Self - (conscious) Actualization

I am shy. Painfully, and sometimes self-destructively, shy. That’s probably one of the most important things to know about me. Shyness causes me to be a little socially awkward as people get to know me. That’s something about me that’s probably just good to know.

I was and wasn’t always shy. My mom tells me that I almost never cried as a baby. She says that if she didn’t have a bottle ready when I was starting to whimper for my supper, she’d just rub my cheek and ask me to wait a minute or two. And I’d wait quietly, she says. That’s another thing about me – I’m not fussy and usually pretty patient.

Mom says I was a fabulous child until age 3. I was very quiet and easy to please until that point. At 3, however, I started opening my mouth. Talking, crying, demanding tons of attention. “Everyone would ask me, ‘What happened to your sweet little baby?’” Mom recalls, sometimes with a laugh.

I don’t think my mom intended any malice when she first told me that story, but for a long time I thought it perfectly defined me. Usually, people enjoy my company until I open my mouth. Correction: People enjoy my company until I open my mouth to say something other than an agreement or compliment. It’s always been that way – throughout middle school, high school, parts of college – and it makes sense, I’d rationalize. No one’s ever liked what I’ve had to say, even as a cute little 3-year-old.

Truth is, that story doesn’t perfectly define me, even though I allowed it to for a long time. Actually, I only very recently let go of it as my monicker. I’ve hidden behind it for a long time, using it as an excuse not to speak up. But by leaving it up to that story to determine who I am, I thusly let others decide who I am, too. That’s not really fair for anyone.

So here’s who I am, or at least what I’ve figured out about myself so far.

I’m shy, but only in certain situations. Most of the time I can hide that shyness, but it often comes off as arrogance. That’s fine, though, because I am arrogant. I also have low self-esteem and often feel unimportant and unloved. I am fervently independent, which can cause me to alienate and mistrust others. I’m judgmental and vain, too.

And I’m okay with all of that.

None of those are particularly good things to be, but unlike my story, I don’t let those negative qualities totally define me. They are a part of me, yes, but they supplement the rest of who I am, which is the out-going woman in red with the loudest laugh in the bar.

I am the woman who is humble while believing in her own greatness.

I’m the woman who knows that she may not be important to everyone, but is confident in her worth and knows a select few love and need her.

I’m the woman that cherishes solitude and independence while choosing to let people in and not be alone.

I am the woman that isn’t afraid to voice her first impressions, even if they are a little mean or nasty. I’m also the woman that doesn’t hold tight to such thoughts, forever believing in giving others benefit of the doubt.

And I’m the vain woman who steals glances of herself in store windows, because when I think I look good, I feel good. I feel more confident in who I am, and that’s when all these positive qualities materialize for everyone else to see.

No matter what, I am shy. I can’t totally let go of that part of me, even though I’ve let go of the story that tagged me. I don’t really want abandon my shyness (though I’ve promised myself to challenge it, which is why I posted this essay on the blog). Letting go of that trait would disrespect my past, how far I’ve come and who I became in the process. It would also disrespect my journalistic self. Being shy attracted me to writing and eventually journalism, a profession where is okay – and sometimes encouraged – for people to not like what you have to say.

I’m okay with being shy. That’s probably the most important thing to know about me.