During my last week of summer classes, a professor got so overwhelmed listening to me talk that she stopped time class early so she could go for a walk and get some tea.

Logic might say it could have been a long day, or any other number of factors not obvious to onlookers. However, the anxiety monologues insisted until 4am the next morning: “I'm officially so intense people are resorting to self-care to deal. I should never actually ever talk again. Ever.”

It's an overreaction, and it doesn't make a lot of sense. Welcome to the world of anxiety.

How is it possible that seemingly outgoing, extroverted, or even "confidant" people have social anxiety?

Anxiety isn't the same as quietness, or even shyness - it's about the constant "white noise" of worry about what you're doing or what other people are thinking, and the panic before, during, and after a social encounter.

Personally, I worry about everyone and everything. No one is an exception. I find it impossible to say anything without regretting it and wanting to physically run and hide. Yet, I'm friendly, loquacious, and often times, by all outward appearances, one of the most outgoing people you'll meet. (I pity the world's mind readers – my inner dialogue is a million mile race at 175mph).

Any socially anxious person will tell you: every social experienced is nuanced, and difficult not to overanalyze. It’s always with what you say, how you make eye contact, how you respond, if you said something in a weird inflection, if you're coming across the wrong way, if you did something wrong. Everything’s fine until the talking starts.

It doesn't matter how innocuous or inconspicuous whatever I say or did was, or how perfectly appropriate it was or felt at the time, it always comes back for an instant replay that is utterly unforgiving.

In this playback, I end up convinced I launched into buoyant, intense, minimal-filter, high-energy monologues (a self-belief that has been actively contradicted by friends and family as untrue, and yet). It could have been perfectly normal small talk, or maybe I did say something weird, but ultimately, the addictive “friendliness” outgoing people enjoy can be toxic when the aftertaste is socially anxious.

If you're a sufferer and a people-person, you have a great time until you walk out the door - or, just as often, you can be brushing your teeth in silence two weeks later and suddenly have an awkward interaction with a random cashier tumble back into your thoughts for a mid-brush full-body cringe.

I'm super outgoing, most of the time. I say hello, enjoy thoughtful conversations, and put a great deal of effort into being kind and engaging when I have to talk. Still, I sometimes forget that not everyone is intense and loud as my family, or as fast as the inner "anxiety" voice that keeps me fast-talking, fast-moving, and fast-thinking. Incidentally, I also forget how much I cognitively exhaust people who aren't.

Sadly, people with flaws (or insecurities, depending on your perspective) become exceptionally self-conscious (which creates awkwardness to worry over later), and doggedly self-regulate (which creates overcompensation that creates more awkwardness to worry over later).

So what does holding back too much look like?

In classes, I try not to talk for as long as humanly possible. The day will stretch out with dead silence. Eventually the professors they think they're sifting through the quiet kids by asking me a direct question. --- and then they are so, so unprepared.

I go full Brittany:

In a post-word vomit afternoon, I leave a class that has heard me say way too much for way too long and the anxiety dial turns right up. It's something I think of as a constant hum in the background, but there's a vast spectrum between "crippling" and "tolerable". On full blast, it sounds something like this: “I did the thing YET AGAIN. Why can't you say something simply? Did I say too much? Why did I talk? Why did I make eye contact? Now I must not talk again for as long as possible. Shut up shut up shut up- STOP TALKING."

Hello, cycle.

Anxiety leaves people taking preventative avoidance measures in almost all its forms. Socially, however, those avoidance behaviors turn into a roundabout that only makes the difficulty of inevitable everyday encounters grow and sometimes, creates the panic attack-inducing situations in the first place.

Our outgoing side says, "tune in and engage!" Our anxious side says, "by speaking at all, you've done a horrible thing." It's a broken record, and there's no turning it off.

Perhaps self-consciousness distorts and I'm just naturally irrational. Other times, my theory is that the level of anxiety I deal with is just a restless mind that needs stimulation - but can't find anything that depletes that waiting energy.

Personally, I'm a kid in a candy store when I find people that can actually talk at that level and "play ball" without becoming overwhelmed. Unkind inner voices starts to say, “They're too cool for me and I can't talk because I'm afraid of looking stupid, and ruining any positive impression I just made. ‘Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt.’ I like them so much, I think they liked me, I now have to avoid them forever.” ...Right?

If you break down the conditions, however, you realize this: anxiety is full of paradoxes. Fear of social interactions in general is relative, conditional, and manifests no matter the situation.

At the end of the day, that anxiety is restlessness. It is unfair. It is a liar. Most of all, it holds you back.

My advice? Keep your mind busy. Work out the irrationality of those thoughts like a math problem, and do what you need to do to get through the day. Surround yourself with people who reassure you, but also learn to self-validate and rationally counter your irrational thoughts.

Personally, I stay occupied. You know the kid that's always bouncing off the walls, hooked on sugar? That's my brain.

So I cope with social anxiety by staying so busy, I don’t have time to overthink every interaction I have because I'm onto the next one so fast. At night, I'm so exhausted, I don't have time to worry myself into insomnia - and I actually get a solid 6-7 hours.

At times, it exhausts me and turns me into a constantly running workaholic recluse – but that keeps away depression. Most helpfully, it quiets some of the overthinking.

Anxiety sufferers aren’t always obvious. At times, it is those who seem the most uninhibited --- ambitious, driven, fast-paced, always moving, always talking, always upbeat --- who are most controlled by it.

If we've ever talked for three seconds, I probably worried about it for three days. I might cringe upon remembering it late at night three years later, when insomnia strikes. That’s a switch that doesn’t “turn off” or go away. Because it is so constant, it becomes easier to mask as time goes on. Many of us have to make sacrifices to get through our days, and what that looks like is different for every person.

For those that can’t relate, compassion for the challenges we can’t see in others, and a little forgiveness for “awkward moments” goes a long way.

For those that relate all too well, what can you do? You experiment. You reach out. You forgive yourself, even if you rationally need no forgiveness. You figure out what works for you.

The philosophy of my own mind is a little tragic, but it comes from knowing myself, and building a life within a difficult, chronic mental health experience: Entertain the puppy or it destroys the house. And sometimes you fall asleep and wake up to a disaster anyway.

Don't make assumptions. Everyone's got something going on that you have no idea about, and if you're struggling, you might be surprised who can empathize with you from personal experience. Take head of what's comforting about Jared Padalecki's AKF campaign: Always Keep Fighting. Love Yourself First. You are enough. You are not alone.