Hiding in Fear

"You must do the thing you think you cannot do." 
                -Eleanor Roosevelt

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In kindergarten and first grade I was what you would now call Selectively Mute. At school I spoke to no one, I would literally burst into tears if my teacher called on me.  I was smart, did great on tests, knew all of the answers, but would not, could not, speak out loud.  I was terrified that I would say the wrong thing.  That fear kept me totally silent (even though being the silent crybaby was no less embarrassing than getting a wrong answer would have been).  The reason my mother didn't realize there was a problem was that, not only did I get good grades, but when I got in the car on the ride home, would gush on and on about all the wonderful things I had learned in class and all of the exciting things we had done during the school day. I would teach my younger brother everything I had learned. So my mother was a little thrown off at my parent teacher conference when they told her they thought I was "retarded."  My mom basically told them to shove it, so nothing further came of it. I continued to not speak and ace my tests and my teachers continued to ignore me. In second grade I moved to a new school and my teacher made an effort to be nice to me.  She would ask me simple questions about my day when no one else was around.  I started to come out of my shell a bit (I would talk- sometimes). Over the next few years up until high school, I spoke to my friends, spoke to my teacher on the side, but would cry uncontrollably if I was addressed in front of others. I was terrified to say the wrong thing or to look stupid. My face would turn red, my eyes would tear up and my nose would start running. It was a horrible catch-22. All I wanted was to hide, for no one to notice me or see me, but my sniffling and sobbing would make it impossible for me not to be stared at. By 8th grade, the last grade my elementary school offered, I had a few friends, but I always felt like an outcast.  Thankfully I got to change schools again.

In 9th grade I attended the area's catholic high school. Some of my previous classmates went there too, but I got another chance to start over. Somehow I knew deep down that I didn't really want to hide anymore. I didn't want to be a nobody, I wanted to be seen.  The fear continued to keep me from really being myself.  I cut my long, lanky, unkempt hair into a cute shoulder length, and I felt like a new person.  Still, I wanted to sing, be in the school play and be a star. I joined those activities, but couldn't find the courage to put myself out there. I knew I had a pretty voice, but I was terrified to sing out loud in front of anyone.  I was in the chorus where I could be on stage, but still hide. Luckily I was a decent athlete in a really small school. The thing I liked about sports was that you could put yourself out there, but because you are concentrating on catching, shooting, or setting a ball, there is no room for being self-conscious. Still, my friend and I still joke about the day I got lightly scolded by the teacher in science class and I started balling.  I was a senior in high school.

In college I started to figure out what many people never do. In order to get over the fear, you must do what you are most afraid of. In the words of Eleanor Roosevelt, "you must do the thing you think you cannot do." I took a public speaking class. I took a Broadway singing class where I knew that I was going to have to do a solo. I tried out for volleyball. I didn't make the team. So I tried out for lacrosse, a sport I had never watched, played and had no idea what the rules were.  I played for two years, and I was pretty darn good.  I mostly stopped crying in class, and sometimes would raise my hand to answer questions.  I had learned to try new things, to put myself out there, to allow others to see me- but only what I was good at.  I continued to feel like an outsider with my group of friends, and because of this I didn't treat them well.  I just didn't know how to truly relax or be myself.  I had on a constant mask to show them that I was all cool and collected and put together.  My boyfriend, now-husband, was a constant companion.  I love him to pieces, but I know I hid behind his outgoing personality.

My next phase of life took me to Hawaii with my now-husband. I continued to practice trying new things.  I've taken kickboxing, taekwondo, joined a canoe paddling team and crossfit. I've run a half-marathon twice.  I've hiked all over Oahu.  But the thing that I finally was able to figure out was how to connect with others.  How to have the friendships that I was so jealous of all of my life.  It turns out it has nothing to do with being cool, or good at sports, or pretty, or calm and collected.  It has everything to do with being a jack ass.  And letting them see that you are not perfect.  My friends know how forgetful and disorganized I am.  They are not surprised by the clutter that is a constant companion in my car.  They know I don't iron my clothes, wear makeup or brush my hair.  And they don't care in the least.  It is the vulnerability that I allow in these relationships that make them so close.  It is the most terrifying and most amazing thing in the world to let someone know your "faults."

Did you know that we all have this tendency?  We wear different masks that we show off to the world to tell others how they should see us.  We wear professional outfits to work, we put on makeup, and talk about how wonderful and put together our lives are.  We pretend that we are organized and that we like paperwork and don't hate anyone in the office.  Then we go home and feel like we've been putting on a show all day.  Nobody's seen the real us.  We have different masks that we wear for our friends, and sometimes it's a different mask for different friends and different groups.  We wear our sexy, out-with-the-girlfriends outfit, fluff out our hair, wear heels and jewelry.  We avoid talking about the shitty stuff because we don't want to be a downer.  And we go home with our true feelings, our true selves hidden away from the world.  We're afraid others will look down on us, or not want to be around us.  The fear is stifling and isolating.

What I've learned over time is that the scariest things in life are usually the most worthwhile.  Trying out for sports even though I could be terrible.  Telling my husband how I feel even though he could be angry.  Letting my friends know that I don't wash my hair every time I shower.  Going to a meeting at work with a mediocre document that I've put together.  Guessing what someone is going through, and allowing them to correct me without getting defensive.  Allowing the world to see that I'm not perfect.  I must say I would still prefer to take a punch to my face than sing a solo in front of a crowd.  But, hey, who knows?  Maybe I should put it on my list.


"Yes, Mother. I can see you are flawed. You have not hidden it. That is your greatest gift to me."
 -Alice Walker 



“Courage is simply the willingness to be afraid and act anyway.”
-Dr. Robert Anthony

What has your fear been keeping you from? What can you try today, or this week that has been scaring the day lights out of you? Post your answers in the comments!