This week, I am attending a library professional conference. Specifically, it is for librarians who are involved with community outreach and bookmobiles. Leading up to heading here, I was all excitement. I’m even presenting about one of my library’s projects on Thursday. I still am excited for sessions to get started this morning. The people I’ve met so far have been very friendly, but as the newness dust settles, predictably the anxiety sets in.

There is the complete change in my routine and being in an unfamiliar place. There is being away from my partner and animals for several days (cue: separation anxiety). There is not knowing a soul here in advance. Despite my excitement and gratefulness for being here, plus my responsibilities as a presenter, I feel such a strong urge to just get in my car and drive the 2.5 hours back home. I’m not going to, but the urge is definitely there.

I can’t help but notice how this feels different than attending the International OCD Foundation’s Annual OCD Conference (OCDcon). Sure, I was terrified the first time I attended OCDcon too. It’s taken years of practice and building friendships to create such a high level of comfort. But that anxiety is expected. It’s even welcomed. That makes the discomfort not so uncomfortable.

I feel much more alone in my anxiety here, even though I know that isn’t true. I guarantee there are others here who are anxious. But when anxiety isn’t openly spoken and asked about, or heck the main topic of the conference, it feels more lonely. Sure, that loneliness is just an illusion, but that doesn’t make the feelings go away. It’s easier at this conference to close off. It’s easier to slink away back to my room. And if I get stuck, there’s no room brigade of therapists and volunteers to come get me, like there is at OCDcon.

Again, I’m not going to do that. I keep putting myself out there, sitting with new people, introducing myself, and engaging to learn from these fellow professionals. With time, I will get more comfortable in this uncomfortable situation. I always do; it just takes time. I’ve been through enough treatment to know I am strong and can push myself through anxiety. I have to, or I would never leave my house.

But that doesn’t mean it’s not a lot. And that doesn’t mean it’s not difficult. Continually facing anxiety head-on is exhausting, to say the least. It’s mentally and physically draining, and when I get home Thursday evening, I will need time to introvert, pet my animals, and recalibrate. And I will still take breaks during the conference, to rest and recuperate. I know that is important, as opposed to forcing myself to face anxiety every hour of the day.

That said, the opposite action for loneliness is contact and connection. So, I will also keep attending sessions, having conversations with new people, and asking questions, but maybe next time I will also mention that I’m anxious being at this conference, instead of completely masking that I’m calm. Maybe that will give someone else permission to share that they feel anxious too, and then neither of us will feel quite so alone.

Morgan