I Didn’t Become Quiet Because I Had Nothing to Say
People Thought I Had Nothing to Say. I Was Just Afraid to Open My Mouth.
Like many of you here, I’ve been dealing with halitosis since I was around 7 years old. I still remember when my cousins started making it clear that they didn’t want to be anywhere near me.
As a child, I started avoiding group activities and preferred working alone. I dreaded getting too close to people and always kept candies in my pocket. I even overheard classmates talking behind my back about how nasty my breath was. Those things stay with you.
Fast forward to when I got into a relationship. My ex avoided kissing me, and I understood why. Whenever I stayed over at his place, I noticed he would leave Listerine in the bathroom for me. After we broke up, I became afraid of being intimate with anyone again.
It affected my work too. My job required constant communication and collaboration, and face-to-face meetings were especially difficult. People probably thought I didn’t have an opinion or had nothing to contribute. But I DID. A lot. There were so many times I wanted to speak up, disagree, or object, but the fear was always there before I even opened my mouth. Sometimes I would already see my coworkers putting their hands near their noses, and that was enough to make me stay quiet.
For years, I learned to numb myself to people's reactions. Even with friendships, I naturally gravitated toward people who weren’t clingy or physically affectionate because it felt safer that way.
Then the pandemic happened. While everyone else complained about masks and how difficult it was to breathe in them, for me, wearing one was strangely freeing. For once, I could talk without constantly watching for an offended expression. Keeping at least a meter of distance from people became normal instead of something I had to deliberately do. The things everyone else found restrictive actually gave me a sense of safety.
Later, when I started working remotely, I became much more expressive and happier. I contributed a lot more during meetings. I could finally say what I thought, disagree when I disagreed, and participate without constantly studying people's faces or wondering whether someone was covering their nose because of me.
I also learned to enjoy doing things alone. I go to concerts, watch movies, and take myself out. If the person sitting beside me at a concert notices something, chances are they’ll never see me again anyway.
That’s basically how I’ve learned to live with it now that I’m in my 40s. It has affected how I socialize, how I work, how I approach intimacy, and even how comfortable I am simply opening my mouth to speak. I still wish I didn’t have to think about my breath at all, but I’ve found ways to live my life without letting that fear take everything away from me.