I don’t think my hands have stopped trembling since move-in day.  I’ve always had hand tremors, yet the neuroscientist my concerned mother urged me to visit assured me that it’s merely one of many cases she has seen of physiological tremors.  Surprisingly, it’s a phenomenon that is surprisingly very common and one that isn’t dangerous.  True, while this isn’t a condition that severely interferes with my life in the day-to-day, it’s often a channel through which emotions manifest in my body.  This is where my problem begins.  

Anxiety and fear are the worst, the feelings which produce the largest tremors. I can barely keep hold of a mic while speaking in front of an audience. It’s been a while since I’ve had to deal with that, but being an underclassman again in a school where everyone seems cooler and more knowledgable has reminded me of my freshman year in high school. I spent too many mornings dreading walking to school and bearing the probing eyes of my classmates. Transitioning from a year and a half of online schooling to suddenly being thrust into the fast-paced, social world of college was indeed an anxiety-producing shift.

I went from being perceived through a video camera and microphone to being perceived in the flesh, once again, and my body hasn’t taken too kindly to that.  Every time I step into someplace outdoors on campus, part of my mind struggles to beat back the thoughts of: “Am I dressed well enough?” “Does this person recognize my face?” “Do I meet their expectations?” among others.  Worry and apprehension build up more and more, and my hands begin to shake ever so slightly.  

These thoughts and other variations have been running through my mind since the end of August.  In this near-constant state of unease, the only release is letting my hands shake.  Typing at a computer, taking a drink from a glass, writing, and other tasks that require fine motor skills become a little more complicated, but this is the only extent of my inconvenience, which I’m grateful for.  However, I worry that someone will notice and make an inquiry, which only compounds the reaction in my hands.  I’m someone who prides themselves a little bit on their ability to stay calm and collected, so: Why must my body betray me like this?  

One day, I wonder if my hands will ever permanently become still.  But must I measure my self-discovery, growth, and healing in this way?  In the meantime, conquering my physical reactions to uncomfortable conditions remains a challenge for me.  I may not have control over the situations themselves, but I am in charge of how I react to them.