When Strangers Feel Unsafe but Friends Feel Like Home

Social anxiety doesn’t always look like silence. Sometimes it looks like courage — followed by disappearance.

🏫 The Day I Learned That Courage Has Consequences

In high school, my social anxiety and depression were already at their worst. Every day felt like navigating a place where I didn’t quite belong, even when I tried to convince myself otherwise.

And yet, one day, I did something brave.

I talked to someone.

It wasn’t dramatic or bold. Just a few minutes of conversation in PE class while changing out of gym clothes. I remember thinking, Maybe this is how people make friends. Maybe I’m overthinking it.

Then he and his friends walked away.

At first, I told myself it was nothing. People move. Schedules change. It didn’t have to mean anything about me.

But later, when I saw them again near the cafeteria, I tried once more. I grabbed my food and looked around, hoping to continue the conversation — hoping I hadn’t imagined the earlier moment.

They were gone.

Not just walked away. Disappeared.

I looked everywhere. I genuinely thought I’d lost them in the crowd. When I couldn’t find them, I did what I always did.

I sat alone.

🍽 The Table I Always Returned To

I had a regular seat.
A quiet spot.
A place that asked nothing of me.

Sitting alone wasn’t new. What hurt was realizing that even when I tried not to, I always ended up there anyway.

That day didn’t break me. It trained me.

It taught my brain something dangerous:

Reaching out leads to humiliation.

🧠 Trying Again — and Learning Faster This Time

Another day. Another moment of courage.

Lunch again. A group of three people. I told myself this time would be different. Groups felt safer, didn’t they? More balanced?

At first, it was just me and one of them talking. Normal conversation. Small talk. Nothing strange.

Then I noticed the others.

Standing behind him.
Arms crossed.
Staring.

Not curiosity. Not indifference.
Judgment.

They didn’t say anything. They didn’t have to. Their faces did all the work.

I felt it immediately — that sinking, burning realization that I had misread the situation. That I had entered a space where I wasn’t wanted.

I don’t remember how the conversation ended.

I remember how my body felt afterward.

Small.
Exposed.
Wrong.

🚫 The Decision I Didn’t Know I Was Making

That moment didn’t just embarrass me.

It changed my rules.

I decided — without consciously deciding — that I would never do that again.

Not in school.
Not outside school.
Not anywhere.

Talking to groups became off-limits. Talking to strangers became dangerous. Initiating conversation felt like placing myself directly in front of rejection.

The belief settled quietly but firmly:

I am a burden to people who don’t know me.

Once a belief like that forms, everything starts reinforcing it.

🧩 Why Social Anxiety Isn’t About People

Here’s the thing most people don’t understand about social anxiety:

It’s not fear of people.

It’s fear of impact.

Fear of:

• being unwanted
• being tolerated instead of welcomed
• being the awkward variable that ruins the mood
• being talked about after you leave

Every interaction becomes a calculation: Am I adding something… or am I taking up space that wasn’t meant for me?

🤍 Why Friends Feel Safe

What makes this even harder to explain is that with my friends, none of this exists.

With people I know:

• I don’t feel like a burden
• I don’t censor myself
• I don’t monitor my tone
• I don’t rehearse sentences

I’m open. Comfortable. Myself.

Texting, video chatting, hanging out — it’s effortless.

That contrast confused me for years. If I can be normal with friends, why can’t I be normal with strangers?

The answer is simpler than it sounds:

Friends already chose me.

Strangers haven’t — yet.

🧠 The Weight of “Being a Burden”

Feeling like a burden doesn’t come from nowhere.

It comes from moments where you tried, and the response taught you that your presence was inconvenient. Even when no one said it out loud.

Once that belief forms, it doesn’t stay in the past. It follows you into adulthood. Into stores. Into conversations. Into every situation where you might have to speak first.

You start protecting other people from yourself.

🎬 Finding Myself in Fiction

At some point, I realized I related deeply to a character who struggled with strangers but not friends. Not because of popularity or confidence — but because of emotional safety.

Seeing that reflected back made something click.

I wasn’t broken.
I wasn’t antisocial.
I wasn’t incapable of connection.

I was conditioned.

🛑 Avoidance Isn’t Cowardice

Avoidance gets a bad reputation.

But avoidance isn’t always weakness. Sometimes it’s survival — a strategy learned when your nervous system decided that social pain wasn’t worth the risk.

Avoidance says: I’ve been hurt here before. I’m trying not to repeat it.

That doesn’t mean it’s the best strategy forever.
But it does mean it makes sense.

🌱 What Healing Looks Like (Quietly)

Healing, for me, hasn’t meant suddenly becoming outgoing or fearless.

It looks more subtle.

• understanding where the fear came from
• recognizing that past rejection isn’t a permanent verdict
• reminding myself that strangers don’t yet know me — and that’s not the same as rejecting me

Some days, the fear still wins.

Some days, I choose silence.

And that’s okay.

🤍 A Truth I’m Still Learning

Here’s what I wish younger me had known:

Not every group that walks away is rejecting you.
Not every crossed arm is about you.
Not every silence means you don’t belong.

And even if it does — it doesn’t mean you are a burden.

🧠 Still Here, Still Trying

I don’t talk to strangers easily.
I still hesitate.
I still feel that familiar tightening in my chest.

But now, I know where it came from.

And knowing that changes everything.

Some wounds aren’t loud.
They’re quiet lessons learned too early — and unlearned slowly.