During my time at school in the early 2010s, I struggled deeply with social situations. I often spent nights lying awake, dreading the upcoming day and obsessively overthinking future interactions. At the time, I didn’t realize I was experiencing social anxiety, dismissing my intense discomfort as mere nerves. For several years, I managed to mask this struggle, often hiding behind my twin sister, who possessed the social confidence I felt I lacked. By my late teens, this insecurity grew into an unbearable burden, leading me to isolate myself to avoid the perceived humiliation of social blunders. Social confidence was not my strong suit, a s with a lot of teenagers. What I now know to be social anxiety I dismissed as just nerves at that young age. For most of my early teens I managed to disguise my discomfort, although I knew something wasn’t quite right. Sharing a friendship group with my twin sister meant I could hide behind my sibling. The disparity started to grow and her flourishing social confidence magnified my lack of it, as we got older. The false narrative I’d created of embarrassing myself socially had begun to completely overshadow my desire to be around other people. She was phenomenal and talked me through a lot of emotions that I didn’t really understand.
My mother eventually helped me find a therapist, who provided the guidance I needed to understand my emotional patterns. Toward the end of our sessions, as we prepared for me to navigate the world independently, I shared my typical, spiraling fears about the future. When I worried that I might make a fool of myself, my therapist challenged me with two questions: “What’s the worst thing that could happen?” and “And then what?” All that was left to do was for me to go out into the world and put into practice everything we had discussed, when the end of my therapy sessions neared and we had spoken as much as we could.
I admitted my fear of embarrassment, but when she asked what would follow that, I realized my only inevitable consequence would be going home to bed. She pointed out that I would simply wake up the next day and start fresh. This realization grounded me, shifting my perspective on the catastrophic scenarios my mind had invented. These two questions became a mental anchor, helping me move past the paralysis of “what ifs” that previously controlled my life.
The power of this technique became clear during my first day of university. I had to introduce myself to a room of strangers, a task that once would have felt like a nightmare. Instead of spiraling, I reminded myself that even if I embarrassed myself, the worst-case scenario was merely going home at the end of the day. I survived the moment without incident, eventually graduating with a first-class degree three years later. Similarly, this approach transformed my dating life; instead of feeling physically ill or relying on alcohol to cope, I could approach dates with a calm mindset, knowing I had the option to simply return home afterward.
These practices have remained essential tools for me, even years later. Whether facing a high-pressure job interview or moving halfway across the world from the UK to Australia with my partner, these questions have consistently helped me manage my anxiety. Today, even minor triggers—like running into an old acquaintance at the store—are manageable. By asking myself “What is the worst that could happen?” and “And then what?”, I can silence my internal alarm bells and remain grounded in reality.
