I’ve Learned
A few months ago, I participated in a social experiment: I showed up on a Zoom call with no idea of what was going to happen, along with a stranger who was also given no explanation. We talked to each other for fifteen minutes before a jaunty tune played and we were told to leave the call.
Back then, I was offered the opportunity to have the person behind this experiment - who runs many such programs and who introduced me to improv - dissect the 15-minute clip to see how my conversation partner and I act in social situations and offer potential feedback.
I was nervous to say yes to this, but according to my improv “yes and” mentality, I decided to go for it. After all, there are few things I haven’t heard about my conversation skills (or lack thereof) throughout my life.
When I was a kid, I used to talk all the time to the point that I almost never came up for air. I talked over everyone, whether about the things I was worried about or my favorite new hobby. My brain moved so fast that it was hard for me to slow my mouth down, and I remember feeling like everything I had to say was so urgent that it simply couldn’t wait.
I was taught in therapy how to recognize that if people were backing away or offering excuses, that meant they weren’t interested in listening to me anymore. I also had to let other people talk instead of monopolizing every conversation, and listen when other people wanted to share about their hobbies, likes, and worries.
Ever since I started learning these things, I’ve been very conscious of how I interact socially, both online and in person. I’ve tried to get to the point where, unless I’m extremely excited about something, I don’t let myself go off the rails and dominate a conversation. I do my best to provide a listening ear to my friends and family, but I am still aware of the fact that I bring a lot of energy and chattiness to conversations and keep an eye on that in case it goes awry.
That being said, I was nervous to see the footage from the social experiment. The person giving feedback, Holly (name changed for privacy), was doing so over a recording of the conversation, so I would have to listen to myself in a conversation with a stranger. It’s something that I could definitely see being valuable for someone like me as a younger person, but when I went to listen to the recording, I was instantly nervous.
What if all of my efforts that I thought I was so good at were all in vain, and I dominated the conversation? What if I rambled on and on without listening? What if I got too personal or too loud or too hyper (a word often used about me in social situations when I was a child, that I still hate being described with today)?
I decided to just bite the bullet and listen to the conversation. During the video, which I barely remember filming last October, I am speaking to James (name changed for privacy), a fellow improv performer and pet lover.
I was afraid when Holly paused the video for the first time, but she was just saying that she was glad I, as a woman, felt comfortable promoting my improv show, as many women keep quiet about their accomplishments. She said I gave off a friendly vibe and both of us were listening to each other and building a good rapport.
At one point, I started to cringe as my past self enthusiastically described the adorable puppy I would be picking up in two weeks. I noticed that, while I did start to take over the conversation a little bit, that moment was brief and Holly noted that I was giving James a gift: the opportunity to learn more about me from specific details and ask questions.
I’ve never heard my tendency to do this as giving a gift to someone before - usually, I’ve heard it as taking away my conversation partner’s agency and enjoyment. But this time, it was brief and I was asking questions too, and even though Holly noted that my energy was higher than James’, I never overwhelmed the conversation or stopped him from contributing.
In the end, Holly’s only feedback to me was to angle my camera differently. Nothing about what I said or how I said it was wrong in her eyes, and even though I know she’s not the be-all-and-end-all of judging conversations, it still felt good for an objective voice to not find any problems with how I interacted with a new person. As a kid who was always told to be quiet, I never could have imagined getting such a good review on a conversation - and I was especially proud of one thing:
The most consistent thing I noticed in the conversation, even though Holly didn’t note this, was that I was happy to be meeting someone new. There was a smile on my face the whole time. I laughed freely, brought positive energy to the room, and apparently incorporated the conversation skills I learned in therapy well enough that I could behave correctly while still enjoying myself.
I was honestly very proud when the 27-minute video finished and Holly didn’t say I was being a bad conversation partner, rambling, or dominating. It was great to see that after so many years of work to keep both the positive and negative aspects of what’s going on in my head to myself, I can do it without having to concentrate so hard that I lose the flow of conversation.
Now, this doesn’t mean that I’m not sharing a steady flow of nerdy memes, silly moments from improv practice, and cute dog pictures to my close friends. But I have gotten to the point where I know what my friends like and want, and I’ve controlled the spiraling thoughts in my head enough to make those friends in the first place.
The recorded proof of my self-control - and the fact that I have friends who I can lose that control with - is a refreshing reminder of how far I’ve come on my OCD journey, and has inspired me to look at my life now for more of these moments I never thought I could have.
Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.