Page 6 of Dance with Me on New Year's Eve

Roxy:I’m fine. Ish.

Roxy:Actually, no. I’m not fine. Hazel just dropped the bomb that I have to work with Jeff the Jerk on a huge project!

Julia:Ohhhh, that accountant guy?

Roxy:Financial advisor, but yeah. Him. He’s the worst

Julia:Ugh, Rox, well you can vent to me anytime <3

Julia:Do anything fun today?

Roxy:Does banging out a 5-paragraph essay onCast Afaron a casual discussion forum count?

Julia:LOL! For us, yes

Roxy:Why oh why can’t I have that kind of ease andconfidence communicating with people in real life? It’s like I’m not even shy on the internet

Julia:Preaching to the choir, girl. I remember that first message board I introduced you to in college. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought you were a really outgoing person…

Roxy:Right? NO ONE from real life would ever believe SawyerRox4 is the shy mouse who can barely hold even an easy conversation with someone she knows.

Why was I this way? I had considered a million theories, such as genetics, parental influence, and even ADHD. Bad choices, even. But they never quite added up.

You’d think that I, as a former therapist, would be able to easily pin down the source of something as relatively common as social anxiety. But self-assessment wasn’t easy—even for the experts. And honestly, I hadn’t lasted long in the counseling field. It was hard to believe I’d ever thought I could work as a mental health professional. Not only did the profession require strong people skills, but the emotional fortitude and resilience necessary were far beyond what I possessed.

I sat back on the couch with my water bottle and a blueberry muffin and wondered why Julia was taking so long to respond. Letting out a long exhale, I propped my feet up on the coffee table and leaned my head back. What a day. Leaving my house to interact with people was nearly always exhausting, but today was brutal.

Julia:Sorry, gtg

Weird, she didn’t usually drop from conversations abruptly like that. Oh well. My eyes veered over to the open laptop next to me on the couch, but before I hauled it onto my lap, I remembered I should fire off a goodbye text to Julia, lest she worry about our friendship.

I finished the last of mymuffin and brushed the sticky crumbs off my lap. My eyes lazily scanned over the new topics posted today, and a ping sounded from my laptop speakers. Eager to avoid this restless feeling creeping in, I clicked over to see the new message.

IslandedHere:Hello? I saw you posting something on the board. Didn’t you see my message?

Roxy:Sorry, no thanks. I’m not really into online meetings.

A strange response, for sure, but what else could I say? I’d already tried using the excuses that I didn’t like Zoom, that my speakers didn’t work, that I was busy at the meeting time, and a few others. Yet she still kept asking, apparently determined to have me join the discussion group. And if it were a text chat thing, I probably would’ve. Gladly. But I can’t do video chats. Iwon’t. At least not willingly. The one time I’d joined an online event that IslandedHere hosted a few months ago, she hassled everyone to turn on their cameras, and I’d had to bail early.

It wasn’t really a physical insecurity that I could pin down. I mean, sure, I have physical flaws like anyone, surely more than most people, but it wasn’t the reason for my debilitating shyness. I wasn’t entirely sure why, as it didn’t seem genetic in my family. In any case, my anxiety wasn’t about appearance so much as … well, I just didn’t want people to see me talk. Audio-only chat wasn’t my favorite either, but it was better than being on camera.

You’re really messed up.

I clenched my jaw, wishing I could silence the inner doubts that plagued me constantly. At least I’d managed to arrange my life so I could mostly avoid social interactions or, really, almost all in-person interactions. It worked for me.

Well, itused towork for me. Until Hazel dropped the bomb today. Now I was going to have to somehow work with the most difficult man I’d ever met. Hopefullyhepreferred text chat over other kinds of communication too.

Chapter 3

As I settled into my evening routine on the couch the next night, I wished I’d retrieved an ice pack for my sore jaw. I often wasn’t aware of clenching or grinding my teeth when stressed—despite my recent New Year’s resolution to stop clenching—but even I noticed it today, a day that turned out to be even worse than yesterday. Putting my feet with pink and blue slippers up on the couch as I opened my laptop, I decided not to grab the ice pack from the kitchen. It seemed like too much effort, along with closing the blinds to the darkness of the town square outside my window. Maybe later.

Just as I was poised to click on my favorite app, I realized I hadn’t had time to check my personal email all day.

I should.

I didn’t want to.

But what if it’s important?

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