Conquering Social Anxiety: The Courage to Reach Out |
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Power, wealth, and success cannot protect against severe anxiety or shame.
What we fear most—honest self-disclosure—is often the very thing that heals us.
Profound relief sometimes begins with a single act of honesty.
“I can control markets, and I can control thousands of employees. But I can’t control myself.”
This is what I heard when I received a call from a wealthy and powerful man in New York who owned one of the companies listed on the New York Stock Exchange.
He was profoundly unhappy because he’d struggled with extreme social anxiety ever since childhood and had spent his life hiding it out of shame. The only time he felt calm was when he was running a board meeting at his company, because there, he was powerful, in control, and knew exactly what to do. In every other setting, he felt insecure, anxious, and miserable.
He said he had a beautiful wife and three wonderful children, but he was even anxious around them, terrified they’d notice how nervous and inadequate he felt. Family holidays were a nightmare. They lived in a huge house, and relatives would gather for Christmas, New Year’s, and other celebrations. And yet making small talk, relaxing, or simply being present with people filled him with dread.
He asked if I would treat him. He said he could fly to Philadelphia on his private jet anytime if I were willing to see him. I scheduled an extended three-hour session later that week so we could try to get a lot done all at once.
He arrived in a stretch limousine with bodyguards and handlers and parked directly in front of our somewhat humble Presbyterian Medical Center, which served a largely disadvantaged community. Two of his handlers stood at attention outside the vehicle while he came up alone to the fifth floor for his appointment.
After taking a brief history, I told him what I wanted him to do.
I said, “I want you to leave the hospital by yourself, walk two blocks to the underground train that many people in this neighborhood use, and get on. I want you to ride it for two hours.”
I continued, telling him to sit next to people—one person at a time—and say something like this:
"Do you mind if I talk with you for a minute? I’m an extremely wealthy and powerful man from New York, and I can have almost anything I want. But I’ve never found even one minute of happiness. I’ve had crippling shyness since I was a boy, and I’m deeply ashamed of it. I’m even anxious around my wife and children. I’m terrified right now, but I’ve decided to stop hiding and start telling people how I feel."
"Do you mind if I talk with you for a minute? I’m an extremely wealthy and powerful man from New York, and I can have almost anything I want. But I’ve never found even one minute of happiness. I’ve had crippling shyness since I was a boy, and I’m deeply ashamed of it. I’m even anxious around my wife and children. I’m terrified right now, but I’ve decided to stop hiding and start telling people how I feel."
I told him to talk with one person, then another, then another, for two full hours, and then return to my office.
As you might imagine, he protested. He said he absolutely could not do something so ridiculous and humiliating. He insisted it was impossible.
I said, “You walked into my office just fine. Your legs and feet are working perfectly, and you can walk to the subway and do this.”
He said he would not—under any circumstances.
I replied, “Okay. Here’s my bottom line. If you don’t want to do this, I won’t charge you for today’s session. You can get back in your limousine, fly home on your private jet with your bodyguards and handlers, and we’re done. This is nonnegotiable.”
He became visibly anxious and confused. He wasn’t accustomed to being confronted or not being in charge. After a long pause, he reluctantly agreed. I wished him luck and told him I’d be waiting and eager to hear what happened when he returned.
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Two hours later, he came back sobbing. He said they were among the most meaningful hours of his life.
He told me that the people on the train—many of whom had few resources and wore simple clothing—had enormous hearts. They listened. They encouraged him. They shared their own struggles and asked him to say more about himself. Several told him he was doing the right thing and urged him to keep going.
For the first time in his life, he said, he didn’t feel powerful or weak. He just felt human. He told me his social anxiety had vanished.
We completed our work that day. He returned to New York, and I never saw him again, except for a letter of gratitude.
I don’t remember his name, or even the company he owned. But I will never forget his courage, or his soul, or the lesson his journey taught me.
Water, water, everywhere...and he finally found a drop to drink!
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