Growing up, I wasn’t just shy; I was painfully shy.
The kind of shy where my teeth chattered if someone looked at me for too long.
My eyes watered.
My hands shook.
My entire body basically staged a shutdown any time I felt watched.
I didn’t know the words “social anxiety” back then. I just thought something was wrong with me. And being overweight on top of all that? And a textbook introvert? It felt like walking around with a neon sign inviting judgment.
Fast forward to adulthood, the reactions aren’t as dramatic now, but the insecurity never fully left. I’ve learned to push through it, perform normalcy, act like I’m not internally spiraling when eyes linger a little too long. But the truth is:
I still hate being the center of attention.
I still assume people are judging me.
And I still avoid doing things alone because I’m terrified someone will pity me.
The irony?
I want to do things alone. I crave independence. I like my own company. I like the idea of taking myself places.
But every time I consider it, this intrusive thought pops up:
“They’re going to think I have no friends.”
And okay yes, I don’t have many people to do things with. But so what? Why does that matter? Why does the imaginary judgment of strangers stop me from living the life I actually want?
Because I’ve spent my whole life trying not to be seen.
The Fear of Being Seen
Even now, at 34, the idea of doing something alone feels like stepping into a spotlight I never asked for. Restaurants, salons, stores, the gym — anywhere someone might glance at me and wonder, “Why is she alone?”
The logical side of me knows no one is analyzing my life like that.
The anxious side of me is convinced everyone is.
It’s exhausting living between the two.
But recently something clicked:
I can’t put my life on pause waiting for someone to do things with me.
I want to:
- go on trips alone
- try a restaurant alone
- shop alone
- get my hair done alone
- travel alone
- walk alone
- exist alone
Not because I have no choice, but because I want the confidence that comes from standing on my own two feet.
Coming to Terms With Being Single
Here’s something I never expected:
Being single forever doesn’t scare me like it used to.
Maybe I won’t be single forever, who knows, but I’m finally at peace with the possibility. But that peace comes with a realization I can’t ignore:
If I’m going to be my own constant, I need to actually live like it.
I can’t keep waiting for a partner to make memories with.
Or a friend group that magically aligns with my availability.
Or some fantasy life where I’m effortlessly confident in public.
That version of my life isn’t coming to save me.
So I have to save myself.
Doing Things Alone Isn’t a Failure. It’s a Skill
Being alone is one thing.
Being alone in public is a skill no one teaches you.
People talk about independence like it’s just a mindset. No. It’s a muscle. One you have to build, slowly and awkwardly.
My steps right now look like:
- driving to a store alone and not panicking
- eating in a cafe alone without performing “I’m busy on my phone” energy
- sitting in silence instead of pretending to scroll
- taking a walk without feeling exposed
- going to appointments alone
- existing without an emotional support companion
Some days I feel brave.
Other days, I’m convinced everyone is staring at me.
But I’m doing it anyway.
Because if I don’t learn how to actually live alone, not just be alone in theory, then I’m cheating myself out of the life I keep daydreaming about.
Finding My Community (Even in My 30s)
One of the biggest lies people tell you is that friendship dies in your 30s.
That you’re stuck with whatever friends you had in your 20s and that adulthood is just isolation with bills.
I refuse to believe that.
I genuinely believe my people exist — I just haven’t crossed paths with them yet. But I won’t meet them hiding at home, afraid to be seen. Community doesn’t show up on your couch. You meet people by… being around people.
So doing things alone isn’t just about independence.
It’s about creating opportunities to build the life I want — friends included.
Learning to Stand on My Own
I’m not magically confident now. I didn’t wake up fearless. I’m still shy. I still overthink. I still assume the worst sometimes. But I’m trying.
Trying to:
- take up space
- stop apologizing for existing
- stop assuming everyone is watching
- stop shrinking myself to be less noticeable
- stop waiting for permission
And most importantly:
Trying to be seen — not in a “look at me” way, but in a “I’m not hiding anymore” way.
If you’re afraid of doing things alone too, let me say this:
It’s okay to start small.
It’s okay to feel awkward.
It’s okay to shake a little.
Just don’t let the fear steal your life.
I’ve lost too many years hiding.
I’m not doing it anymore.
And if you’re walking this path too?
You’re not alone — even when you are.