Last night I read a CNN article written by a therapist — John Duffy — that described people who weren’t all that anxious to return to “normal” life after the pandemic was over. “These people thrived in pandemic isolation — and aren’t ready to return to ‘normal’ socializing.”

The writer essentially labeled such people as “socially anxious” and described it as a kind of pathology. Personally, I don’t think being reluctant to wander around in a world in which a deadly pandemic is flying around is pathological but definitively sane. I know that social avoidance CAN be a problem for people, but not all people who are not super eager to return to “normal” life are struggling with a mental health issue. One thing the article never mentioned was people like me who do things — enjoy things — that you just don’t do with a bunch of friends or out in the world.

I remember very well the night I typed the last word on the finished rough draft of my first novel, Martin of Gfenn. I had little time to work on it — an hour or so in the evening which made the finished (ha ha) draft very repetitive because I had to catch up where I’d left off. Anyhoo I shut down my computer (an old Apple) stood up and wondered where everybody was. I’d spent so much time with all these interesting people, the characters in my book, and now my house was completely empty. It was one of those moment in life when you think there should be champagne and a big celebration but my house was empty (except for six dogs). That’s when I realized that to write I’d have to accept a kind of solitude most people might never even know.

At the same time, I’d had this incredible experience that was impossible to share with anyone. I’d written a novel. I’d brought my story, my vision, for Martin (the character) into real life. I’d done the work, the immense research, all of it, the library time (back then). Because of my book, I KNEW people who’d lived in the 13th century. The experience catapulted me into a different Martha, but I couldn’t share that, either. I remember sitting in my living room thinking, “If you’re going to do that, you’re going to have to accept solitude.”

My mom had social anxiety and she was always afraid her kids would, too. It was one of the reasons she didn’t want her two artistic kids to be artists. “You’ll always be alone.” But she didn’t know. Maybe the great designer puts each of us together exactly right for who we are.

I don’t dispute that there are people with social anxiety and that maybe it’s a problem for them (it was for my mom because she wasn’t happy). But not all people who are less than eager for a return to “normal” life fit into that slot. I came to understand this when I was teaching. There were meetings in which NOTHING happened. Problems weren’t solved. Some people talked and some people didn’t. I seldom did. Then someone would end the meeting and invariably say, “This was a good meeting. Thank you so much for sharing your concerns.” They would point to a list they’d written while the talkers were talking.

Two things went through my mind. First, only the concerns of the people who’d spoken up were on that list. Second, the REAL reason for the meeting had nothing to do with solving problems. These people just needed to get in a room together and yammer at each other. The act itself was meaningful to them. For me it was a complete waste of time. When I felt something needed to be changed I’d go find the person who could change it and talk to them or write them so they could share my thoughts clearly and compellingly laid out rather than in an emotion-laden rambling rant.

Social anxiety or not, we’re stuck in the world with each other and extroversion is “normal.” Many an introvert (like me) has no particular social anxiety, it’s just that “out there” is tiring and requires effort that being alone probably requires for the extroverted. I have friends who’ve had significant stress during the past year because they have been precluded from doing the things that they love to do. They’ve engaged socially much more than I would (or did). For them the risk of NOT engaging was worse than the risk of getting ill.

“A year ago, most of us could not imagine a world in which we not only didn’t have to go to work, school, restaurants, concerts and churches, much less that any such activity would be forbidden. And my socially anxious clients have now been basking in a wholly false sense of security for the better part of a year.”


In other words, the world in which the socially anxious are comfortable can’t last. They don’t own the world.

And then…in reality when I was 12, and had to give a prayer at church, in front of the congregation, I passed out, fell on the floor, humiliated myself and my mom. I was THAT afraid of public speaking. I knew even then that I could not live the life I wanted if I was that afraid to stand and say my say. I worked hard to overcome that. The moment I knew I HAD overcome that happened almost 40 years later, when, at the invitation of one of my students, I gave a lecture (one I’d given to this student’s class) on overcoming the fear of public speaking. There were 300 students in that room waiting to hear me. Some were there because it was required or extra credit for their communication class; some were there because they wanted some hope. They, too, knew they couldn’t go forward in their lives without overcoming that. I had a good slide show and a good speech. I also wore clothes in which my armpit sweat wouldn’t show because yes. I was terrified. But what’s the point of terror like that? There is none. It was a bit of an operation to set up and prepare, but…

I gave my speech. It was well accepted, applauded. Then, afterward, when nearly everyone had left and I was packing up my stuff, a young woman came to talk to me. She was so nervous her face was shaking, her hands were damp and shaky, too.

“Can I ask you something?” she ventured.


“Did you REALLY get over being afraid?”

“No.” I slipped off my jacket. My pit stains went to my waist.

“How do you do it? I never imagined you were nervous.”

“I had something important to say,” I told her. “More important than how I felt when I started to speak. That’s my secret. I think of what I have to say and who needs to hear it. And, I prepare. And I know that whatever happens, it’s not going to kill me.”

She wrote all this down, no longer shaking. Then, “Thank you, thank you so much. I think you helped me.”

ONE person in that room NEEDED that message. Was her personality a pathology? No.

But after that…I gave several papers at conferences and all the normal things that were part of my life and job, but I was (with the exception of my book reading in 2019) never nervous again. Social anxiety — which I believe everyone has — is not “abnormal.” It’s human.

Are You Different Now, Too?

As we move steadily forward to the moment when we sit in our car or sit on a chair and a masked person jabs a needle into our arms, step one on the road to the “return to normalcy,”I wonder, “Are you the same person you were in January 2020?” because I am not.

I’m pondering the ethics of signing up at two or more places for the vaccine so I can be sure to get it. Others do this; I haven’t. Why not? I was a little surprised to discover that I just don’t want it that badly. That led me into a chute of questions, notably, “Why not?” I’m not an anti-vaxxer or anything like that. I know I won’t get the “mark of the beast” from it (as some very far out there people actually believe). So what’s up?

My friends are eager to return to social interaction. I love my friends — truly — but? Am I THAT anti-social that I’d rather live with a deadly virus floating around than have house guests? Not hardly…but

I remember little Martha Ann who, after a day at school just wanted to go into her room and close the door. I remember an older version of that same girl who, on weekends, when the grading load was not burdensome, reveled in the thought on Friday night, “I get to do whatever I want.” The struggle to find solitude — productive solitude — has been a lifelong quest and these months with their restrictions actually seem to have given me PERMISSION to stay in my room. Finally.

Not like I haven’t gone out AT ALL. I have and it’s been great each time, but it’s different.

I’ve learned that:

1) Much as I love the kids, I don’t want to be their grandmother or anything like it. I don’t want the responsibility. I just want to talk to them when I come back from a walk with Bear.

2) I really like to paint and while some painters of the past have been pretty social about it, I don’t know how a studio artist like me is going to be that kind of artist. I have loved knowing that there won’t be any demands on me AT ALL while I’m painting. (I KNOW this is tied to my mom’s rather aggressive distaste for her kids going off by themselves and making art. She hated it and made sure it was never easy for my brother or for me. Childhood never ends completely in some of our life’s dimensions.)

3) I’ve always preferred communicating by writing to communicating by talking. The Pandemic has been great for that.

There’s more, but I’ll leave it here. So is it really about the vaccine or is it about not wanting to revert to the person I was before? In a way, it’s as if the world has had to follow the rules by which an introvert lives by nature.

But then, like everyone, I’m tired of this. Part of me just thinks, “If this is life now, OK, let’s just say so and get on with it.” The election was exhausting. The events after even worse. Maybe I’m experiencing the resignation that follows disillusionment, I don’t know.

So, I know about me but I sincerely want to hear about others. Have you seen changes in yourself or your life through this whole thing that you want to maintain?