All the world's a stage

My daughter climbed in bed with me the other morning. So nice to know my seventeen year old still feels comfortable doing that. I started chatting and became quite animated about something and she said. ‘Are you sure you have selective mutism (SM)?’, jokingly.

She understands SM. All my children do — now. But my baby (the seventeen year old) is with me most often these days and when we are out and about (like at the shops) she sees me talking to people. Recently, she has questioned me about my sm. ‘You seem to talk to people just fine’, she says. We often chat about her day at school and the dilemmas and challenges she experiences whilst navigating the whole social realm at school. ‘I try, I practice’, I tell her.

It’s true. I do (or I can) talk to people just fine. But its kind of an act. It often takes effort and when prolonged can (and does) cause discomfort, exhaust me, deplete me. My baby sees me talk most easily with strangers / neutral folk, like someone at a bus stop, the clerk at the grocery store, the doctor or chemist, her dance teacher when I drop off and pick up. Sometimes she will witness me chatting to one of the school parents briefly.

We all wear masks at certain times, in certain situations. My efforts to talk to people have, for a long time, been driven by determination. Determination to be a good role model for my children. Determination to plough through the discomfort and fear and participate in verbal exchange with other human beings. I have always feared that my children would pick up on my awkwardness around people, my lack of social skills and that they would rub off on them.

These days I adopt a fake it til you make it approach. I figure with practice, pushing myself to talk a little bit when opportunities present is a positive strategy. Perhaps one day talking to people will become second nature, like driving a manual car does with regular practice. Persistence and practice.

So while I may appear cool, calm and collected on the surface, the undercurrent of fear and anxiety I experienced in childhood remains, just beneath the surface. I have simply spent many years perfecting the art of social performance. So that I can at least appear ‘normal’ and set a good example for my children.

Even so, despite my constant efforts, I find that some of the rules that applied as a school kid remain in place. I still avoid talking to people for too long. I avoid situations in which people may want to talk beyond a two minute chat. I am still uncomfortable when one on one suddenly becomes three or more. I panic when I sense someone becoming friendly. ‘Oh god no’, I think, ‘please don’t get the wrong idea. Please do not invite me for coffee. I don’t do friends’. These residual limitations remain. I don’t crumble as easily as I did when I was a kid though. I’m an adult now. I have more control over situations. I’m not stuck in school being forced to speak when I am terrified of doing so. I have the option to leave a situation that I find is becoming overwhelming. A recent parent teacher information night comes to mind. The parents were all sat in a circle and invited to ask questions and share ideas. I stayed, but I really struggled. The questions I did have went home with me, un-asked and I made a time to see the teacher later on.

Acting only gets you so far. In reality, life, society requires us to communicate in a certain way. If you don’t fit that mold, you can be at a disadvantage. I spent most of my adult life feeling a looser because I couldn’t seem to hold down a job for more than a few months. My alcohol dependence played a part in this but typically, at the root of it all was the fact that I didn’t fit the workplace structure. The open plan office was a nightmare. Great for some, ‘works well for the business, ideal set up’, my new employer would say showing me around on my first day. Meanwhile I would be wondering what was wrong with partitions, or wondering if that far off desk in the corner was up for grabs. Quiet environments (where my voice would be easily heard) were no good. So much for inclusion in the work place. Then there was the awkwardness of lunch breaks and staff rooms. I won’t even go there.

At least I addressed the work issue. Two years ago, with improved clarity around my sm and my particular needs I created my own job. My partner encouraged me to take my pies to a weekly market (where he served mostly, and I took care of food prep). This evolved within six months to a business I operate from home and is a good fit for me. I have minimal (and brief) contact with customers and it is growing steadily and provides me with a sense of achievement, succcess even.

Understanding how SM affects me has allowed me to navigate my way through life (and work) appropriately for me. I do push myself (on a good day) to talk to people, to endure the discomfort a little longer. I am mindful of my limitations and capacity when it comes to talking to people. But I’m also finding an ever increasing element of enjoyment. Not only am I the actor, but the director and producer to a degree. Being creative, playful, deviating from the script, improvising can actually be fun.