Feelings Of Inadequacy -

Feelings of inadequacy aren’t just a passing thought for those of us with Avoidant Personality Disorder (AvPD). They’re not a little hiccup of self-doubt before a presentation or a moment of uncertainty when trying something new.

No. These feelings of inadequacy are a full body experience. The monster in your head screeching, “You can’t do this. You’re not good enough, and everyone is going to see what a bumbling mess you are”.

Personally, I live in a state of self protective paralysis, like it’s Groundhog Day – except instead of learning piano, I’m stuck in a never ending loop of avoiding tasks, dodging risk, and quietly panicking when asked to try anything. If nothing new happens, I can’t be caught out. But then nothing new happens… and I start to rot from the inside. Safe, yes. But also hollow. Also bored. Also screaming into the void while folding tea towels.

I haven’t exactly set the world on fire. I’ve built my entire adult life around avoiding anything that might expose my deep, pulsing feelings of inadequacy. If something looks even slightly complex or unfamiliar, I opt out. Not because I don’t want to learn – but because I already assume I’ll fail.

Exhibit A: The Router That Broke Me

I once sobbed down the phone to my internet provider because I couldn’t figure out how to set up my Wi-Fi router. Literal cables. In literal ports. Nothing about that situation should have been traumatic – but when your brain is built on a foundation of feelings of inadequacy, even plugging in a wire feels like defusing a bomb. Blindfolded. Underwater. With everyone watching.

Eventually, yes, I got it working. But not before Googling things like “Can a router electrocute you” and “What if I connect it wrong? Can I circuit the house electrics?” It sounds funny now – and it kind of is – but the emotional breakdown is 100% real. That’s what feelings of inadequacy do: they turn basic life tasks into psychological warfare.

Exhibit B: Flat-Packed Furniture And Full-Blown Panic

When something arrives flat packed, most people roll up their sleeves. I break into a full-body sweat and the shakes. Just the sight of an instruction leaflet sends a jolt through me, as if IKEA is personally mocking my lack of intelligence.

I panic scroll through the diagrams, trying to decode them before my fight-or-flight response takes over. My feelings of inadequacy scream over every image: You can’t do this. You’ll mess it up. You’ll break it. You’ll sit on it and it’ll collapse and you’ll deserve it. By the time I’m halfway through, I’m emotionally bruised and physically vibrating.

Exhibit C: March Of The Moron

I remember years ago, I was in an online group when the boss asked a few of us to help with something. It was such a simple request – nothing dramatic – but my brain immediately shut down. My mind blurred over, and panic started to rise in my chest.

When this kind of thing happens, I can’t just sit still. I have to get up and walk quickly around the house, swinging my arms to try to push the panic back down. It’s not a strategy – it’s more like survival. If I don’t move, swinging my arms wildly, then I’m going to have a full panic attack.

Despite the panic, I did manage to notice something that the supervisor missed. It should have felt like a success, but instead, I dismissed it completely. I told myself it was just luck – something I happened to catch by accident.

I left school when I was 15 and I carry this belief that I’m not smart enough, not capable enough, not someone who should be relied on. That moment didn’t feel like proof that I was capable. It just felt like a mistake had worked in my favor, briefly.

It’s a strange thing to be so consumed by feelings of inadequacy that even small achievements don’t register as valid. They just feel like borrowed moments, like I’ve tricked people into thinking I’m useful, if only for a second.

People-Pleasing: A Side Effect Of Feelings Of Inadequacy

People talk about people pleasing like it’s some charming quirk. But for me, it’s survival. It’s what I do to feel accepted because my feelings of inadequacy tell me I have nothing else to offer. I don’t believe people want me around unless I’m useful, impressive, or at least… paying for drinks.

I once built an entire website for a neighbor I barely knew. Why? Because she smiled at me and mentioned her Reiki business. My brain instantly calculated: This is your chance. Be useful. Be needed. Get the compliment. Quiet the inadequacy. I typed up all her paper leaflets by hand. Twenty hours of unpaid labor, just so she’d say, “You’re amazing.” And she did. And I felt incredible for five whole minutes before I realized I’d been used. But honestly? It was still worth it. I needed the high.

The same feelings of inadequacy had me buying rounds of drinks for people (in the days when I still had a bit of a social life) who couldn’t even remember my last name. But they liked me – at least for as long as the alcohol kept flowing – and that was enough to hush the inner voice that said, “You’re not worth talking to otherwise”.

When Feelings Of Inadequacy Becomes Dangerous

At one point, I was renting a beautiful house. Then I lost my job, went on benefits, and my elderly landlord died. Her children wanted to sell the house. The council told me to ask for a formal eviction notice to qualify for housing support.

But I couldn’t. I didn’t want them to think badly of me.

So I lived in a disused office for three months. Among dead plants and fax machines from the ’90s. Because my feelings of inadequacy told me I didn’t deserve help. Because being hated or seen as difficult felt worse than being homeless. That’s not people pleasing. That’s people worshipping.

That’s the power this thing has. It doesn’t just make you feel bad – it convinces you that you deserve to be.

Yet Strangely Adequate In A Crisis

Strangely, in a crisis, I’m fine. If there’s a flood or fire, I turn into some sort of community leader. Why? Because there’s no time for small talk. But I’m still trying to impress, to get that validation. I want people to look at me and think how amazing I am. Anything less leaves me feeling rejected.

But most of life isn’t a crisis. Most of life is slow and awkward and full of social nuance I feel completely unequipped for.

Everyday Panic: Now With Extra Cement

Recently, I decided to spider proof my home. I found a gap at the base of the wall and filled it in with cement. Then panic hit.

What if those gaps were there for a reason? Expansion? Drainage? Earth magic?

I spent two whole days spiraling, lost four pounds in anxiety weight, and practically developed a second job on construction forums. My feelings of inadequacy told me I had probably just doomed the neighborhood to a slow and dusty death.

Eventually, I chipped the cement out, shoved mesh in there and walked away. But I still check the wall every morning like it might crack open and swallow me for my sins. For the next couple of weeks, every time I went to the shop and saw a fire engine go by, I honestly thought my house had exploded. This isn’t me trying to be comical either.

Final Thoughts: The Slow Grind Of Inadequacy

Driving somewhere new? Dread. Talking to absolutely anyone (who isn’t paid to talk to me such as a doctor)? Terror.

The feelings of inadequacy that come with AvPD aren’t little flickers of doubt. They’re a floodlight on everything we try to do. They stop us from starting. They punish us for trying. And they absolutely obliterate our ability to believe we might be okay at something.

But we do things anyway. Sometimes with laughter that’s way too loud for the situation. And sometimes with cement, a prayer, and a very nervous glance at the wall.

Most people have feelings of inadequacy but for those of us with the dreaded AvPD, it’s no normal feeling. It’s deep and it’s constant – enough to make us hide away and detach ourselves from life and doing new things.

A Lifestyle Blog for the Socially Avoidant