Day 3: Things that make you uncomfortable (Blog Every Day in May)

People think I’m confident, and most of the time it’s true. I don’t worry much these days, but when I started considering things that make me uncomfortable, almost everything that came to mind was a social phobia of some description.

I’m quite gregarious, quite extrovert and I like meeting people. I don’t find it awkward or difficult socialising or striking up conversations really- even with new people. But you know what I *do* do?

I go away afterwards and worry about everything I’ve said. I introspect, ruminate and analyse. And if Simon is around I sometimes check with him that things I’ve said were appropriate and I seek reassurance that I didn’t upset anyone.

I hate the thought that I might have offended someone.

So yeah- now I think about it, I *do* have quite a bit of social anxiety. Just in a slightly atypical way.  My ‘things that make me uncomfortable’ all stem from this.

Today’s social anxiety: Hugs.

I am naturally disinclined to engage in hugging. We weren’t a huggy family; hugging was something that we did sometimes, but typically when social circumstances required it, rather than because we got a lot out of it.  It just wasn’t how we communicated our affection. Hugging seemed a little stilted, awkward and... well, uncomfortable. We remain reluctant but willing when necessary. My brother feels exactly the same.  He sees no need to engage in it just for the look of the thing, and I completely concur.

But hugging, you see, is on the increase. It used to be a rare thing reserved for family and very close friends.  Now we hug everyone. It has become ubiquitous to the point where non-huggers are seen as slightly odd.

And because I worry about whether a hug is appropriate or not, I now compensate and try to normalise my behaviour by hugging ALL THE TIME.

I hug colleagues at school I barely know, my brother and I forcibly hug amid the mass hug-off that marks the end of a family gathering just so we’re not the only two not hugging, I even hugged the people who moved into our old, rented home when we moved out. I had known them for about 15 minutes and I have never seen them again.

It is an epidemic.

A friend at work has tried, with moderate success, to acclimatise me to hugging in a safe, non-awkward environment to help me embrace my inner-hugger. And you know what? 

Every training hug BURNS with as much discomfort as a conventional hug out in the field.

This needless, artificial, socially pressured nightmare has now infected me with POST HUG ANXIETY: An enjoyable post-embrace analysis during which I critique the quality, length, appropriateness and social necessity of the hug I have provided with all the relish of a road kill post mortem.

People of Britain, I implore you- don’t hug simply because you feel you should. Save it for the times it might actually mean something.

Or better yet, just abandon hugging altogether. 

No good can come of it.