''Empowering and cathartic'' – Dr Tracy Cooper, International Consultant on High Sensitivity

''Deeply moving and informative'' – Lily Bailey, author

As an adolescent, Russell’s face and neck would turn crimson at the slightest thing.

In his twenties he began suffering from an extreme form of blushing (idiopathic craniofacial erythema). It sent out all the wrong signals — to friends, family and to the opposite sex. And it triggered something worse: Social Anxiety Disorder.

Up to one in 10 people develop this irrational fear of other human beings.

From university to the workplace, Russell desperately tried to hide his secret from everyone. In an attempt to be ‘normal,’ he grabbed every remedy going, from drugs to herbs to bottles of absinthe.

Through trial and error, he discovered a way to overcome social anxiety and live a fulfilling and rich life.

By turns wry and shocking, dark and optimistic, Redface is the eye-opening true story of how one man found his own way forward in a world built for others.

It will fascinate readers who are socially anxious, their friends and family, and anyone who wants to know what it’s like to travel to the edge of human experience and back. Read this memoir and discover how to conquer your social anxiety and learn how to be yourself.

Reviews

''Immersive and raw in its emotional intensity, Norris''s Redface invites us into his private world of avoidance, compensation and adaptation.

Ultimately culminating in a deep awareness of himself and the world he moves through, it''s empowering and cathartic for everyone who has experienced SAD.'' – Dr Tracy Cooper, International Consultant on High Sensitivity

''Deeply moving and informative.

I raced through it. Norris''s portrayal of the cyclical struggle of Social Anxiety Disorder is stunning. This book is the perfect response to anyone who''s ever said "don''t we all get anxious about socialising?"'' – Lily Bailey, Because We Are Bad: OCD and a Girl Lost in Thought

Extract

Chapter 1: Closed Door

I’m hovering just in front of a closed door.

It’s in the office building where I work. I can see through the window of the door into the room beyond it. I’m listening carefully for approaching voices. As soon as another person comes into view, I’ll have to make a snap decision: commit and go through that door or abort and quickly walk away from it, surreptitiously double back at some point, then try to hold my nerve for a second attempt.

I’ve been doing this in secret for my entire career and if I could calculate exactly how much time I’ve lost in this state of limbo, all the seconds, minutes and hours spent holding back in hallways or pacing back and forth just behind closed doors, it might add up to a lifetime.

And a waste of one.

Because there’s nothing out of the ordinary on the other side of those doors. Just the usual setup of any modern workplace. Open plan desks, meeting rooms, breakout sofas, whiteboards, water coolers, tea and coffee points – spaces designed to help people work together.

But people is the key word. On the other side of every door there will be people. People I know. People who know me. People I’m about to meet. People who’ve yet to meet me. And once I’m on the other side there’s no turning back. I’ll attend a meeting.

A briefing. A brainstorm. Or I’ll run into someone and they’ll stop for some small talk. I’ll start to feel like I’m walking in the glare of a giant magnifying glass, growing hotter and hotter like a beam of sunshine intensifying through a lens. And if I’m not sufficiently prepared for it all, I’ll start to feel something quiver and give way inside.

And I’ll know that if I don’t escape to the other side of the door again, to the relative safety of my desk, I’ll fall apart in front of everyone.

For just about as long as I can remember, I’ve had Social Anxiety. Not the shyness or self-consciousness