A socially anxious writer on social media: facing the fear of being cringe

“You’re not seriously going to post that, are you?” (Even my cat thinks I’m cringe.)

~~In this post~~

Surviving social media with social anxiety (or at least trying to)
When being cringe and being authentic are inescapably linked
Where my people at?

~~~

Nothing to see here. Just us plants.

(NOTE: I can only speak for myself. If you also live with social anxiety, your experiences with it may be completely different, as will your strategies for coping with it.)

I’m a high-functioning sufferer of social anxiety, and it took decades to learn how to effectively move through social situations without people noticing my flop sweat. I can even enjoy myself on occasion, usually when I’m not the one in the spotlight. And one important way that I’d coped over the years was by limiting my time on social media.

Because social media sets us socialphobes up for our biggest fear: being cringe.

This once-in-a-while arrangement between me and my social accounts was working out perfectly. That is, until I decided to, once again, pursue my lifelong dream of becoming a traditionally published author after having given it up. When I first started submitting my short stories to magazines and journals, it was way back when writers sent hard copies of manuscripts via snail mail, along with self-addressed, stamped envelopes, so editors could send your work back upon rejection. (If you got a light, business-size envelope response from an editor, that meant good news. A heavy manila envelope with your handwriting on it meant bad.)

When social media eventually became a thing, it took a couple of decades for it to become the indispensable marketing tool it is now.

Needless to say, I am kicking myself for having given up my dreams during a time when smartphones didn’t exist, writers didn’t split their time between their craft and content creation, and people weren’t flooding agents’ inboxes with AI slop.

Who doesn’t love a Venn Diagram?

But I also knew that complaining about it wouldn’t change anything about the state of the marketplace. So, I bit the bullet. I created my Instagram author account (@mayamarinwrites) and am finally facing my biggest beast: cringe.

And here’s the absolute worst thing about it—everyone screams at you to “be authentic” online. People don’t want fake, they want the true you. Ummm, yeah, but what if you suspect that not being cringe and being your unapologetically authentic self are mutually exclusive? (See nerdy Venn Diagram.)

No matter which part of myself I present to the world, someone out there will cringe. Because society, on the whole, is inclined to believe that anyone willing to consistently put themselves out there, actively seek an audience, market their brand, try to succeed at something that the majority of the population wouldn’t attempt, is the epitome of cringe. And when it’s put that way, yeah, I see their point.

At this early stage of my writing journey, I’m not looking for “fans” who think I’m “cool” (whatever that means). I'm looking to find my people.

But what if we reframe this idea of “marketing your author brand” into something easier to swallow? Something a lot less “hey, look at me!” I mean, at this early stage of my writing journey, I’m not looking for “fans” who think I’m “cool” (whatever that means). Nor will I ever. I'm looking to find my people. Those who share my love for escapist, speculative fiction. Those who might also lie awake at night still thinking about the weird thing they said at a party ten years ago. Those who feel every single thing a little too deeply. Those who don’t shy away from darkness and love to explore it in their fictional worlds. Those who live for lush language, magic, and maybe a bit of swoony romance.

The cringe will come. I've made peace with that. Because staying safe, never putting a single authentic word into the world, is so much worse than whatever happens when I do.

So if you're reading this and you also live with social anxiety, or you're an introvert who somehow ended up needing a public platform, or you just want someone else to admit that "be authentic" is terrifying advice—hey there! Let’s be friends.

And if you find me cringe? Honestly, fair. But you’re probably not my people anyway.