"That guy is seriously socially awkward." The story of when I was called a "wall"

Introduction: My nickname was "Wall"

Company or club drinking parties. That space where many people laugh and talk happily.
For me, it was always an away game, a place that made me painfully aware of my loneliness.

Telling interesting stories at the center of the circle was a dream within a dream.
Unable to offer a witty response to anyone's stories, I would always grip my glass in the corner of the room, blending in with the wall. Even if someone spoke to me, I would end the conversation in a word or two. Before long, no one would talk to me anymore, and I would just become a part of the scenery, existing only there.

Before I knew it, my nickname became "Wall."
"Kenta, you're like a wall, aren't you?"
Those words, spoken without malice, pierced my heart with precision.

"Socially awkward"

This convenient term was my self-introduction and an excuse that justified all my failures. It's okay that I can't talk, it's okay that I don't have friends, it's okay that I can't have a romantic relationship. After all, I am "socially awkward."

But was that really the case? Was I born a person who couldn't talk to others?
When I seriously began to wish to change myself, I decided to open the door to a dark past that I had locked away in the depths of my memory, in order to find the root of this cursed spell.

Original experience: My childhood spent holding my breath in the corner of the classroom

I think my history of being "socially awkward" began as far back as I can remember.

When I was in elementary school, I was just terrified of standing out. What if I raised my hand in class and gave the wrong answer? What if everyone laughed at me? That fear kept my mouth tightly shut. During reading aloud in Japanese class, my heart would pound and my voice would tremble as my turn approached.

During recess, I was always alone. I couldn't join the dodgeball circle, so I would escape into the world of books I borrowed from the library in the corner of the classroom. That was the only safe place for me. Sometimes, kind children would call out to me, saying, "Kenta-kun, let's play together," but I would brush their hands away, saying, "U-um... but, I'm reading a book..." Even though I really wanted to play with them. I had no idea how to behave once I entered the circle.

When I became a middle school student, the situation worsened. The group mentality unique to adolescence. The class was divided into several popular groups and the rest of the crowd. I, of course, was positioned at the very bottom of the "rest of the crowd."

Group work time was hell. The moment the teacher said, "Okay, make groups of four," people would pull away from around me like the parting of the Red Sea. No one would invite me. I always ended up in an awkward group with the other leftovers.

Around that time, the evaluation of me from those around me changed from "a quiet kid" to "a gloomy kid" or "a kid you don't know what they're thinking." No one talked to me, and I didn't talk to anyone either. I protected myself from getting hurt by becoming an invisible person.

The decisive word: The failure of my college debut and the brand called "socially awkward"

When I graduated from high school and left my hometown to enter university, I seriously thought I would change.
"College debut"
With these words in my heart, I vowed to become a new me. I bought slightly brighter clothes and styled my hair with wax.

However, nothing had changed at the root.

The freshman welcome party right after enrollment.
In the noisy bustle of the izakaya, I was completely isolated.
Around me, people were excited talking about their hometowns and clubs. I wanted to join that circle too. But I had no idea when or what I should say.

I stood by the wall and just kept drinking oolong tea.
"U-um..."
The moment I gathered my courage to try and speak to a group talking nearby, their conversation moved on to another topic, and I swallowed my words again. I repeated that many times.

Perhaps out of pity, one senior student spoke to me.
"What department are you in? Where are you from?"
"Oh, I'm in the Faculty of Engineering. I came from XX Prefecture."
"Oh, I see. I have a friend from XX too. Nice to meet you!"
"Y-yes. Nice to meet you too..."

And with that, the conversation ended.
If I had asked a follow-up question, maybe the conversation would have continued. But at that moment, I didn't have the capacity for that.

Then, on the way home from that drinking party.
The conversation of a group from the same circle walking a little ahead of me reached my ears. It was a cursed phrase that would define my life.

"That guy Kenta we were talking about earlier, he's seriously socially awkward, right?"
"I know. He barely reacts when you talk to him, and you never know what he's thinking."
"I'm sure he doesn't mean any harm, but honestly, isn't it boring to be around him?"
"He was basically blending into the wall, that guy."

It was a shock, like being hit in the head with a blunt object.
So, that's what they really thought of me.
I had received the very evaluation I feared most.

From that day on, "socially awkward" became an undeniable fact for me. I took the label others had placed on me and carved it deep, deep into the very center of my heart myself.

The "self-indulgence" and "safe zone" called being "socially awkward"

Strangely enough, once I accepted that "I am socially awkward," things became a little easier.
It was a twisted sense of relief, akin to resignation.

When invited to a drinking party, I could decline by saying, "I'm socially awkward, so I wouldn't be any fun if I went..."
If a conversation didn't continue, I could comfort myself by saying, "It can't be helped, I'm socially awkward."
Even if I couldn't make friends or get a girlfriend, I could push all the blame onto that one thing: "Well, because I'm socially awkward."

The term "socially awkward" became the perfect excuse for me.
It was a convenient tool to justify my lack of effort, and an ironclad "safe zone" to keep me from getting hurt by interacting with people any further.

I retreated into that safe zone and avoided deep involvement with others. In exchange for not getting hurt, I gained nothing. No joy, no sorrow, no growth. Just lonely days like living in a sterile room where time simply passed by. That occupied most of my twenties.

The first step to breaking the curse: The light brought by self-improvement

But deep down, I had been screaming all along.
"I actually want to connect with people."
"I actually want to be recognized by someone."
"I actually want to be in a relationship."

What made me realize that true feeling was the beginning of the "self-improvement" I wrote about at the start of this story.

That day I looked in the mirror and realized the terrible state I was in.
That day I threw away my worn-out black clothes and put on a white shirt for the first time.
That day I started practicing smiling, even though it was awkward.

As my appearance gradually changed, strangely enough, a change also came to my inner self.

When I started looking clean and well-groomed, I didn't feel as servile as I used to when passing people by.
When I wore brighter clothes, my feelings became a little more positive.
When I practiced smiling, I was able to like the person in the mirror just a little bit more.

The cursed phrase "I'm no good anyway" changed just a little bit into the hopeful phrase "Maybe I can do this too."

When I gained just a little bit of confidence in my appearance, the fear of talking to people eased just a little bit.
The assumption that "I'll be thought of as weird anyway" changed into the expectation that "Maybe I can talk normally."
That was the first, and most important, step for me to break the curse called being "socially awkward."

That was when I realized.
Maybe being socially awkward isn't something you "cure" like a disease.
It's a part of me, and perhaps I just need to change how I "deal with it."

My way of dealing with being "socially awkward": The courage not to aim for perfection

I flatly gave up on becoming a popular person who speaks fluently.
That is not who I am, and there was no need for me to become that.
Instead, I decided to find a "way of fighting for the socially awkward."

1. Don't force yourself to talk; focus on being a "good listener"
Leave telling interesting stories to those who are good at it. I focused on listening to those stories more seriously than anyone else. I would show interest by nodding and asking questions like, "Oh, really? And then what happened?" or "That's amazing!" People like those who listen to them seriously. Rather than trying to force myself to talk, focusing on being a listener made conversations go much more smoothly. (As I wrote in Chapter 3.)

2. Make "one-on-one" or "small group" settings your main battlefield
I still dislike large drinking parties. But I decided that there is no need to force myself to attend them. Instead, I cherished opportunities to meet in small groups of one-on-one or about three people, such as for lunch or at a cafe. That is because it allows for deeper, calmer conversations.

3. Equip yourself with the ultimate weapon: "shared hobbies"
I have hobbies like gaming, reading, and cafe hopping. I could talk surprisingly naturally with people who shared the same hobbies. That is because there was no need to force myself to find topics. "I couldn't beat that boss in that game..." "This mystery novel I read recently was interesting..." Just with that, the conversation expanded infinitely.

4. Honestly tell them in advance, "I'm shy"
This was the biggest discovery for me. When meeting someone for the first time or when I am nervous, I come out and say it first: "I'm sorry, I'm shy, so I'm a little nervous." When I do that, the other person will say, "Oh, I see, it's okay," and adjust to my pace. It becomes painful because you try to act like a perfect human being. By telling them from the start that "I am imperfect," both you and the other person can feel much more at ease.

5. Redefine "socially awkward" as a "strength"
Being socially awkward is by no means just a drawback.
・Because I don't talk much, I am a "good listener" who can listen deeply to others.
・I have "caution" and do not make careless remarks.
・I enjoy time alone, so I have "independence" and do not rely on others.
・I have an "inquiring mind" and am good at digging deep into one thing.
By reinterpreting my characteristics positively like that, I was able to gradually accept "myself, who is socially awkward."

Conclusion: From me, who was "socially awkward," to you who has the same worries

You who are reading this article now might be suffering from the word "socially awkward," just like I was in the past.
That word might be binding you and preventing you from taking a new step forward.

But please, don't forget.
That is only a small part of who you are as a human being.

Please don't use the phrase "because I'm socially awkward" as an excuse not to change.
No one can communicate perfectly. Everyone, to a greater or lesser extent, interacts with others while harboring anxiety and nervousness.

You don't have to force yourself to talk.
You don't have to be at the center of the circle.
I want you to find the joy of interacting with people in your own way and at your own pace.

You are not alone.
I am not perfect yet either. I get nervous, and I make mistakes.
But I think that's okay.

Let's move forward together, one step at a time.
To turn the wall called "socially awkward" into a door.

Next time, I will talk about "the small habits I continued in order to graduate from 'having no confidence'."
How to cultivate true "self-confidence" that existed beyond overcoming the self-perception of being socially awkward. I will share the concrete methods.

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