Exposure Therapy and Self-Esteem: What I Learned From Wearing Speedos

18.05.26

In the middle of a three-hour psychology class, I observe one of my peers stand up, march to the front of the room and face the class, recite a joke, bow, and return to her seat. We all look around in disbelief. It takes us a long moment to realise what is happening, she is doing the exposure exercise from our Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) assignment – the ominously named ‘shame attack exercise’.

The brief is straightforward on paper: choose a shame or anxiety-inducing activity, do it, and reflect. As fifth-year provisional psychologists (meaning L-plates on, still figuring it out), this assignment is designed to familiarise us with exposure-based tasks, but also to make us walk the talk.

I hadn’t planned to do it. My assignment is already a polished Word document – reflection, analysis, insights – drafted out of thin air. I assumed most people would do the same. But during the lunch break, I am surprised to hear how many of my peers have actually followed through. On the tram ride home, my attitude oscillates between disdain over their conscientiousness, and the creeping recognition of my own fraudulence.

Calling Myself Out

Later that night, I reopen my draft and read it over. Then, without much ceremony, I delete it. I revisit the assignment brief and the examples our teacher provides:

Appearance-related discomforts (e.g. going out in mismatched clothes, talking with food in your teeth)
Outgoing or socially odd behaviours (e.g. singing in public, walking a banana on a leash)Acts of self-consciousness (e.g. taking selfies in public, going to a movie alone, being late)

Some examples, like eating alone or sending back a bad meal, feel well within my comfort zone. But others? I wouldn’t be caught dead. This, of course, is the entire point.

To choose an activity, I make a list of the small rituals I rely on to feel in control: checking my appearance, walking with good posture, avoiding trip hazards, not drawing attention. One by one, they reveal themselves as safety behaviours — tiny acts of ego-management I hadn’t realised until now.

Yoga in Speedos

Still, now that I’ve committed, none of these feel like the right option. I keep returning to the image of my peer leaping up in class, and to the friend who completes her exposure exercise by ordering her usual coffee and adding “honey pie” to the end. Then I spot my Speedos on the floor, discarded following my morning swim, and think of the yoga class I’ve booked. Just like that, my shame attack is clear: yoga in Speedos.

It’s not an easy morning. In fact, the anxiety starts the night before. I wake up several times, and for a moment everything feels normal – until I remember what I’ve committed to doing in the morning.

I arrive at the studio very early, flooded with anticipatory anxiety and that strange conviction I’m about to unleash hell. I change, emerge – and see two people waiting. Panicking, I retreat, and start pulling my clothes back on. Then I catch my reflection in the mirror.

It’s Not About the Speedos

The moment gives me pause. This impulse, to put my clothes back on, undermines the whole point of the exercise. But it also reveals something deeper: I’m not just anxious about how I look. I’m ashamed of the fact I care so much.

It’s that discomfort about my discomfort that bothers me. I’m mortified by my own vanity, by the realisation that I can’t laugh it off like the people I so admire. It echoes the guilt I felt earlier that week when I pretended to have completed the assignment. That same heavy, sticky guilt: this isn’t the chilled-out, unfazed kind of person I want, or often claim, to be.

I stand there for a while. Then I bring to mind my best friend Daisy, who laughs easily at herself. I think of my sister, and my dad too, both of whom would likely be unfazed, maybe even proud, of doing something so bold.

And then I make a decision: to channel their energy. It’s like flicking a switch. The anxiety doesn’t vanish, but humour softens it. It gives me just enough room to move and I step out of the bathroom.

The Relief of Facing A Fear

What follows isn’t triumph, not exactly. It’s more grounded than that. A feeling that I have done the thing I was avoiding, that I’ve said yes to an uncomfortable truth and survived it. A quiet self-respect.

This exercise gives me something I didn’t expect: insight into the subtle, persistent ways I protect myself from vulnerability. I don’t usually think of myself as socially anxious. But now I can see how much effort goes into avoiding the possibility of feeling exposed.

How to Lighten Up (Without Ignoring Real Life)

This kind of exposure work isn’t for everyone, and it’s not the answer to everything. But it does teach something useful: anxiety often grows in the shadows of perfectionism and self-consciousness. Sometimes, the antidote is not to strive harder, but to soften a little. And also, to laugh.

Here are a few gentle ways to start doing that:

Catch your brain in the act Notice when your thoughts spiral or become overly critical. You don’t have to believe every thought you have, especially the ones that hold you hostage.
Zoom out Ask yourself: Will this still matter in a week? A year? Often, the answer is no. Try not to give small moments more power than they deserve.
Remember what you’ve survived Think back to times you felt awkward, embarrassed, or unsure, and the fact you got through it anyway. That version of you is in there.
Lower the bar (in the best way) Perfection is not the goal. Being human is. Laughing at your missteps, forgiving your awkwardness, that’s where ease lives.
Make space for silliness Watch something light. Be around people who don’t take life too seriously. Find ways to laugh at yourself, and with others. It’s not a distraction, it’s amazing – and healing.

Conclusion: Braver Than You Think

This assignment wasn’t really about Speedos or spectacle. It was about facing the discomfort I usually dodge.

Leaning into awkwardness helped me realise how much energy I spend trying not to be seen the “wrong” way. But discomfort isn’t failure. It’s just part of being human.

Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is show up anyway — and laugh a little while you do.

If you’d like to read more about CBT for anxiety, you can do so here. You might also enjoy reading about the 100 Days of Rejection project, where one man dedicated himself to doing one embarrassing or rejection-provoking thing every day, for 100 days, to overcome his anxiety (some of the things are wild!).