Stella Reddy's Story

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For a long time, social situations felt unsafe to me. Not because people were actively doing anything wrong—but because my nervous system had learned to expect harm. After being gaslit and bullied, I didn’t just lose trust in others. I lost trust in myself.

I questioned my words. I replayed conversations. I watched people’s faces for signs that I had said the wrong thing. Social anxiety didn’t show up randomly in my life—it grew out of experiences where my reality was denied, and my voice was diminished. Smear campaigns and doxxing of your personal life from a workplace situation by people with narcissitic traits for 9 years on personally titlted websites would do that to you.

Understanding that changed everything.

Why Social Anxiety Makes Sense After Abuse

When I was gaslit, I was taught—subtly and repeatedly—that my perceptions couldn’t be trusted. When I was bullied, I learned that being visible could invite ridicule or punishment. My brain did what it was supposed to do: it adapted to keep me safe.

Social anxiety became a form of self-protection.

in 2019, instead of asking, “What’s wrong with me?” I began asking, “What did I survive?”

That shift alone reduced so much of the toxic shame. Anxiety wasn’t a personal flaw—it was a learned response. With the help of therapy at the time, I learned about toxic traits that I was being exposed to. I had people read the documents I was given and with their help, I learned the names of the traits so I could learn what they meant, and how I could fight against these traits.

Separating Old Voices From the Present

One of the hardest parts for me was realizing that the critical voice in my head didn’t originate there. It echoed the toxic tenants who had questioned my intentions, minimized my feelings, or twisted my words.

Before or after social interactions, I would hear thoughts like:

• I shouldn’t have said that.

• They probably think I’m difficult.

• I sound foolish.

Now, when those thoughts show up, I pause and ask myself: Is this the present—or is this my past speaking?

I don’t force positive thinking. I aim for accuracy. I remind myself: I’m allowed to take up space, even if I’m imperfect.

Starting Small Instead of Avoiding

For a while, avoidance felt safer than connection. But I eventually noticed that avoiding people made my world smaller—and my anxiety louder.

I started with low-risk interactions:

• Brief conversations

• Saying hello without staying

• Participating online in ways that felt manageable

I didn’t push myself to be confident. I focused on being present. Each small interaction taught my body something important: I can be seen, and nothing terrible happens.

Coming Back Into My Body

Social anxiety lives in the body, not just the mind. I learned that trying to think my way out of it often made things worse.

What helped was grounding:

• Slowing my breath, especially the exhale

• Feeling my feet on the floor

• Naming what I could see and hear around me

• Being in Nature, surrounded by trees and the sounds of birds

These moments reminded me that I wasn’t back in those old situations. I was here. Now. Safe.

Redefining What “Success” Looks Like

After bullying, I carried unrealistic expectations for myself. I thought a “good” interaction meant being articulate, calm, and unaffected.

Now I define success differently.

A good interaction is one where I show up as myself—even quietly. Even awkwardly. Even briefly.

I no longer measure my worth by how smooth or impressive I seem to others.

Relearning Trust—Carefully

I don’t believe in forcing myself to trust again. Trust, for me, has been rebuilt slowly and selectively.

I pay attention to patterns:

• Who respects my boundaries

• Who listens without correcting or dismissing me

• Who feels emotionally safe

Most importantly, I’m learning to trust my own judgment again. That has been the real healing.

Being Gentle With Setbacks

Some days are easier than others. Sometimes anxiety still catches me off guard. I no longer see that as a failure.

Healing hasn’t been linear for me—it’s been layered. I revisit old fears, but each time with more awareness and compassion.

When things feel hard, I remind myself: I’m not broken. I’m healing.

A Personal Reflection

Being retired has given me something I didn’t have before: time and space to heal at my own pace. I’m no longer navigating social anxiety under the pressure of workplaces, expectations, or environments that once amplified my stress. My time is my own and I relish the freedom.

Sharing my thoughts online now feels different too. I’m not chasing approval or defending my reality. I’m simply speaking from my lived experience—on my own terms.

I’ve learned that I don’t need to be fearless to be present. I just need to be honest.

And that, for me, has been enough.