Exhale #22: the most embarrassing moment of my life

First off, I want to share with you a couple podcasts that I did recently:

• My wife, Adee, and I recorded an episode talking about what we learned from a lecture series called “Living from a place of surrender.” This series created a spiritual experience for both of us.

• My friend, JP Sears, had me on his show to talk about radical responsibility, leadership, productivity and more.

Now I want to tell you about one of the shittiest experiences of my life…

Trying to avoid embarrassing myself, I created the most embarrassing experience of my life.

It was the first time in my life that I noticed the feeling of anxiety. And that was only the beginning. I became so anxious that I couldn’t sleep for months leading up to and after this event.

It was the beginning of a quest to find answers to questions like:

• Why do some people not seem to care what others think?

• Why are some of us so uptight while others seem so wild and free?

• Why wasn’t I one of those people?

Along the way I’ve realized that social anxiety is part of the human condition. We ALL experience it, whether it be a nervousness or self-judgement in social settings or fear of public speaking, singing or dancing.

That’s where it all started for me. Dancing.

Another one bites the dust

In April, 2008 I entered my second drug treatment center. We did therapy full time and then had school and other activities to fill in the remaining time during the week. 

One of those activities was dance class. When I got there the boys were about to start preparing for a co-ed talent show. 

On my first day of dance class I was told that we were going to do a dance to “Another one bites the dust” at the talent show.

Oh hell no. The ONLY way I danced was with women that were “Backin that ass up.” 

There was no chance I was going to do that. I refused to try the dance. 

Later that day the boys called me out in our group therapy session.They asked me what was up. I lied and just said, “I don’t dance.”

I was hiding the fact that I was deathly afraid of what looking silly dancing (even though they were all doing it). 

I was even more afraid of the thought of performing the dance publicly, in front of GIRLS!!!! Holy shit, all of a sudden I was terrified of women. Either that or I just no longer had drugs to cover it up.

Over the next couple months the boys practiced weekly. Not me. 

They made me talk about it in group and individual therapy.

On one occasion my therapist had me lie down on my back in his office. He led me through a guided visualization. He asked me to visualize myself dancing at the talent show and tuning into the sensations in my body. 

Lots of tension. 

Then he led me through Progressive Muscle Relaxation, “Squeeze your feet, now relax, squeeze your calves, now relax, breeeathe, squeeze your quads, now relax, etc” with the intention of helping me let go of some of the tension when I thought of dancing at the talent show.

The point is that this became a big deal, and I talked about and worked on it A LOT. It consumed so much of my thoughts that I couldn’t sleep more than a few hours a night for months. I’m not exaggerating. I started taking Melatonin during this time.

I finally got to the point where I could bare to practice dancing with the boys. And to my surprise it wasn’t as scary as I made it out to be.

The day of the talent show finally came, and I had promised the boys and my therapists that I would do the dance.

The show opened and the girls did their performance.

Then the host called us up. As all of the boys around me stood up and started jogging or walking over to the stage, my body wouldn’t move. My chest was in knots. Heart rate pumping.

I wasn’t going to do it.

One of the guys noticed that I wasn’t moving and he grabbed one of my arms to pull me up.

Part of me screamed, “Get up there! It won’t be that bad. No one cares what you look like up there!” This part of me longed to just get up there with them and have fun. Longed to have the courage to face my fears.

But I didn’t budge, and my face and chest burned with embarrassment immediately.

He started yelling at me to get up there. 

In seconds the entire group was yelling my name, “Mike! Mike! Mike!” This was the most embarrassing moment of my life. It couldn’t get worse than this.

And then the entire audience. All eyes on me, yelling “Mike! Mike! Mike! Mike!” It got worse.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. Eventually, it subsided and the boys did their dance without me.

The pain of that experience motivated me to figure out how to never feel that way again. Here are some of the things I’ve learned since then:

Talking about it helps

Because it lets me see that usually, people aren’t thinking the things about me that I worry they are. Sometimes they are, but finding that out is never as bad as it seems in my head.

Everyone has it

Sharing my insecurities with others has given them permission to share theirs with me. And every single person I’ve ever talked to about this has their own.

• All of my friends

• All of my family members

• People with millions of dollars or millions of Instagram followers

• People that are seen as THE best in their field

• Even the people that I thought couldn’t possibly have it

You can become wild and free through osmosis

By spending time with musicians I’ve developed the courage to sing. By spending time with people that dance on a whim I’ve developed the courage to dance. By being around people that are willing to risk looking foolish, I’ve developed the willingness to look foolish.

I’ve learned that by simply surrounding myself with people that are wild and free I become more wild and free.

It’s ok to look like a fool

Those people have also taught me that the willingness to look like a fool, the courage to be silly is actually what is so cool about them. 

You don’t have to be any good at dancing to look cool as hell. 

You just have to get out of your head momentarily, feel the music and dance freely. 

And if you look like you don’t know what you’re doing, but you’re doing it anyway you look fucking cool. Especially if you can laugh at yourself.

Accepting myself is the key

In the past, I would shame myself for being so weak. I would judge myself for having those thoughts and feelings. I would try my best to aggressively push them out of my mind. That did nothing but make me feel worse.

Now I’m learning to do the opposite. 

Instead of pushing those thoughts out of my head, I try my best to welcome them and remind myself that it is totally normal and that everyone has them. 

By embracing that part of myself, I make it feel safe. When I feel safe the volume on those negative thoughts is turned way down or completely muted.

Since the day I refused to dance at the talent show, I’ve become one of those wild and free people I looked up to so much. It’s different than I imagined. The anxiety hasn’t gone away, but it’s ability to paralyze me has.