Why is This “Asocial” Media?
Some of you may be wondering why the heck this blog is called “Asocial Media.”
That’s legit.
You may also be wondering if “asocial” is even a word.
That’s legit, too.
In fact, up until last year, I had never even heard or read the word, “asocial” in my life. Whenever I needed to describe my less-than-outgoing social behavior, I called it “antisocial” or “introverted.”
But then some stuff started in 2019
Or rather, some stuff stopped: my tolerance for social interaction, my compassion for people, and my courage, confidence, and capability (wow, sorry for that lame alliteration) within social situations.
Now, to be honest, these things didn’t stop happening all at once; it wasn’t a light-switch-off kind of experience. It happened over time, and it coincided with my involvement in music therapy. I suppose, reflecting on it as deeply as I am now, this makes sense.
You see, my whole motivation for doing music therapy was to help older adults…
…particularly those with Parkinson’s disease. My beloved grandma and a woman I consider my adopted grandma both developed and died from Parkinson’s. It is an awful, cruel, unfair, stupid, piece-of-shit disease which should be banished from the earth. Watching both my “grandmas” slowly lose their abilities, self-worth, joy, and quality of life was absolutely horrible.
It was with them in mind that I embarked upon the journey to become a certified music therapist, which I hoped would put my musical skills to use in returning some of that joy, self-worth, quality of life, and even ability to others with Parkinson’s disease.
Throughout five semesters of part-time study…
…six months of internship, and roughly six months of professional music therapy work, I absolutely nailed it. This is an objective statement. Ask any of my professors, internship supervisors, or my employer at the time – they will give you the same evaluation.
I worked super hard (i.e. too hard), came up with kick-ass interventions for my Parkinson’s groups, and helped my clients achieve all the goals I set for them while managing to incorporate my primary instrument, harp, as frequently as possible.
I was a shining star in the music therapy world and my first employer was eager to set me up with all of the many clients with Parkinson’s she had under contract.
I was thrilled. I chugged along, working as hard as I possibly could with each group, each client. I had a lot of fun. I felt so helpful and effective. I felt like I was making a real difference and helping each client achieve new and surprising things, or just simply making them feel heard and cared about.
But then something changed
Gradually, the weight of my professional work load became too great. I no longer had the time or energy to plan and practice my sessions as thoroughly and thoughtfully as I always had. I no longer had the time or energy to learn new songs every day, or practice my harp and guitar.
So I started recycling interventions (fancy name for music therapy activities), sessions, and songs. The problem is, that didn’t always work as wonderfully as I wanted. I had a few intervention flops. And when you make a complete fool of yourself, obviously unsure of how to make something work, in front of seven to ten people, it does not do wonders for self-esteem or confidence.
Furthermore, though there are numerous goals people with Parkinson’s disease can work on during music therapy…
…they often benefit most from emotion-focused goals. I mean, think about it, these folks are incrementally losing control of their bodies while generally staying painfully aware of each loss. I’m sure many can anticipate how the disease might affect them in the future as well, including possibly losing the ability to walk, speak clearly, pay attention, maintain independence, etc. It’s only natural that people with Parkinson’s develop some very strong feelings about it and about the quality of their lives in general.
And that is where music therapy comes in. Through listening to music, talking about lyrics, playing instruments, or singing, people with Parkinson’s disease can be encouraged to identify, express, and process their emotions. The music therapist therefore needs to possess skills in composing thought-provoking, probing, in-depth, clever conversation prompts and questions.
This is where I fell flat on my face (metaphorically, of course)
Without the benefit of ample forethought, planning, and practice, I do not possess such conversational skills. I cannot have a thought-provoking, realization-filled discussion with someone, Parkinson’s or no, off the cuff. I can’t think that fast. The words don’t form in my brain that fast.
Additionally, without the benefit of ample forethought, planning, and practice, I cannot discuss feelings, whether someone else’s or my own. I was raised to repress my feelings, to never speak of them. As an adult, I have tried very hard to become more candid about my emotions in face-to-face settings, but I always end up feeling too embarrassed and anxious to reveal very much.
Similarly, if I spontaneously ask someone else about their emotions, the same anxiety and embarrassment crop up and cause me to abruptly end the conversation before it becomes too deep.
So, having virtually no natural skill in spontaneously discussing emotions, I felt like a total failure at addressing some of the most vital music therapy goals for my favorite population.
As a result of all this, I stagnated in this atmosphere of perceived ineffectiveness and idiocy
This engendered more fatigue and less planning, continually forcing me to recycle songs and crappy interventions, making me less effective at helping clients achieve emotional goals, causing me to feel more tired and to plan less…
It was like I was spiraling down this never-ending cycle of failure and laziness whenever I worked with my clients with Parkinson’s. It was exhausting, frustrating, disappointing, and it made me hate and dread every interaction with those folks.
And mind you, this was a population I once loved dearly and wanted to spend my life helping.
I no longer felt confident in my skills as a music therapist or in my skills at social interaction
And I mean all social interaction.
Family members, fellow church-goers, store cashiers, writing acquaintances, customer service providers. I was so hyper-aware of all the stupid things I was saying – how I was stuttering, how I wasn’t saying what I wanted to, how I was over-censoring my thoughts – that I felt like I could hardly communicate with anyone.
So I withdrew
I hid away in my townhome and, once I finally quit my music therapy job and moved back to Iowa, I hid away in my mother’s house. I stopped trying to meet new people. I stopped talking to people. I stopped going to church and get-togethers.
Of course, the COVID-19 outbreak and subsequent lockdown facilitated my absolute retreat from society. But I am sure that, had the lockdown not occurred, I would have still self-isolated – it just wouldn’t have been socially acceptable and guilt-free.
During this time, I initially thought I was antisocial or some kind of extreme introvert
But, being the wordsmith I like to think I am, I did some cursory research on what I was actually feeling regarding social interaction and realized neither of those labels were accurate. My disposition was more drastic than introversion but not as hostile as antisociality.
I was asocial.
From the Merriam-Webster Dictionary:
asocial
not social; rejecting or lacking the capacity for social interaction
When I saw the latter part of that definition, I just nodded my head and said, “Yes.” That was exactly what was going on. I just couldn’t talk to people anymore. I’d completely lost the capacity. And as a result, I’d rejected social interaction completely.
So, here I was:
Early 2020, spending as much time alone as possible, ignoring every human on Earth, feeling shit about myself and my abilities, and never wanting to touch an instrument or lead a music therapy session again.
I discarded EVERYTHING about my identity and, a little more than a year later, I now feel like writing about it.
I’ve adopted a single domino (something which has separated from the group it inherently belongs with) as my symbol. And I have started “Asocial Media,” a blog where I can try to process, explore, and record all of the drastic life changes I’m going through. A place where I can 100% be my new self without any shame or baggage or expectations or feelings of failure.
This blog is my asocial place
And if you want to come along for the ride, welcome.
Just don’t expect me to talk to you.
