Performance anxiety? Body issues? What's the real problem here?

It's interesting how doing therapy can teach you so much about yourself and how poorly you practice the principles you teach your clients. There are many things that I need to work on to be a better human, but for now, I will share one new nugget of self-discovery...

I am not comfortable in my own body. 

It's not a body image issue; it's a social issue. I slouch all the time. I can't use as much space as other people. I'm really uncomfortable dancing in casual settings. I'm most comfortable in baggy sweatshirts. I can't call out to people when I see them walking by on campus for fear of not yelling loud enough and drawing attention to my inability to raise my voice. I can't freaking project when an acting teacher or director tells me to speak louder. I can't even raise my voice when I'm doing therapy with a group of rowdy kids. And then the staff look at me with these sympathetic eyes, and yell at the kids to pay attention to this timid-looking intern who can't speak loud enough for a group.

When I was in middle school, my social anxiety was so severe that I was afraid of getting up to sharpen my pencil. I would imagine everything that could go wrong (e.g., "What if I trip?"  "What if I drop my pencil and I have to bend over to pick it up?" "What if I forget how to use a sharpener when I get there and I have to ask someone for help?" "What if I suddenly get a wedgie while I'm walking up to sharpen my pencil and somehow that wedgie is noticeable through my pants and then someone notices it and makes fun of me and then the whole class laughs at me and then I become wedgie girl for the rest of my life?"). I'm not even exaggerating.

So it's strange that I went into theatre OR that I went into a field that requires a lot of social interaction. 

One time, I was in a mask club, and I was told that I needed to yell at another character in a more believable way. The director was really reasonable, other cast members were encouraging, and the cast member who was the object of my character's anger was trying to provoke me into yelling at him (I think his method was the worst motivator for me).

I tried again. Again, they said I needed to yell louder. I yelled louder. They still didn't believe it. I put what I thought was everything into my next attempt. It wasn't enough, and then people started getting impatient. My director (and dear friend) kindly explained to me how to be angry and yell convincingly as best she could. 

Then the tears came. I can't remember if they actually made it out of my eyelids, but the room fell silent and my friends looked awkwardly from me to each other and then to the floor. It was so embarrassing. My director friend was merciful enough to let us have a break so I could compose myself.

While yelling (or dancing) in general is hard for me, I think what pushed me over the edge was that social pressure. I started to feel like I was walking up to a pencil sharpener with a visible wedgie. 

Even if I don't have to yell at people for a living, I've noticed that my tendency to hide is still an issue in everyday life. It's an issue with the manipulative group of kids I work with. They see my quiet, self-contained demeanor as an opportunity to manipulate me. The other therapists have told me to somehow prove to the kids that they can't pull the wool over my eyes. I just don't know how to change my physicality to reflect that. I'm not afraid of contradicting people or giving kids consequences for bad behavior--I'm just uncomfortable using my body in a way that makes me look assertive.

Does that even make sense?

I feel like I missed an opportunity to grow out of this during my undergrad. I had more performance opportunities than most people, and I was surrounded by weirdos who perfectly modeled how to be at ease in one's own skin. 

Does anyone know of an improv group? Maybe exposure therapy is what I need.

I saw this painting at the Springville art museum the other day. I feel like it reveals the contrived nature of theatre while still preserving the magic and potential felt backstage. It gave me chills. 

I also saw this painting and laughed out loud at the description. I really hope the artist was trying to be funny--especially with this guy's melodramatic pose and his chic moose sweater. Either way, it's still a cool, pixely image.