As a kid, I used to have panic attacks when dealing with adults other than my parents. A simple greeting from a relative, be it an aunt I see regularly or a distant uncle, would send a shockwave through the language center of my brain, upending all the appropriated, appropriate string of words and phrases which would give someone the idea that I was a normal, functioning human being. Resorting to vague shrugs and mumbled words, getting a point across clearly and concisely seemed to be an unnaturally difficult task for me.

Writing was one of the only ways I could express myself properly. I could inject the slight nuances that I lacked in speech into anything I wrote, flesh out an original idea, explore the deep recesses of my vocabulary and hold the ticker tape of my thought out to my audience.
When I applied to Rising Stars, the now-defunct teen rag of the paper I currently work for, I expected the freelance writing to be a sweet deal. You work from home, come to the meeting once a week and somehow survive two hours of interaction with other human beings, plus you get paid per article. However, during a nerve rattling interview (the first of my life), I was informed of the occasional interviews I might have to conduct, and quotations I would have to collect. There was no way I could convince myself I'd actually be good at this job, because 18 year old me simply didn't think he would have the spine to take an interview and not stutter and fumble his way through it.
The very first meeting I had with the mad, happy idiots and immensely talented writers, I had a plan to save myself from embarrassment. I would slink down in my chair and try to disappear into the faded maroon chair, become a part of the yellow foam and filling that was working its way out of the confines of the rexine cover. When it was my turn to introduce myself, though, my plan went poof. I found myself standing up and uttering a string of words I have absolutely no recollection of, followed by the cackle of laughter. I also remember they weren't laughing at me, but, miraculously, with me. Tareq Adnan, Kazim Ibn Sadique, Sabrina Ahmed, Osama Rahman and so many more – I had blubbered god knows what in front of my personal heroes and they didn't think I was a complete and utter moron.
I realized later on that it was the calming effect of the surroundings, which had helped me overcome my irrational fear of speaking in front of strangers. A madman in a madhouse, spewing out incomprehensible garbage, is likely to be well understood and accepted. And so will his silence, if he chooses that path.
It is a fact that when you feel you fit in, in a crowd, an office, a circle of friends, everything goes smoothly for you to the point where you feel at ease with being yourself. This is especially important, at least from my personal experience, in creative fields, where ideas can be shot down even before they are pitched properly, and making friends is exponentially more difficult than a school playground.
Most people find their suitable madhouse in which they can air their inner demons without fear by the time they reach the end of their teenage years. The teenage years themselves are so tumultuous that many end up in cliques they wouldn't have ever imagined themselves to be a part of, and subsequently get stuck. Quarter-life crisis is serious, and this is one of the potent mixes that accelerate it into a mid-life one, so watching out for the signs that you don't belong in a certain crowd is quite important.
Nabeel Khan, a third year student at the University of Texas at Arlington studying mechanical engineering on a scholarship, admits he stuck out like a sore thumb almost all his life. He found his element in college, which was crunching numbers and reducing the laws of physics to tangible objects, namely, racecars. “Competing in Formula SAE (a racing competition held across the US among competing schools), I felt at home. The team didn't care where you came from, as long as you had good ideas and you could think on your feet, you were welcomed with open arms”, says Nabeel.  
If you haven't found your tribe of madmen and madwomen yet in your career, there's a distinct possibility you are in the wrong field of work. Socially awkward people find it difficult to talk to their own family, let alone a bunch of relative strangers in a work environment. It hampers communication, disrupts the flow of work, and is generally bad for teamwork if one gear of the clockwork is sitting silently in a corner, refusing to tick over with the rest of the bits.
The workplace can be a depressing place for a person afflicted with the socially awkward blues. The key to getting out of that and being productive and successful in your career is to find a group of like-minded people, either in your current line of work, or a completely different track. Moving out of your shell will pay off in the future.