There was a party right outside my door, and I didn't go
Maybe in another year, I'll be comfortable enough to join in.
Last weekend, my apartment complex had their annual summer get-together.
They went all out, with games, food, a water slide, prizes, fun…
And the chance to low-key meet other apartment dwellers, and maybe even make a new connection or two.
And it happened literally right outside my front door.
I wanted to go out there, but I just couldn’t
Last year, I watched the festivities through my kitchen window, nervous, anxious, and excited… wanting to go join in the fun… but too afraid to even think about putting myself out there.
I watched as families laughed, their kids playing, couples holding hands, friends swapping stories over free food. It looked so inviting… so fun… so easy…
I wanted to join in. I wanted to be part of the crowd. I wanted to go say hello.
But I couldn’t. Not last year, and not last Saturday.
The fear always feels the same
I was too afraid it would only remind me that when there aren’t any parties to go to, I’m completely, utterly alone.
Too afraid that I would despise all the smiling faces, and resent all the happy families.
Too worried that I would be so jealous of the fact they can even be happy, and friendly, and outgoing…
Too worried that I would get so insecure, I’d freak out, and run back into my apartment (which, may I remind you, was right in front of the whole get-together!)
And then, all my neighbors would know that I’m a weirdo — and worse, they would all know where “the weirdo” lives.
It was safer for me to stay indoors. Smarter to keep withdrawn, and isolated.
It hurt more, not to go join in the fun… but it saved me from having to deal with the awkward moments when people ask me what I do (because everybody asks that, when they meet a stranger), and I would have to tell them:
“I don’t do anything, actually. I haven’t been able to do anything since I got home from the war.”
Which, isn’t 100% true, technically… but when I’m at home, and I’m struggling to even get out of my apartment… even when the party is literally right outside my door… it’s easy to feel like I can’t do anything.
It’s easy to convince myself I don’t even deserve to get out, and do fun things when I do want to.
I don’t want to believe I’m not allowed to have fun — but it’s easy to slide into that mentality. I lived there for so many years, before I came to Lubbock, it’s almost second nature at this point.
I don’t know how to belong, anymore
It’s not just social anxiety. And it’s not just feeling insecure, or strange, or awkward or uncomfortable.
It’s all the years I spent at Mom and Dad’s, isolated and withdrawn. The ones that left me locked inside a body, and a mind, that don’t know how to belong anymore.
When you’ve spent over a decade hiding from everyone…
When you’ve been the ghost in your own life for so long, you don’t even remember what it feels like to be seen by somebody new…
When you’ve believed the lie that nobody else wants you around, anyway…
The simple act of just meeting your neighbors can feel impossible. And yet, not going… not meeting anybody… not having any fun…
That hurts, too. It hurts to sit behind this window, hearing my own neighbors mingling… while I stay hidden behind a locked door, and a closed kitchen window.
And, I get it. Me locking myself in my apartment, when there’s good times to be had, not ten feet away! That’s pretty embarrassing.
It looks like a failure. Hell, it feels like a failure.
But here’s what you don’t know:
Last year, I stayed inside too. But last year, I stayed silent. I was so ashamed of myself, for being so afraid, I didn’t tell anybody.
And this year, I’m willing to share my fears. I’m ready to open up, and start naming them, one by one.
I’m so tired of feeling afraid, though
I’m afraid of looking awkward. I’m afraid of being jealous, and bitter, and accidentally biting someone’s head off. I’m afraid of feeling embarrassed, and shy, and insecure, and randomly bursting into tears.
Or saying something really stupid, and not at all family-friendly; the kind of thing I could say to another disgruntled veteran, and they wouldn’t even bat an eye… but say it in front of the wrong civilians, and you’ll be lucky if they ever want to talk to you, again.
I’m afraid I’ll start talking about my disability, or worse, that I’ll try to explain to somebody how I got PTSD, and why it ruined everything for me…
And I’ll start crying, and just be so weird, I’ll hate myself even more and withdraw deeper into my own shell, instead of climbing out, like I really want to, and building some sort of safe and healthy in-person connections.
But I’m not ready to build those in-person connections
It takes a lot of work to make new friends. A lot of preparation.
A lot of repeat opportunities for short interactions, to build up enough trust and rapport with somebody new, to feel like maybe, it’s safe to be myself around them, after all.
I’m not ready for all that. I want to be. I’m just not.
And that kind of embarrasses me, honestly. I don’t want people to know I’m that afraid to just go meet somebody new, and talk to them for like, 30 seconds, and then grab a plate of food, sit down and just smile and nod, and act like I make small talk all the time…
I don’t want my neighbors to know how hard it is… or how scared I really am…
It’s much safer for me to just keep my distance, to keep myself locked away, where I don’t even have to worry about the awkward moments and the inquisitive looks…
I don’t know how to do all those things, today.
I don’t know how to be charming, and friendly, and outgoing, and engaging, with my own next-door neighbors.
I can do it with a total stranger in a random cafe when I’m on a spontaneous road trip, and I’m free and clear of all my “typical” routines that I’m a slave to when I’m at home.
I don’t know why I can’t do it with my own neighbors. I just know it’s too much, and I’m not ready.
Not this year.
Maybe next summer, things will be different
Maybe by then, I will have done enough therapy, and enough inner work, that I can step outside my own front door, and say hello to the people in my own apartment complex, and not be afraid to let them see me, the way I am.
If you think I’m losing, in this moment — if you think I should have just found my courage, and went out and greeted my neighbors, even when I knew I wasn’t ready — you’re not paying attention.
Yes, I do wish I could’ve joined in.
Yes, I do feel like I didn’t live up to my full potential, hiding in my apartment, peering out my window to get a glimpse of it all… wanting to participate but being too afraid…
But no, I don’t feel like I’ve failed at anything.
Because, a year ago, when I stayed inside… I was too ashamed and embarrassed to even talk about it.
And now, a year later, I’m telling everybody, “There was a party right outside my door, and I was too afraid to go out, and meet new people, and try to have fun.”
And for someone who’s struggled with PTSD for over 20 years now… that in itself is a big change. The fact that I can tell other people, “This event made me afraid,” that right there is huge for me.
And if you don’t see that… it’s okay. You don’t have to. I’m not going to try and explain it to you.
But I’m also not going to appease you, or listen to you tell me how I “should have behaved,” in a situation that you weren’t present for, and don’t understand.
Maybe that makes me a jerk; I don’t know. Maybe after how long I lived with PTSD, and how many years I struggled alone, I’ve earned the right to be a jerk now and then.
Maybe, you think it makes me weak.
(Spoiler: I am weak. I have the documentation from the VA to prove it.) jk jk…
But for real…
I’m honestly doing my best
Sometimes, trauma survivors face challenges that the rest of society doesn’t understand. And that’s okay; not everybody needs to understand everything everyone else is going through.
But you should try to understand, that when we say something was too hard… the answer is not, “You shoulda just tried harder!”
The correct answer is, “I’m sure you did all you could.”
Because you might not always think so… but we know what we need, in order to heal.
And we know when it’s the right time to step outside our comfort zone, and stretch our legs… and when it’s time to withdraw, and conserve our energy, and maybe do some more inner work for awhile…
Until we’re ready to step out and take those chances, and navigate those uncomfortable moments.
If you wanna judge me, for reacting to new situations, in ways that are not under my control… well… I can’t stop you.
But I’m probably gonna think you look pretty foolish.
Maybe that’s okay; maybe you think I’m foolish, too. Maybe I am.
But… if you are afraid, like me…
If you do relate to what I’m going through… if you can grasp exactly what I’m saying…
And you feel embarrassed, too, because people are telling you that, “You can do better than this!”
Know that I see you, and I know you’re doing great, exactly where you are.
You’re doing what’s right for you, and I honor that
You’re not in a war zone anymore. You’re safe now, to be afraid, to be anxious, to be confused, and sometimes, to want to be alone… even when what you truly want, is to be comfortable out there, enjoying life, with all the rest of ‘em…
You’ll get there, one day. We both will.
But we’ll do it when we’re ready… and we’ll do it on our terms.
Maybe there are moments you’ve hidden from. Maybe those moments made you feel broken, or weak, or behind. Maybe when everyone else seemed to belong… you felt like you couldn’t find your way in.
But those moments are over. You’re not alone, anymore. You’re not failing. You’re not weak.
You’re surviving. And surviving is enough, for today.
The world will tell you to "just be brave," "just show up," "just try harder."
But you and I both know — sometimes, just staying where you are takes all the courage you’ve got.
So if all you did today was survive… if all you did was name the fear… if all you did was read this, and feel a little less alone…
That’s enough.
Tomorrow’s another day — another chance to do better
Every day you wake up is another chance to start doing things differently. And when you’re ready, I’ll be here, cheering you on — whether you feel like you’re winning, or not.
And honestly? If you’re not ready to do the thing, today…
I don’t mind if you wait until tomorrow.
You know what you need. And you know when you’re ready.
And I’m always gonna be here, supporting you, loving you, encouraging you, whether you’re ready to step outside yet… or not.
It doesn’t matter where you are on your path, when I find you. I’m gonna love you no matter what. I’m gonna stay with you, until you send me away — or until you’re safely moving forward again, and hopefully, bringing somebody else alongside you.
Because I believe in you.
I know you’re worth it.
And because I need somebody to do the same for me.
When you’re not ready yet
Not ready to meet new people? Step outside? Try the scary thing?
That’s not weakness. That’s wisdom.
Here are a few tools to help you stay kind to yourself on the hard days — the ones where the party feels ten feet away… but impossible to reach:
1. The permission slip
It’s okay to not be ready yet.
You don’t have to justify your fears. You don’t have to force it. Growth isn’t on anyone else’s timeline — and neither is your healing.
Try this:
Write yourself a literal permission slip:
“I don’t have to [go outside / meet new people / explain myself] today. I’m allowed to protect my energy.”
Tape it to your fridge. Carry it in your wallet. Let it remind you: staying safe is valid.
2. The window moment
You showed up… even if you didn’t step outside.
Sometimes, the courage is in the watching. In the wanting. In the quiet ache to belong. That longing? That’s proof you’re still alive inside. Still trying.
Try this:
Next time you find yourself watching from a distance — a window, a doorway, your own head — notice it. Don’t shame it. Say to yourself:
“I want connection. That’s a good thing. I’ll get there, when I’m ready.”
3. Tiny Rehearsals
You don’t have to jump into the deep end.
Social courage grows in micro-moments. A nod in the hallway. A smile at the mailbox. You’re building the muscle, even if no one sees it yet.
Try this:
Set one small, no-pressure goal for next time. Example:
“If I pass a neighbor, I’ll make eye contact.”
“If someone says hi, I’ll smile back.”
“If there’s another event… maybe I’ll stand outside for two minutes.”
And if you can’t? That’s okay. The window moment still counts.
4. Nobody sees the war you’ve fought
But that doesn’t mean you’re not winning.
The world only sees the surface: the closed door, the missed party. But you know what you’ve survived. You know how hard it is to even want to belong again.
Try this:
Make a private victory list. Every time you choose honesty, self-compassion, or rest — write it down. You’re keeping score. You’re making progress. Even when it’s invisible.
You’re not behind. You’re not broken. You’re becoming.
And when you’re ready? Opportunities will still be there, waiting.
Self-reflection: before you open the door
Questions for the days when showing up feels impossible.
You don’t have to be ready to walk outside. But you can be ready to tell yourself the truth.
These prompts are for the quiet moments, when you’re still figuring out how to belong again. Take your time. Be honest. There’s no wrong answer.
1. What’s one situation — big or small — where you wanted to show up… but couldn’t?
(It could be a party, a phone call, reaching out to someone, applying for a job — whatever comes to mind.)
Write your answer.
2. What did you feel in that moment?
(Name the real stuff — fear, shame, grief, longing, frustration… all of it belongs.)
Write your answer.
3. What story did your brain tell you about why you couldn’t do it?
(Was it 'I’m broken'? 'I don’t belong'? 'Everyone will judge me'? Notice the narrative.)
Write your answer.
4. What’s one gentle truth you can remind yourself of instead?
(Something like: 'I’m allowed to move at my own pace.' Or, 'Wanting connection is brave too.')
Write your answer.
5. If you could give yourself permission to grow slowly… what might that look like?
(A tiny next step? Or simply resting where I am, without shame?)
Write your answer.
You’re not weak for hesitating. You’re human. And you’re healing. Your moment will arrive, when you’re ready.
Final Thought
Sometimes, courage doesn’t look like showing up. It looks like telling the truth — even if that truth is, “I’m not ready yet.”
We spend so much of our lives measuring progress by what people can see. The job. The relationship. The friends. The parties. The smiling pictures.
But healing — real, messy, honest healing — happens in the unseen spaces.
It happens in the quiet moments behind closed doors. It happens when you want to belong… but you stay where you are, because pushing yourself too soon only deepens the wounds.
It happens when you notice the fear… and instead of shaming yourself, you meet it with compassion.
The world may not understand that kind of progress. But I do.
And if you’ve read this far, I think you do too.
You’re not broken because the door feels heavy. You’re not failing because the window feels safer.
You’re human. You’re healing. And every time you tell the truth — to yourself, or to someone else — that’s a step forward.
Whether anyone else sees it, or not.
You’ll get there, when you’re ready. And when you do… the world will still be waiting.
And when that day comes… it won’t matter how long it took. It won’t matter how many times you hid, or how heavy the door used to feel.
What will matter is that you made it, on your timetable... and now… you’re ready to go help somebody else.
That’s all any of us can ever really ask for… and it’s all anybody ever really needs.