There was a stretch of my life where a simple errand could wreck my whole day.
I’m talking about something as small as going to the grocery store.
I’d tell myself, “Just run in real quick, grab what you need, no big deal.”
But the closer I got, the louder my brain got:
- What if I panic in there?
- What if someone notices?
- What if I run into somebody I know and can’t breathe, can’t talk, can’t think?
By the time I pulled into the parking lot, my heart would already be hammering. Sometimes I just sat there with my hands on the steering wheel, fighting tears over a bag of bread and a gallon of milk.
More than once, I turned the car around and went home with nothing.
That’s what social anxiety looked like for me:
Not just “shy” or “introverted,” but trapped by everyday life.
When Social Anxiety and PTSD Mix
My anxiety doesn’t show up out of nowhere. A lot of it is tangled up with my PTSD.
Certain situations flip a switch in my brain:
- Crowded stores
- People behind me in line
- Being “stuck” in a place where I can’t get out fast
- A random sound or smell that reminds my body of something it’s still holding
Logically, I can know, “I’m in a store, I’m fine.”
But my body doesn’t care about logic in those moments. It goes straight into survival mode.
For me, that can look like:
- Tight chest
- Sweaty, shaky hands
- Tunnel vision
- Feeling like I’m about to bolt or shut down
So you mix social anxiety (fear of being judged, seen, overwhelmed) with PTSD (old pain still living in my nervous system), and you get a pretty brutal combo.
Saying the Hard Thing Out Loud
Things didn’t get better just because I “tried harder.” In fact, the harder I tried to just push through it on my own, the worse I felt when I failed.
The turning point was when I finally stopped sugarcoating it and told the truth:
“I can’t do normal things without feeling like I’m going to fall apart.”
I said that to my doctors and my therapists.
I told them about the grocery store.
I told them about avoiding places.
I told them how I’d cancel plans because my anxiety got too loud.
That honesty opened the door for real help:
- Medication to help steady my nervous system
- Regular therapy to work on my thoughts, habits, and fears
- EMDR therapy to work directly with the trauma underneath everything
None of those things magically erased my anxiety. But they gave me a fighting chance.
EMDR: Working With the Wounds, Not Around Them
EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) has been a big part of my healing.
Here’s how it feels from my side of the couch:
- My therapist helps me focus on a memory, a feeling, or a situation that still “hooks” me.
- While I think about it, we use eye movements, tapping, or sound to help my brain process it differently.
- Over time, the sting of that memory starts to fade. It doesn’t vanish, but it doesn’t own me the way it used to.
What that’s done for me is lower the volume on certain triggers.
The same situations that used to send me straight into panic don’t slam me as hard now. I might still be uncomfortable, but I don’t feel like I’m going to lose control.
It’s like teaching my brain a new story:
“Yes, something bad happened in your past.
Yes, your body remembers that.
But right now, in this moment, you are safe.”
Learning to Live Again: Small Steps, Real Progress
My “recovery” from social anxiety hasn’t been one big heroic moment. It’s been a hundred small, quiet wins.
Stuff like:
- Walking into a store and staying long enough to grab a few things
- Making it through the checkout line even when my heart sped up
- Going to church and staying in the sanctuary instead of hiding in the back or leaving early
- Sitting through appointments instead of canceling them out of fear
Those victories might look small from the outside. But from the inside, they’re huge.
Every time I finished one of those tasks, I was proving something to myself:
“I can feel anxious and still show up.”
“I can be uncomfortable and still stay.”
What I Do When the Anxiety Hits
Just because things are better doesn’t mean I never struggle.
I still have days where my PTSD flares up. I still have moments in public where I feel that familiar wave rising in my chest. The difference now is: I don’t feel completely powerless.
Here are some of the tools I lean on:
1. Breathing Like It Matters
I slow my breathing down on purpose:
- In through my nose for a count of 4
- Hold for 4
- Out through my mouth for 6
I repeat it over and over. It sounds simple, but it helps convince my body, “You’re not in danger. You’re okay.”
2. Grounding Myself in the Present
I use little grounding tricks like:
- Naming things I can see around me
- Touching something solid (a cart, a bench, my keys)
- Feeling my feet on the floor
It gets me out of the spinning thoughts and back into the moment I’m actually in.
3. Giving Myself Permission
I remind myself: “You can leave if you have to.”
Just knowing I have an exit if things get too intense makes it easier to stay.
4. Leaning on People I Trust
Sometimes I’ll text or call someone and say, “Hey, I’m anxious, but I’m doing it.”
I don’t need a lecture—I just need someone to know I’m trying.
5. Using What I Learn in EMDR
When a trigger hits, I try to use the same mindset I use in EMDR:
“This feeling is from the past.
I’m not back there.
I’m here. Right now. And I’m safe.”
It doesn’t always make the anxiety disappear, but it helps it move through instead of taking over.
Where I Am Now
I’m not the guy stuck in the parking lot anymore.
These days, I can:
- Go to the grocery store and actually finish my shopping
- Show up to church and stay present through the service
- Go places I used to avoid
- Be around people without feeling like I’m going to explode on the inside every time
Do I still get waves of anxiety? Yep.
Does my PTSD still show up sometimes? Yep.
But now I have:
- Medication that supports me
- Therapists walking with me
- EMDR helping untangle the deeper stuff
- Tools I can reach for when my chest gets tight
The difference is, I’m living my life again—not just hiding from it.
If You See Yourself in This
If any of this sounds like your life—if you’ve canceled plans because your heart wouldn’t slow down, or if you’ve sat in your car trying to talk yourself into walking through a door—please hear this:
- You’re not weak.
- You’re not a failure.
- You’re not “too much” or “not enough.”
You’re a human being whose nervous system has been through some things.
Reaching out for help—meds, therapy, EMDR, support—is not a sign that you’re broken beyond repair. It’s a sign you’re still fighting.
If today all you can manage is a small step—a call, a text, walking into a store and grabbing one item—that counts.
Healing doesn’t always look loud or impressive. Sometimes it looks like this:
A person with shaking hands pushing a cart down an aisle…
who finishes their shopping anyway.
That’s courage.
That’s progress.
And if that’s you, I’m proud of you—even if we’ve never met.
You’re not alone in this.
—Josh Bridges
YOU {R} NOT ALONE YOU HAVE A VOICE! 