I’m shy and I accept it
I’m starting to see that approaching from presence feels daunting for one simple reason:
I make every interaction mean something about me.
If someone reacts negatively, it becomes:
Proof that I’m defective.
And this isn’t just with women.
Today proved that.
The Coffee Shop Interaction :
I was studying Chinese in an underground coffee shop. Two girls were nearby ordering pizza. They sat close to my table.
I hesitated. Fear immediately surged through my body.
But I turned to them and said, “Hey.”
They looked at me weird. Like, What does this guy want?
I could feel their confusion.
In reaction to that I said, “I know this is a bit random, but I think you’re really cute.”
She said, “Oh, thank you so much. I have a boyfriend.”
And that was it. They left shortly after.
Objectively? Totally normal interaction.
But what happened inside me is what matters.
Right after, I tried to drink my coffee — and my hands were shaking so badly I spilled it all over the table. I literally couldn’t hold the cup straight. My heart was pounding. My body was in full activation.
That’s when I realized two important things:
1. I cannot speak and stay in my body at the same time when I’m that afraid.
When I talked, I had to go into my head. If I stayed fully present in my body, I would freeze. I was petrified.
2. I personalize their reaction instantly.
Instead of thinking, “Maybe she’s shy. Maybe she’s not sociable. Maybe she was caught off guard. Maybe she genuinely has a boyfriend. Maybe it has nothing to do with me.”
My mind goes to:
That reaction means something about you.
But why is saying hi weird? It’s not inherently weird. It’s neutral. It just is.
The meaning is what I add.
The Metro Freeze :
Later in the metro, I had another moment.
I thought, What if I just say hi to this person sitting next to me?
I couldn’t.
I was completely frozen.
My mind immediately went:
“If you say hi, they’ll think you’re weird. Who randomly says hi in the metro? Nobody does that. That’s strange. You’re strange.”
Then I imagined the scenario:
I say hi.
They look at me awkwardly.
Now I created a weird moment.
It’s my fault.
I’m the problem.
And I just sat there. Petrified.
Not even able to say hello to another human being.
That’s when it hit me how deep this runs. This isn’t about women. It’s about associating my worth with reactions.
Small Wins :
I didn’t approach that specific person.
But later, on the escalator leaving the metro, I turned to someone and said, “Hi.”
I couldn’t even stay present for the full second it took to say it. I dissociated slightly because I was so afraid of their reaction.
Walking home, I saw another guy. I looked him in the eyes and said, “Hi.”
This time I was maybe one millisecond more present.
Immediately my mind attacked:
“That was weird. Now he thinks you’re strange. Who just says hi and walks away? That’s awkward. That’s bizarre.”
But here’s what I’m starting to understand:
That voice isn’t evil.
It’s protective.
Its function is to keep me safe by preventing social danger. It wants to make sure I’m never perceived as “bad” — because somewhere deep inside, being seen as bad feels catastrophic.
So it hyper-calibrates me.
It makes me vigilant.
It pushes me to master psychology, body language, influence — not to connect, but to control perception.
To avoid danger.
The Real Issue :
I’ve been going straight for high-intensity situations — very attractive women, high stakes — while ignoring the fact that my nervous system is overloaded.
Sometimes I can access presence. Sometimes I get insights. But often it’s too much. I shut down.
I think I’ve been skipping steps.
Maybe the real work right now isn’t “get the hot girl.”
Maybe it’s:
Talk to anyone.
Say hi to anyone.
Stay present for one second longer than last time.
Let the awkwardness exist.
Let the self-attack run — and don’t fuse with it.
Gradual exposure.
Working with where I actually am.
The Biggest Shift :
Detachment, for me, isn’t about not wanting outcomes.
I can want connection. I can want attraction. I can want intimacy.
But I must detach my self-worth from how people react.
That’s the real attachment.
Because as long as my worth depends on reactions, I will always need control. And I will never feel enough.
Today was uncomfortable. Shaky hands. Spilled coffee. Frozen body. Self-attack.
But it was honest.
And for the first time, I feel like I’m not trying to skip over my shyness. That feels like real courage.
I’m working with it and will support myself through this.
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I’m shy and I accept it
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