Social Skills, Schizoaffective Disorder, and Accepting My Needs

“Please.” I twist the word in my mind, stretching it, arcing it, and wringing out every drop of meaning. I never thought I would be learning social skills at 31. I turn “please” and the other words in that sentence of my coworker’s email over and over in my head, playing them in different tones of voice, picturing what it might look like in person. Would her face look like it does when I know she’s happy? And what if I can’t decide what feeling I think is behind it? 

I can’t always peer inside your mind the way other people can.

Though not due to lack of empathy, identifying motives and emotions can be difficult for me. Honestly, I tend to default to the negative, thinking everyone is upset with me unless their emotions are clearly depicted otherwise. But even if that material is processed accurately by my schizoaffective disorder, it must then run through the social anxiety that bloomed brighter than ever after the onset of the schizoaffective disorder.

I’ve always been one of the people others turned to when they needed someone to confide in.

It seemed almost bizarre to me that someone who has been credited as being supportive could end up rehearsing social skills with her psychiatrist as an adult. What about all those people I helped? What about the people who rely on me for support?

These skills I’m practicing don’t really have much to do with how I support others

What I struggle with is not about what I can offer you. It’s more about how I interpret the meaning of the things people say. This is more difficult for me when done outside of confidential conversations where emotions are bolder and easier for me to identify. I don’t always know what you’re thinking. I’m not always sure what your intent is. And this kind of ambiguity is uncomfortable for me.

Schizoaffective disorder makes me feel like a bull in a china shop.

Sometimes it feels like all it takes is one small social misstep and I could send our relationship soaring towards the floor to shatter. At that point, obsessive-compulsive personality disorder steps in to berate me for my failure. Meanwhile, anxiety gathers the pieces and frantically try to recreate what once was. I don’t want to lose our connection. I am terrified of losing anyone in my life. And I always blame myself.

I carefully examine my coworker’s email, posing question after question to myself.

My instinct says, this “please” is out of polite annoyance. But I pause and think about what we’ve talked about in therapy in regard to social skills. Why do I think she’s annoyed? Well, because I assume everyone is. I’d rather that than take something as positive when it isn’t. Also this is a tough situation. If the situation itself is tough, could it be that that’s what she is annoyed with? Yes. How does she normally act around you? We get along really well. So what are the odds that she’s truly upset with me? Probably not high.

Sometimes it’s hard to live up to how people view me.

I can pass as neurotypical with ease. I look put together, work a fast-paced job, and overall just function at a very high level despite my schizoaffective disorder. It’s easy for people to assume I don’t struggle. Where this becomes particularly problematic is that I turn around and apply those standards to myself. Sitting in therapy, I find myself frustrated that I am like this and that I cannot be at the level of others, though I know the reason is valid.

So what does my social skills training look like? 

For me, there are no worksheets, classrooms, or clinical staff. It is me and my psychiatrist sorting through things during therapy. We talk about situations that have happened and what I could do next time to improve them. We talk about things on the horizon and how I can handle them. And we examine why I misinterpret tone and intention and how I can try to come to more accurate conclusions. 

If this sounds like normal therapy to you, roll back the social competence level a bit.

When it comes to academic and emotional intelligence, I sail by fairly easily. But if you look at my ability to interpret motive and meaning, you are looking at someone who is still learning how to swim in the deep end. Sure, I can keep my head above water and always have, but you don’t see how desperately I am kicking my legs to remain treading water. 

It wasn’t until recently that I realized just how much my impaired social skills have been impacting my life.

I am not one to easily join a conversation. Striking them up is just as hard. And I recently realized that, because of my absence in conversation, I can come across as antisocial. But behind the quiet, panic clings to my throat. As conversations flows, my mind fills with worry. What if I say something stupid? What if I’m not supposed to join in on this conversation? These kinds of fears course through me. But I recently realized the reason I feel isolated and left out is not because others don’t want me around. I am unconsciously doing it to myself, these negative thoughts constantly widen the chasm between myself and others. But I can change that.

And so I find myself here, at my desk, pondering over the word “please.”

I hate to admit it, but it’s embarrassing, this reeducation on something others take for granted. There are times where indignation surges through my veins. I am an adult. I am someone people look to for support. And I’m good at that. I tell myself I shouldn’t need this. But when I’m honest with myself, I know that this training and practice is necessary.

I don’t want to feel that awkward-anxious twisting of my insides when I find myself in a social situation. I don’t want to struggle, and I really don’t want to keep assuming people are angry with me. Recently, I’ve made some big steps, but I have a lot of work left to do. Like accepting that, at least to me, this particular “please” is ambiguous, and that’s okay. I don’t need to subscribe a meaning to it at this point, no matter how uncomfortable ambiguity is for me. And as uncomfortable as it is for me to accept that I need help with my social skills, I know that I need this.

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