Psychologists who treat anxiety aren’t immune to worries of their own.

One of my worst fears is of doing or failing to do something that will lead to embarrassment and professional disgrace—specifically, of committing a major, irrevocable, hugely public gaffe on the Internet. I’ve laid awake at night thinking I might unknowingly have forwarded to the entire Maryland Psychological Association list-serve a private email exchange with another colleague containing a snarky comment, or fretting about the privacy settings on my personal Facebook profile.

I find blogging scary. In keeping with my number one piece of advice about dealing with anxiety (“MAKE YOURSELF ANXIOUS!”), my blog about cognitive behavioral strategies is a cognitive behavioral strategy (for me).  It’s an exposure exercise, an opportunity to wallow in uncertainty.

Every time I post, I risk being seen as:  stupid or unprofessional or a bad writer or indifferent to parallel sentence structure or too concerned about archaic rules of grammar or incapable of proper spacing after a period or too fond of parenthetical expressions or dull or pretentious or trite or old or trying too hard to act younger than my age or insensitive or wrong or foolish or too free with italics.  Or self-aggrandizing or self-deprecating or insecure or not funny or too formal or too casual or technologically inept or politically-incorrect or offensive or unlikeable or incompetent or too self-disclosing or pedantic or preachy or judgmental or opinionated or wishy-washy or too scientific or not quantitative enough or redundant or neurotic or unconventional or stodgy or canine-centric or dogmatic or not fit to practice psychology.

You get the point. No matter how carefully I choose my words and edit my copy, someone undoubtedly will find fault with me. And there’s nothing I can do to prevent it from happening.

If blogging is opening a can of writhing mental worms, then Tweeting is plunging an arm into it up to the elbow. I’m new to Twitter, and I don’t understand its the finer points—or much at all about it, really. And there’s no one I can ask for help because my husband, usually my go-to advisor for all computer questions, and even my kids, don’t have Twitter accounts. Nor do any of my friends or colleagues. So I’m entering this new country—with its own symbols, language, and etiquette—by myself without a guide. Pretty nerve-wracking.

Yes, the Internet is a gaping maw of uncertainty for the perfectionist. “Social media fear of failure,” as one social media consultant calls it, is pretty common, it seems.

I’m about to embrace the unknown in another way as well by opening up the blog for comments. I’m willing to take the chance that people will disagree with me, dislike my opinions, or (maybe worse) not respond at all. But I also want to minimize the potential for legal or ethical issues to arise and preserve my professional reputation. Hence, the following disclaimer:

This blog is intended solely for the purpose of entertainment and education. All remarks are meant as general information and should not be taken as personal diagnostic or therapeutic advice.  

If you choose to comment on a post, please do not include any information that could identify you as a patient or potential patient. Also, please refrain from making any testimonals about me or my practice, as my professional code of ethics does not permit me to publish such statements. Comments that I deem inappropriate for this forum will not be published.

So here goes. I’m looking forward to hearing from you.