Choking on silence
March 10, 2026
We’re shrinking. The world is becoming smaller.
Our vocabularies are syncing through online communities and platforms. Popular culture put more emphasis on physical smallness, with dieting trends, Ozempic, etc. usage, and what many fear to be the return of romanticized emaciation.
I realized I was making myself smaller recently, and it took a near-death experience to come to terms with it. Near death might be a bit overkill (get it), but when you see the light, you see the light.
Let me explain.
It was in the lunchroom. I was sitting on one side of a very long table next to all forty-something of my colleagues at the French middle school I teach at. We’re in the teacher area of the school cafeteria, chowing down on the delectable lunch spreads.
Meals in France are taken very seriously, and the food served at the cafeteria is no exception. There are choices of appetizers, entrees, desserts, and fruits that encompass the cultural estuary of Bordeaux: a mix of southern French and Basque Country cultures. Of course, at the end of the food line is a giant tub of baguette slices to accompany the meal.
After surviving the balancing act of carrying my tray through the middle school cafeteria, dodging pre-teens left and right, I secured a place at the prof. table with minimal faux pas and lingual embarrassment.
I’ve found my presence at the lunch table is more for decoration than it is for conversation. In the five months I’ve sat there for lunch, I could count on my two thumbs how many times someone has spoken to me.
I’m at peace with being quiet. I don’t mind listening or just falling into my thoughts and letting my inner dialogue take me on a wild ride. I make efforts, of course, to join conversations or at least show I’m listening, but I admit that many days, I can hardly bring myself to look up from my food out of fear of embarrassing myself.
But sometimes, my social anxiety takes an ugly form that veers away from being timid and more toward making myself too small. In the past, social anxiety has posed many challenges, but none of them led me to feel so painfully shy.
Back in the US I talk. Arguably, I talk too much. In grade school, my teachers did their very best to rearrange the seating charts to put me next to someone who wouldn’t entertain my talkative tendencies. Much to their demise, I’d strike up a conversation with anyone, including myself if need be. I consider making conversations with new people to be one of my strong suits. As someone who worked in restaurants, customer service, and studied journalism, I have a lot of experience talking to strangers.
The shyness that’s taken over me is foreign.
Back to the plot.
It was almost the end of my meal. My eyes were glued to my tray. I’d given up on any big efforts to join a conversation, and my social battery was running low. I just wanted to pick at the last of my baguette slice in peace and evacuate. My respiratory system was against me that day. I inhaled as I took a bite, and the bread flew to the back of my throat.
Eyes wide, social anxiety still soaring, I was choking. In that moment, my mind wasn’t thinking of every way I could heave or hack to evict the crumbs from my esophagus. I was thinking of how I could choke as quietly as possible, so I didn’t draw any attention to myself as I attempted to dislodge the bread.
Realizing that I was so afraid of embarrassment and so committed to making myself small that I’d let myself choke in silence was a real wake-up call. What kind of shame spiral had I plummeted down to adopt this thought process?
I love to make jokes and to ask silly questions to stir up the usual conversation, and I really feel that I’d be someone to make a newcomer feel welcome. I’m proud of that.
I’ve embarrassed myself more by realizing I’ve toned myself down this much than I would conversing with my French coworkers.
None of this is to say I’ve become more outgoing in the lunchroom, but next time I choke, I’m going to cause a racket.
