I Was Good at Studying. Why Was I So Afraid of People?

For a long time, something about myself baffled me.

I could perform well academically. As a medical student, I could study, memorise and reproduce what I had learned. I had evidence that I was capable. I was good at learning.

But when it came to people, I was terrified.

Talking to someone, starting a conversation or simply connecting freely could make me anxious. And I had chosen a profession that involved dealing with people every single day.

During my internship, this became impossible to ignore. I remember wondering whether I had chosen the wrong profession.

How could I do well in my studies and struggle so much with the human connection my work required?

Looking back, my childhood experiences have helped me begin to understand that gap.

Growing up in a nuclear family, my days revolved around school, while my parents’ days revolved around work, household responsibilities and the worry of money. Looking back, I see the pressure of living in a system that demanded so much of their time and energy that very little remained for connection with their children.

We woke up and went to school or work. I spent most of my waking hours at school and often came home before either of my primary caregivers. For them, long hours at the office were followed by more work in the kitchen. Dinner happened around the television, sometimes with each of us eating separately. Then we went to sleep, woke up and began the same routine again.

We shared a home, but I often felt alone in it.

Looking back, it felt as though all of us were trying to get through the day. There was little room to ask how we were feeling, listen to one another or make sense of what was happening inside us.

As a child, I could see my parents’ struggles. I did not want to add to them.

So I kept a lot of my feelings to myself. I tried to be quiet, undemanding and as little trouble as possible. Somewhere along the way, I began to associate being easy to care for with being more likely to receive approval.

But my emotions did not disappear because I stayed silent.

There were outbursts too. I was no stranger to tantrums or what the adults around me saw as “making a scene.” At those times, I felt like the problem child.

Now, I can look back and see a child who was overwhelmed and did not know what to do with what she was feeling.

I struggled in unfamiliar places. I found it difficult to connect with people. Discomfort could become so intense that leaving felt like the only way to find relief.

I needed help understanding my emotions and finding ways to manage them. Instead, I often experienced my difficulties as being treated like flaws in my personality.

I felt alone. I did not understand what I was supposed to do.

I was only a child.

Quitting became one of the ways I coped. But that brought more disapproval, and I found myself repeating the same pattern: feeling overwhelmed, wanting to escape and then feeling ashamed for being unable to cope.

Meanwhile, there was one area where I knew how to succeed.

I could study. I could follow rules. I could be disciplined and get good marks.

That was how I experienced it - if I performed well, perhaps I could feel secure in their approval. This unconscious pattern carried me through to completing my MD. But I chose a non-clinical subject - a compromise that allowed me to continue achieving academically while staying within what I felt able to handle emotionally and socially.

Achievement became a way of feeling good enough. It was something concrete I could work towards, something that seemed to bring approval and keep me connected to the people whose love mattered most.

Connection felt much less certain.

I could learn what was in a textbook. But I did not know how to feel at ease with another person, express what I felt or trust that I could be accepted without having to prove something.

I shared very little, even with friends. Opening up felt risky. Keeping things to myself felt more familiar.

Understanding these experiences has helped me make sense of why academic competence and social anxiety could exist alongside each other.

It has also helped me see why achieving more did not automatically make me feel good enough.

You might wonder whether I am placing too much importance on childhood or that I am blaming my now personality to the struggles of parenting back then

For me, looking back has helped me recognise what I learned, what I struggled with and what I still need support to develop. It has allowed me to meet parts of myself with understanding where I once felt only shame.

I have spent time in blame too. For a while, I was caught in what had happened to me and what I had needed but never received. Recognising that pain mattered. But I eventually realised that staying in blame was not helping me move forward.

What happened in childhood was not my responsibility. Taking care of myself now, seeking support and choosing how I move forward are responsibilities I can take on. I want to create new experiences where I can express myself more authentically.

Familiar patterns can be difficult to change. For me, focusing only on blame sometimes kept my attention on the past rather than on the choices available to me now. Understanding where a pattern began has become a starting point for change.

I am sharing this through what I have learned from my own experiences and from experts who study these subjects. My hope is that this awareness helps you understand yourself more deeply and consider how you connect with your children.

When we understand more about what children need, we have an opportunity to offer them something different: more connection, more support and more room to be themselves.

We often pay close attention to how a child performs compared with other children. How quickly can they recite the alphabet? Can they do maths? How many languages are they learning? What marks are they getting?

Their achievements can become a status symbol - something that reflects the success as parents. In that comparison, we can lose sight of how the child is actually feeling.

These abilities matter. Attention, memory, reasoning and language all support learning. But a child also needs to feel valued beyond their achievements, without having to outperform someone else to make us proud.

Growing children are developing the capacity to recognise and express emotions, handle frustration, ask for help, show empathy and connect with others.

These areas of development support each other. A child’s emotional life deserves as much attention as their academic progress.

Learning can be joyful, playful and exciting. It can also bring frustration, uncertainty and pressure. When that happens, a child needs more than an instruction to try harder or behave better.

They need someone who notices that they are struggling and helps them regulate during the distress.

This does not mean a parent must respond perfectly every time. It means that repeated experiences of connection, comfort and repair matter.

The child can learn both that there are limits and that having a difficult feeling does not make them unlovable.

A child is learning so much beyond what we can measure in an exam.

They are learning whether they can ask for help. Whether disagreement threatens connection. Whether they can make a mistake and still feel loved. Whether sadness, anger or fear will be met with curiosity or dismissal.

They are learning how much of themselves they are allowed to bring into a relationship.

If you have children, make room for this part of their development too. Listen to them. Be curious about what sits beneath their behaviour. Help them understand their feelings and find ways to express them.

Make time for play and conversation that do not revolve around achievement.

Be mindful of asking children to “grow up” or “handle it” when they still need help doing exactly that. Many experiences are new to them, and feelings that seem small to an adult can be overwhelming to a child.

Parents need support and space for connection too. The demands of work, financial pressures and daily responsibilities can leave little energy for being emotionally present with their children. That exhaustion deserves care and understanding. At the same time, children still need comfort, attention and connection even when the adults caring for them are overwhelmed.

I know what it felt like to become quiet because I did not want to be a burden. I know what it felt like to achieve and still feel uncertain about my worth.

I wish someone had understood that doing well at school did not mean I was doing well inside.

A child who performs well academically may still be struggling emotionally.

I know, because I was that child.

I still struggle with connection sometimes. This remains an ongoing journey for me. But I am learning to recognise what I need, ask for support and let myself be known beyond what I can achieve.