Low self-esteem paired with anxiety is a miserable combination.
Because of those anxiety-shaped thought patterns, I frequently call myself stupid—out loud at home and under my breath in public. I blow my mistakes out of proportion. I misread how my words and actions come across to other people. And I apologize for things that aren’t remotely my fault.
None of that helps my mental health.
Everyone experiences self-doubt from time to time. The difference is that anxiety can convince you those moments define you. It whispers that one awkward comment, one mistake, or one imperfect presentation is evidence that you’re incompetent and that everyone else can see it.
About that “stupid” thing: everyone makes mistakes. Most people can shrug them off and move on. Right now, I’m not one of those people. If I say something awkward in public, I immediately begin criticizing myself. Whatever joy I was experiencing gets overshadowed by the story I’m telling myself about how small or foolish I am.
Fortunately, I have Rebecca.
She has little patience for my habit of apologizing for every perceived mistake. More than once, she’s looked at me and firmly said, “Stop it.” The small errors I obsess over are often things she barely noticed—or didn’t notice at all. The repeated apologies don’t make the situation better; they simply frustrate her because I’m treating a minor imperfection as though it’s a catastrophe.
Anxiety also distorts how I think other people perceive me.
I remember testifying before a public body and making the unusual decision to read from a fully written statement. Normally, I’m much better working from an outline. At one point, I lost my place for a few seconds. During that brief silence, I mentally tore myself apart.
For the rest of my testimony, I was convinced I sounded slow, slurred, and inarticulate. When I sat down, I felt embarrassed.
Then something unexpected happened.
Several people came up afterward to thank me. They complimented my testimony and said I’d raised points no one else had mentioned.
Even then, I didn’t believe them.
Fortunately, the hearing had been recorded. When I listened later, I heard exactly what everyone else had heard: a few seconds of silence while I found my place, followed by a perfectly normal testimony. The slow, slurred speech existed only in my mind.
I also have a habit of apologizing for circumstances completely outside my control.
Recently, I was giving a presentation over a public internet connection that kept cutting out. I apologized two or three times for the poor connection.
Why?
I had absolutely nothing to do with it.
Instead of projecting confidence in the material I was presenting, I found myself accepting responsibility for someone else’s faulty internet connection. Then, after the presentation ended, I criticized myself for apologizing so much.
It’s remarkable how anxiety can create problems where none exist.
My therapist has given me advice that I’m still trying to learn.
When anxiety is driving my thoughts, my first interpretation of a situation is often wrong. Sometimes the second, third, and fourth are too. Instead of believing those first fearful reactions, I should wait for the first thought that isn’t rooted in fear or self-condemnation.
That’s easier said than done.
If I make a mistake, I don’t need to call myself stupid. Everyone makes mistakes.
If I worry that I embarrassed myself in public, I should remember that we’re usually far harsher critics of ourselves than anyone else is.
If something goes wrong beyond my control, I don’t need to apologize for it. I can simply acknowledge that it’s unfortunate or frustrating without assuming responsibility.
These are lessons my therapist has told me many times.
Changing decades of self-blame and unnecessary apologizing isn’t something that happens overnight. Those habits become deeply ingrained.
But they’re learned habits.
And that means they can be unlearned.
I’m not there yet.
But I’m trying.
