chill about it and pretty content not to connect at all. In my late thirties, I find that I’m somewhere in between these two poles.
AVPD feels less like a situational allergic reaction, and more like a simple innate knowledge, an unchangeable, all-pervasive aspect of reality, which affects your whole life. I’m not saying this to throw a pity party — my life is actually really good, and I’m a pretty happy person, happier than most — but just to clarify the difference between social anxiety and AVPD.
So, because of this condition, I’m constantly hyper-aware of all the negative things that other people are probably thinking about me. For the most part, I’m used to it, but sometimes, it gets really exhausting, and can be crippling.
So here’s a fun little exercise that I invented for myself, as like a form of self-therapy or something I guess (because real therapy has never helped me at all — classic AVPD): I ask myself, what’s the worst that they could possibly be thinking, anyway? And why would that be so bad?
So, just for funsies, I decided to make a list of all these bad things that I usually assume people are thinking about me, and rank them all in order of just how awful they are!
You’ll see I’ve divided these potential burns into tiers, according to how painful/mortifying/devastating it would be to find out that people were saying them about me. And you’ll notice that none of them are listed as F or E tier, but start at D. That’s obviously because F- and E-tier burns would not even be burns, per se.
Like, some examples of F-tier insults, for me, would be things that are actually compliments: “she’s too devoutly Catholic” (the best thing you could say about someone), “she’s way too thin” (no one would ever say this about me, not anymore, except maybe Ant Wave, but the point is: “too thin” will never be an insult to me, no matter how “recovered” I become), “she’s too smart, it’s intimidating” (dying laughing at the idea of anyone ever thinking this about me!) “she has too many kids, she’s overpopulating the planet” (my kids are the one thing I’m most proud of; good luck trying to make me feel bad about them, plus overpopulation is a myth), “she’s too nice-looking” (again: utterly laughable to think of it applied to me; but I’m pretty sure that anyone would take this as a huge compliment).
E-tier burns would probably be things that, while not exactly compliments, are simple observations about me that I don’t really care about: “she’s too pale, it’s freaky”; “she has a lame name” (it’s boring and common), “her nails are hideous” (I am an anxious picker, and also have a messed-up thumbnail from an ice-skating accident when I was a kid), “she cusses too much,” “she has too many tattoos,” “she is too chronically online;” none of these are offensive because they’re just facts, and although they’re not great I accept them about myself. The things I’m more insecure about are in the higher tiers.
Without further ado: here are the Top Ten(-ish) Worst Possible Things that People Could Be Saying About Me Behind My Back!:
D tier: would make me shrug my shoulders and go “huh; oh well, whatever”
15. “Oh, the fat one?” “She has the fattest legs I’ve ever seen.” “Looks like she needs to hit the gym.” “Most unappealing physique ever.” — I’m happy to report that I genuinely would not be that bothered by these anymore. There was a time when “fat” would have been #1 on this list, by a mile! At this point, after many years of body dysmorphia, I no longer actually think that I am fat (even though I still jokingly call myself a fatass sometimes, because I’m a fatass in spirit); so, if someone called me fat, I’d just be like: “lol that’s a weird thing to say? Something must be wrong with you.” Now, it is true that I have a rectangle shape and thick legs and am not super toned or anything, these are just facts and I don’t really care that much anymore. If, for example, I were to learn that all the men at a given location (the store, church, the library) had convened and agreed that I was the least-desirable woman there, I would not really care that much. I would honestly feel relieved to not be seen as a sexual object. I guess it’s still a bit of a dig though, just on like an instinctual level.
14. “She is so weird.” — Yeah, no shit, Sherlock! Being weird is such a part of my identity that I honestly feel seen and validated when someone thinks I’m weird, and it actually is kind of alienating to find out that someone thinks I’m just normal. However, I’m also aware that many people, especially Catholics, see “weird” as a negative attribute, so if the folks at church were saying this, they’d surely mean it in a disparaging way, which wouldn’t feel great.
13. “She is such a mess! She just can’t get it together. She’s so disorganized. Have you seen the state of her house? Her minivan? The bottom pocket of her stroller? What a slob! Chaos! I could never.” — I am a slob. I don’t love this about myself, but have come to accept it; it’s no secret. I do wish I could be more organized, though, and do feel like this is a moral failing and a bad way to be, so I’d probably be pretty ashamed if folks were making comments like this.
C tier: would cause me to worry on and off for a few days, without majorly impairing function
12. “She’s way too strict as a mom.” “She’s a total helicopter mom.” “She needs to chill with her kids.” — I’d rather be an overprotective, strict, helicopter mom than an overly-lax or permissive one, which is why this comment wouldn’t get too deep under my skin. Imo, overprotective is necessary, in modern-day America. However, I am always deeply concerned about my parenting and how well I’m doing at that, so if I found out that lots of people thought I sucked at it, I’d probably worry quite a bit and reevaluate.
11. “What an idiot!” “She’s so stupid. She hasn’t got a clue.” “Nothing going on upstairs, just crickets.” — As much as I value intelligence and try not to appear stupid, I’m also well-aware that my AVPD symptoms inevitably make me come off as inarticulate, slow, dense, and even bovine, in social situations. So this wouldn’t surprise me too much, and wouldn’t worry me too deeply because I’m aware that whatever intelligence I might have is not well-represented in the medium of social interaction. Still, though: due to my upbringing, I will probably never be able to unsee intellectual inferiority as a personal failing.
10. “She’s so awkward!” “Why is she like that?” “Is she autistic or something?” — Similar to #11 above, I’m well aware that my condition causes me to come off as extremely awkward, and have even been told that I seem kinda autistic (I loathe eye contact, am prone to shifting in place while standing/picking my fingers/etc., and sometimes my social nervousness causes me to make blunders). So, this would not be news to me. But reminders of my awkwardness are never pleasant. If I could have any superpower, it’d be the ability to freeze time, precisely so that I could pause a conversation and have time to compose a smooth and appropriate reply.
B tier: I would be very butthurt, go take a long hot shower, probably reread a comfort novel, and would take a long time to recover
9. “I checked out her blog. It’s so cringe — her writing is, like, really bad. It’s embarrassing. Especially her fiction. She should really just give up writing fiction. It’s so pathetic and self-absorbed — it’s obvious she has no story to tell, but is just working through her personal issues with a cast of tropey self-insert characters.” Alternatively: “I still remember her writing from that college class we took! She was so hilariously bad! Remember that one short story?! LOL!” — I am aware by now that my writing isn’t very good, and most of this blog is just for shits and giggles anyway; but I am admittedly a bit more thin-skinned about my fiction, because it’s so dear to me. And, typical former gifted child, my whole life I was told by teachers, friends, and parents that my writing was SO GOOD, so over the years that became a pretty core part of my identity and ego, and still stings if someone injures it. Also, I do still cringe painfully about much of the stuff I wrote in school, and the thought of anyone remembering it keeps me up at night sometimes.
8. “What an eyesore! Oof, she’s hard to look at.” “She dresses so badly; she has no sense of style whatsoever.” “Her teeth are so yellow, it’s gross!” “Someone needs to help her do her makeup correctly!” “Her hair is tragic. Why doesn’t she do something about it?!” — I may not care to look sexy, but, I do want to look presentable and nice; but this is something I struggle with, as I have no fashion sense, am uncomfortable in “nice” clothes, and can’t afford nice things like salon treatments, so I’m pretty insecure about my appearance . Being known as The Ugly One would thus be pretty upsetting.
7. “White trash through and through. She’s obviously poor. She has no class, no manners, no taste — just a really low-quality person in general.” — As much as I try to own the White Trash label and be okay with it, I also am still pretty insecure about being a lower-quality human than many of my wealthier, classier peers. The thought that they are identifying my poorness with some kind of radar, and excluding me because of it, is pretty upsetting. When I was younger, I had zero sense of economic status and how it impacted social scenes; in truly American fashion, I really thought this was a completely level playing field, and wealth had nothing to do with character or influence, and to think otherwise was laughably archaic. It’s only in my thirties that I’ve become aware of how our economic status defines so much about our lives, and can see in retrospect how it influenced my own life and relationships — and now I’m hyper-aware of this, almost as if I’m trying to quickly compensate for all those years of blissful ignorance.
A tier: mortifying; I definitely couldn’t show my face in that location again
6. “She really hurt my feelings. I can’t believe someone could be so rude and inconsiderate.” “She’s just a mean person.” — Nooo! One of my greatest fears in this life is coming off as mean and inconsiderate. I think this is rooted in a conscious decision that I made in roughly middle/high school, as a Plan B attempt to cope with the AVPD after being a cynical scene kid failed: to “at least be nice.” I figured that, if I couldn’t be cool or fun or likeable or make friends, I could at least be nice. No one could complain about me as long as I was nice!! Right?! Niceness would be the lube that allowed me to slide through life relatively unscathed. I still struggle with this, with a fear of ever doing something hurtful or mean, even if it’s necessary or for a good reason. Niceness is a terrible thing to value; it’s certainly not a virtue. This is a prison that I’m still, admittedly, trapped in — so if I were to find out that I’m not actually nice at all, I’m not sure how I could get by.
5. “She’s so worldly.” “She needs prayers.” “Is she even Catholic? I never would have guessed — she doesn’t behave like one.” “Clearly, the product of modernism; how sad.” — As a new Traditionalist (only two-and-a-half years in), and a convert from atheism, I’m still patinfully self-conscious about the stink of the world that clings to me; I have a terrible case of impostor syndrome about my Catholicism in general, and twelve years in, still believe, on some level, that my conversion was invalid somehow and I’m just clumsily LARPing amongst all these other, real Catholics. Do any other converts feel this way? So, it would really hurt to find out that my fears were founded.
4. “She’s socially inept.” “She has no tact, no grace, no sense of propriety.” — I actually was called “socially inept” by a friend’s mother when I was still in elementary school, and that stuck with me. This is related to #6, but subtly different, and even more important: because even if I fail at niceness, I can at least be decent! I can at least not step on any toes! Stepping on toes is an inexcusable offense, and only terrible, undeserving people do that. Tact, delicacy, and manners are therefore necessary for survival, in this terrifying jungle. To find out I actually don’t have those at all would be quite disarming.
S tier: life-altering, devastating, would probably leave me incapacitated for some time, and I would likely be tempted to get drunk about it (I’m seven years sober)
3. “Oh no, here she comes. Quick, where can I hide? I cannot stand her. Her company is suffocating. Just a walking cloud of discomfort and misery.” “A truly insufferable human being.” “Ugh, time to grit my teeth and show some Christian charity. At least this sacrifice is certain to make me a saint.” — I guess this is an amalgamation of several items on this list; probably, a combination of any or all of these factors could cause someone to find me unbearable to be around. But it’s the sentiment here, more than any particular observation or factor, that would really hurt. To just be hated — to make people miserable just by existing near them in the only way you know how — that’s rough. Everyone likes to be liked. I don’t think I’m unique in finding the prospect of being unequivocally hated dreadful. But the AVPD does amplify it, and make it much harder to see as just an irrational fear.
2. “She’s a lazy mom. She’s way too lax and permissive. Is she even paying attention to her kids? Those poor children, no wonder they struggle to behave!” — Being a bad mom is my number one fear in life. Combined with the AVPD, this means that, when in public with my kids, I’m constantly stressed about how others are perceiving me as a parent. If I were to find out that everyone at church pitied my children for having a trashy, shitty mother like me, I think I would fully crash out, because I would believe that they were right. I guess the saving grace here would be my knowledge that I love my children more than anything and I am making an effort, so any failures are honestly in my blind spot; and also, well, these people don’t know what it’s like to be in my shoes; they don’t have my exact children or circumstances or consciousness or genetic make-up, so they really don’t have all the details about us, therefore, their judgments cannot be perfectly accurate. But still — I live in abject terror of being a bad mom, and because I’m insecure, I tend to believe negative feedback. So, this would be rough.
And finally, the one thing that I don’t think I could ever recover from:
1. “SHE STINKS! She smells so bad! Does she ever bathe? Does she ever bathe her kids?! They reek too! The smelliest family. Ugh, I can’t stand when she walks by. Her breath is vile.” — Note that I’m talking specifically about bodily odors here. I don’t care if people hate my Bath & Body Works Sweet Cinnamon Pumpkin body spray, or the Strawberry Flirt lotion that I slather all over myself; I don’t care if they think it’s too cloying or too juvenile. They can cope and deal. No, I’m solely concerned about bad hygiene smells. Is there anything more mortifying? I really can’t think of anything more embarrassing than subjecting everyone around you to the stenches of your unclean human meat tank. Full stop. Yes, I’d just set myself on fire. I’d move to a different country. I’d wish for death. I honestly don’t know what I would do.
So, yeah, as you can see, as morbid as this little exercise feels, it can actually be kind of helpful to look squarely at your fears and measure out exactly how valid they are, and why you are so afraid of them. It can show you a lot about yourself! It can be enlightening to dwell on what your insecurities say about you.
Also, fear #3 obliges me to add on: if you’re reading this and you for whatever reason hate me, you may be considering how fun it would be to go glance at my fiction page and then tell me how shitty my writing is, to try and deliver a nice B tier blow. Or maybe you’ll be tempted to tell me how poor and low-quality I sound just from my blogging voice. Feel free to do that if you want, but keep in mind that I won’t take those comments as seriously as I would otherwise, because I’ll know that you are doing so expressly because of this post, so it won’t feel as original or meaningful as if it had come unprompted. So, be my guest, but if you want to play that game know that your insults will be at most E or D tier.
And hey, at least you can’t smell me through the phone.
Anyway, what do you guys think? What do you think would be the worst thing to have people think about you? — or, are you a mentally healthy unicorn and really don’t care at all? What’s that like? Would love to hear your thoughts!