Breaking the Ice: Social Anxiety, Cold Personas, and Learning to Trust
- MikeyRN
- Sep 29
- 5 min read
When you live with social anxiety, people often mistake you for cold. Aloof. Standoffish. It’s not that you don’t want connection — it’s that connection feels like a battlefield, and the armor you wear is the only thing that keeps you safe.
For me, that armor became a persona: distant, guarded, hard. If someone did me wrong, I iced them out completely. No second chances. No thaw. It felt safer that way.
But over time, I realized my armor wasn’t just protecting me — it was isolating me. I wasn’t just shutting out the people who hurt me. I was shutting out everyone.
This tension — between defense and vulnerability, between ice and trust — runs through the second story I wrote for Belza.
Belza vs. Deepfreeze
Still scarred and healing from her brutal fight with La Reina, Belza is forced into another confrontation — this time with Deepfreeze.
Deepfreeze is obsessed with revenge against those who mocked her ideals and tried to force her to conform. Years of humiliation and rejection turned her heart to ice. She wears her bitterness like armor, determined to freeze the world before it ever hurts her again.
Her battle with Belza is intense — blades clashing against ice, frigid winds crashing against sheer willpower. Belza pushes herself to the limit, her body still aching from her last fight, but she refuses to give in. She wins.
But Deepfreeze doesn’t crumble. She doesn’t soften. She’s left seething, her rage intact, her bitterness unbroken.
Because the truth is: winning a battle doesn’t always thaw the ice someone has built around themselves. Sometimes they choose to keep it.
And I know that choice well.
Deep Freezing myself
When I was younger, I thought art programs would be my safe space. I imagined them as places full of people who understood — people who didn’t mock or control, people who valued creativity and expression.
But my social anxiety turned those spaces into traps. I struggled to connect. I stumbled over words. I second-guessed every move. And when people noticed, some took advantage of it. Others dismissed me. Some even ridiculed me outright.
Instead of finding a community, I found walls closing in tighter.
So I built my own walls. A cold persona. The silent type. The one who never let anyone too close. If you crossed me — even slightly — you were done. I’d ice you out without looking back.
At the time, it felt like survival. Looking back, I see the damage. My walls didn’t just block out the cruel people. They blocked out the kind ones too.
The Problem With Living in Ice
Social anxiety already whispers that you’re unworthy. That people are watching, judging, waiting to strike. Add a cold persona on top of that, and you end up proving your own fear true.
When you keep everyone at arm’s length, you guarantee loneliness. When you shut down the possibility of trust, you deny yourself the chance to grow.
I thought I was protecting myself from hurt. Really, I was locking myself inside it.
Deepfreeze embodies this perfectly. Her power is her pain — she weaponizes her bitterness into ice storms and frozen blades. But instead of healing, she’s consumed. Even in defeat, she clings to her anger because letting go feels too vulnerable.
I’ve been there. Hell, I'm still there. Maybe you are too.
Trust Without Naivety
Here’s the lesson I’ve had to learn — slowly, painfully, imperfectly: trust doesn’t mean naivety.
When I first started lowering my walls, I thought it meant I had to ignore my instincts. That I had to let everyone in, even those who raised red flags. And when some of those people betrayed me, I almost retreated into the ice for good.
But trust isn’t blind. It’s not about giving everyone full access to your heart. It’s about giving some people a chance to prove they’re worthy of being there.
Think of it like this: instead of building a fortress with no doors, build one with a gate. Keep your boundaries. Protect your space. But allow yourself the option to open the gate when someone shows they deserve it.
Regret and Reframing
For a long time, I regretted my choice to pursue art programs. My social anxiety twisted those experiences into painful memories, leaving scars I carried for years.
I blamed myself for being too awkward, too quiet, too “cold.” I told myself I should’ve chosen something easier, safer, less social, or I should've just been meaner.
But now I see those regrets differently. They weren’t detours — they were part of the journey.
Those experiences shaped the stories I tell. They gave me language for characters like Deepfreeze, who weaponize their pain instead of healing it. They gave me insight into my own walls — and why I need to keep learning to let them down.
I may regret the pain, but I don’t regret the growth.
For Those Living in Social Anxiety
If you’re someone who feels frozen in social situations, here’s what I want you to hear:
Your coldness isn’t who you are. It’s armor. It served a purpose once. But it doesn’t have to define you forever.
Trust is possible. It doesn’t mean being naive. It means practicing discernment — choosing carefully, not shutting down completely.
Regret can be reframed. The choices you wish you hadn’t made may still be shaping you in ways that matter. They’re part of the road, not wasted time.
Healing is slow. Like Belza, you may win battles and still feel scarred. That doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re human.
Why a Cold Antagonist like Deepfreeze
I created Deepfreeze as more than a villain. She’s a reflection of what happens when bitterness becomes identity. When the walls we build to protect ourselves turn into prisons.
Her clash with Belza is symbolic. Belza fights while injured, still carrying scars, but she refuses to let pain consume her. Deepfreeze, on the other hand, refuses to let go.
I see both sides of myself in that story. The scarred fighter and the bitter recluse. The part of me that wants to heal, and the part that wants to freeze the world out forever.
Writing their battle is a way of writing my own.
Cold Thoughts
Social anxiety tells us we’re safer behind walls. Cold personas tell us we’re stronger when we don’t care. But in truth, isolation only deepens the wound.
The real strength is balance: keeping boundaries without becoming impenetrable, opening the gate without tearing down the whole fortress.
Belza’s battle with Deepfreeze isn’t just another fight. It’s a reminder that pain can fuel us, but it doesn’t have to define us. And maybe — just maybe — we can thaw the ice without losing ourselves in the process.
Read Belza "Cold Front" here:
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