The Professional Paradox
Last week, I attended a drinking gathering to mark the closing of one of my schools. Sixteen years of teaching, countless students, colleagues from various companies and groups—all gathered in a noisy venue for a meaningful farewell to mark our time together.
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I teach English. Stand in front of classrooms regularly. Engage with students about their dreams, correct their grammar, encourage them through difficult concepts. In that professional setting, I’m completely comfortable. Confident, even.
But put me in that crowded room with a beer in my hand and a social obligation to mingle? Internally awkward. Uncomfortable in ways that have nothing to do with the people or the occasion and everything to do with the setting itself.
It was difficult to hear properly—the noise level made conversation exhausting. As a teacher, you’re expected to walk around, engage everyone, be visibly present and positive. Old faces offering compliments. New contacts extending teaching opportunities. All genuinely nice interactions that I appreciated.
And yet I was relieved when the timing was right to leave.
Do you ever feel completely competent professionally but socially uncomfortable in group settings?
The Split That Doesn’t Make Sense to Others
Here’s what confuses people: How can you be great with people in one context and terrible in another?
If you can stand in front of thirty students and teach with confidence, why does a social gathering worry you? If you’re comfortable one-on-one helping someone understand difficult concepts, why is small talk at a reception so exhausting?
The assumption is that social skills are universal. If you have them professionally, you should have them everywhere. But that’s not how it works for many of us.
Teaching has structure. Clear roles. Defined purpose. I know exactly what’s expected, and I’m good at delivering it. There’s a beginning, middle, and end. When the lesson finishes, so does my social obligation.
A drinking party? Stand here. Hold this drink. Mingle as duty requires. Make conversation with people you may not know well. Navigate the noise. Appear engaged and grateful (which you genuinely are) while your internal experience is counting down the minutes until you can politely leave without seeming awkward, rude or ungrateful.
It’s not about the people. It’s not about the occasion. It’s about the setting itself and the particular kind of social performance it requires.
What professional settings make you comfortable that social settings don’t?
The Work of Appearing Normal
The uncomfortable part isn’t just being there—it’s the constant internal monitoring.
Am I smiling enough? Too much? Am I standing in the right place? Should I move to another group? How long should I stay talking to this person before it becomes awkward? Am I standing too close because I can’t hear them? Am I holding my drink correctly? Why do I care about holding a drink correctly? Am I overthinking this? Yes, definitely overthinking this.
Meanwhile, professionally, none of this mental noise exists. In front of a classroom, I’m not monitoring my facial expressions or wondering if I’m standing in the right spot. I’m focused on the work, and that focus creates a kind of natural ease that social situations rarely provide.
Some people find social gatherings energizing—the more people, the better. For them, professional obligations might feel constraining, while parties feel freeing. For others of us, it’s exactly reversed.
Neither is wrong. Neither is a character flaw. It’s just different wiring that shows up in different contexts.
What aspects of social gatherings specifically drain you?
When “Just Relax” Doesn’t Help
People who don’t experience this often offer well-meaning advice: “Just relax.” “Be yourself.” “Nobody’s judging you.”
But the discomfort isn’t logical. It’s not about believing people are judging me (much) or thinking I need to be perfect. It’s sensory, situational, and persistent regardless of how many times I tell myself it shouldn’t bother me.
The noise level that makes conversation difficult. The forced proximity to people I don’t know well. The lack of clear structure or endpoint. The restraint to not change the conversation. The social obligation to appear engaged when my natural preference would be to quietly observe from the edges.
These aren’t things you can think your way out of. They’re responses that happen regardless of your intellectual understanding that the situation is safe and the people are kind.
And they don’t disappear with age or experience. I’ve been teaching for twenty years. I’m comfortable with my professional skills. But put me in a drinking party setting, and the same internal awkwardness shows up that’s been there for decades.
What well-meaning advice have you received that completely misses the point?
The Misconception About Growth
There’s an assumption that social discomfort is something you’re supposed to outgrow. That by your fifties, you should have developed the social ease that makes these situations effortless.
But for many of us, what we’ve actually developed is better masking. We’ve learned to hide the discomfort professionally. To perform the expected social behaviors convincingly enough that most people don’t notice the internal strain.
That’s not the same as being comfortable. It’s just being skilled at appearing comfortable, which is its own kind of exhausting.
The professional contexts where I’m genuinely at ease—teaching, one-on-one conversations about meaningful topics, working alongside people toward a shared goal—those remain comfortable. The obligatory social contexts—standing around with a drink making small talk—those remain draining.
What’s changed over the years isn’t the comfort level. It’s the acceptance that this is just how I’m wired, and the understanding that it’s okay to leave when the timing is appropriate rather than forcing myself to stay because “normal people” would enjoy it longer.
Has your social comfort level actually changed with age, or just your ability to hide the discomfort?
The Gratitude Alongside the Discomfort
Here’s what’s important to emphasize: None of this negates the genuine appreciation for the occasion, the people, or the opportunities that emerged from that gathering.
I’m grateful for the sixteen years at that school. Grateful for the students who showed up. Grateful for my boss and colleagues who wanted to mark the occasion together.
The internal awkwardness doesn’t diminish any of that gratitude. Both things can be true simultaneously—deeply appreciating the occasion while also feeling relieved when it ends.
Sometimes I worry that my lack of natural smiling in certain settings sends the wrong message. That people might interpret internal discomfort as disinterest or ingratitude. That’s not accurate, but I understand why the confusion might exist.
This is probably my way of subtly apologizing for any moments where my social discomfort might have appeared as something else. To anyone who’s ever extended kindness at a gathering and received a somewhat awkward response—it wasn’t about you. It was about me navigating a type of situation that’s always been challenging, regardless of how much I value the connection.
Have you ever worried that your social discomfort sends the wrong message about how much you care?
Finding Your Comfortable Contexts
What I’ve learned over the years: Find the professional and social contexts where you’re genuinely comfortable, and don’t judge yourself for struggling in others.
I’m good at teaching because the structure supports my strengths. I’m comfortable with one-on-one conversations because they allow for depth without performance. I value meaningful work alongside people more than casual socializing with crowds.
None of that makes me deficient at “being social.” It just means my social comfort has specific conditions that noisy drinking parties don’t meet.
For others, those conditions might be completely different. You might thrive in large group settings but struggle with one-on-one intensity. You might love casual social events but dread structured professional obligations.
The key isn’t forcing yourself into contexts that drain you or judging yourself for not enjoying what others seem to navigate effortlessly. It’s recognizing your genuine comfort zones and building a life that includes enough of those contexts to sustain you.
What contexts actually make you feel socially comfortable rather than socially drained?
The Permission to Leave
Perhaps the most valuable lesson: You don’t have to stay until the end of every social obligation just to prove you can handle it.
Show up. Be present. Engage genuinely within your capacity. And when you’ve fulfilled the reasonable expectations of the situation, give yourself permission to leave without guilt.
The right timing matters. You don’t want to leave so early it seems rude or dismissive of the occasion. But you also don’t need to stay until the last person goes home just to prove you’re “normal” or “social enough.”
For me, that night at the school closing gathering, the right timing came after I’d connected with old colleagues, received some kind words, engaged with the opportunities offered, and genuinely participated in marking the occasion. When I left, it wasn’t because I didn’t care. It was because I’d given what I had to give, and continuing to force it would have served no one. I also had work the next day.
That’s not social deficiency. That’s self-awareness and honest engagement within realistic limits.
How do you know when you’ve fulfilled your social obligation and can leave without guilt?
The Invitation to Honesty
This isn’t about complaining or seeking pity. It’s about naming something real that many people experience but rarely discuss openly.
If you’re great at your job but terrible at the office party, you’re not broken. If you can engage confidently in professional contexts but struggle at casual social gatherings, you’re not deficient. If you’ve reached your fifties and still find certain social situations challenging regardless of how many times you’ve experienced them, you’re not failing at adulthood.
You’re just wired in a way that makes some contexts comfortable and others less so. Understanding that difference—and building a life that honors it rather than fighting it—might be more valuable than forcing yourself to enjoy situations that will never feel natural.
Share your thoughts below. I respond to every comment, and your experience might help someone else feel more normal in their own social awkwardness.
