You know that feeling when you experience something all your life, and then—boom—you stumble upon a random TikTok or Twitter thread, and suddenly, it has a name? No? Just me? Fine. But listen, for the longest time, I couldn’t figure out why I physically could not bring myself to do certain things when people were around. I wanted to. But my brain? My brain said, “Not today, champ,” or I didn’t want to be in public spaces or doing anything that required me to socialize. Take driving, for example. If I’m alone in my car, I am thriving. Music blasting at a very questionable volume, singing off-key like I’m auditioning for a musical no one asked for, and if someone cuts me off? Oh, the dramatic monologue that follows. But the moment there’s someone else in the car? Full panic mode. Hands at ten and two, stiff posture, breathing like I’m on trial. Turns out, this phenomenon has a name: The Fear of Being Perceived.
In simple terms, it’s the anxiety or discomfort that comes with knowing other people are aware of your existence, noticing you, or (heaven forbid) forming opinions about you. It’s that irrational-yet-very-real feeling of being exposed, whether you’re in a social setting, walking through a crowded mall, or just trying to live your life in public spaces.
For the longest time, I thought this was just my normal. Like, sure, grocery shopping feels like an Olympic sport, but doesn’t everyone break into a sweat when they have to pick the ripest avocado while being silently judged by a stranger in the produce aisle? No? Again, just me? Okay.
But let’s be real: the worst thing you could say to me is, “Let’s go to Walmart.” Do we really have to? Is this a must? Have we exhausted all Instacart and UberEats options? Can’t we just…not?
The fear of being perceived ranges from mild discomfort (a general ugh at being noticed) to full-blown anxiety that makes you avoid situations altogether. It manifests in so many ways—like feeling uncomfortable when someone looks at you for too long, overthinking everything (how you walk, talk, breathe in public), or the classic: posting on social media and immediately regretting it.
One that hit me hard? Constantly starting and shutting down blogs the moment they gained traction. Imagine doing something you love, only for that joy to morph into stress the second people actually start paying attention. “Oh, you like this? Great, let me just disappear real quick.”
I work in an open-concept office, which means I have a cubicle, but I’m still very much visible. It’s a nightmare. The voices, the footsteps, the constant movement—every little thing disrupts my focus. I’d love to tell you I’ve mastered the art of blocking it all out, but really, my saving grace has been noise-canceling headphones. Pop those bad boys on, queue up a true crime podcast, and suddenly, I am untouchable.
Airports? Same thing. Too many people, too much movement, too much everything. But with my headphones on? Boom. Invisible. It’s almost like I have a force field protecting me from the horror of being noticed.
When I finally put a name to this thing, I had to ask myself: Is this actually a problem? I mean, technically, I’ve survived this long, so maybe it’s fine? But also, is avoiding human interaction really the answer? (Trick question. It absolutely feels like the answer.)
So now, I’m working on it. Not in a “let’s cure this overnight” way, but in a “baby steps and questionable mental gymnastics” kind of way. I’ve had to accept that I can’t control how people perceive me, and, more importantly, people actually care way less than we think they do. The biggest takeaway? Learning to give myself grace.
So here I am, blogging again, despite my brain screaming at me to shut it all down. We’re trying. We’re learning. And maybe—just maybe—I’ll stop overthinking whether I look weird while picking out apples at the grocery store. But let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.