I have become the kind of person who goes to blogger meet-ups

Four bloggers, one photobooth: you'd think we'd manage to get one decent 

picture out of it, but no!

This is notable chiefly because I have such crippling social anxiety that some days it's a wonder I leave the house at all.

People are often surprised when I say that I'm incredibly shy and anxious. I've travelled widely, a lot of it on my own; I work as a teacher, which is pretty much nothing but talking; I do a pretty good job of concealing a lot of my issues and can come across as confident and chatty (an illusion no doubt helped along by the fact that I talk a lot when I'm nervous. I mostly remember my first few dates with The Boy as a long-running monologue by me, while he smiled and nodded).

But the fact is, I struggle to maintain that facade of normality.  If you're an astute observer, your might notice that I talk a bit too much; that I don't have a good grasp of the rules of conversation*. When I'm meeting people for the first time, I'm terrified that they're going to figure me out in some way. What terrible thing I think they'd figure out, I don't know. That I'm a social moron? That I'm really terribly dull and boring? That I secretly love Taylor Swift songs? Of course, the fact is that almost everyone suffers from some degree of social anxiety and, while I'm worrying about being judged and found wanting by others, they - instead of judging me - and probably worrying about their own stuff.

I wrote about this conundrum earlier in the year, when I'd just begun to meet 'internet people'. And yesterday was another meet-up, with Laura, E & B. What surprised me, though, is that yesterday wasn't scary at all. It felt, to my great surprise, just like meeting a bunch of old friends (no doubt helped by the fact that I'd met them all already!). We hunted for vintage goodies, ooh-ed at the treats in Nottingham's new sweet shop, drank tea, talked travel and tattoos and Bake-Off, and took some very bad photobooth pictures. The whole day was comfortable and fun and I'm already looking forward to doing it again. So it seems that, at the grand old age of 36, I have become the kind of person who goes to blogger meet-ups. 

* How I got to my age without understanding the social need for reciprocity in conversation, I'll never know. As a case in point, E asked me a question yesterday about my plans for Christmas, which I answered - at length, no doubt - and then stopped talking. It wasn't until this morning that I realised it's something that required a reciprocal question to her. I do this a lot, because somehow I've never learnt the rules.