My senior year of high school I applied to all the big colleges, leaving out places where teachers would know me by name. The "social security number" way of identifying people was relieving for me, a kid who had, at times, thrown up after being called on by a teacher. With this said, a school with more than 40,000 undergraduates made perfect sense. That is, until I found out there was a mandatory speech class. Having to take a speech class could have been the thing that ruined the entire experience for me, before it even started. I mean, people do fear public speaking more than death. Most students waited until their senior year to take this class, but I didn’t want to ruin my experience by postponing it. So I took it at the end of my freshman year. My first day of class was an interesting one. I was the obviously shy one, migrating to the back of the room. As soon as I walked past my classmates without looking up, I felt them judging me. They would probably go home and tell their friends that "speech class is so much fun, except for that one anti-social girl who sits in the back." It’s not that I’m anti-social, don’t get me wrong. I’m pro-social, whatever that means. I just don’t practice what I preach. When it was time to begin class, the professor went around the classroom asking each person to talk about their biggest fear. Dying, never getting married, getting pregnant, losing their best friend, car accidents... the list goes on. Nowhere in that list was public speaking. Had the statistics lied to me? Was it really just me? It was my turn. "What’s your biggest fear?" he asked. Suddenly, my heart began to pound. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I felt red. I had to be beet red. He looked annoyed, like I was purposely trying to ignore him. I had to say something. "This," I replied. This. This. This. That was all I could say. Well, the first step is admitting you have a problem, right? One down, one thousand to go. But the professor didn’t let me slide with just a "this". "So talking in front of the class right now is bothering you, huh?" he asked. I nodded, figuring (and hoping) that he would move on to the next person. "So right this second, your heart is beating heavily, your palms are sweaty, butterflies are bouncing around in your stomach, and you feel like you won’t get out a sentence without stopping to catch your breath. Am I right?" Bingo, I thought. He relentlessly picked on me for minutes after, until the butterflies were gone, my heart rate was normal, and my palms were dry. I don’t know what that teacher did to me that day, but speech class was a breeze, more so for me than for anyone else. I nailed every speech, even the final "impromptu" speech, where I was given the topic as I approached the front of the classroom. I had taken on the little battles, and won them fairly. However, this isn’t a miracle story. My shyness didn’t disappear that day. It’s still there, and as soon as that class was over, it was back with a vengeance like I knew it would be. It took a brief vacation and it still takes vacations, sometimes even for months, but just when I think it’s gone forever, it comes back and puts a grey cloud in my sky. But I live for the moments when it takes a vacation. As much as psychologists would argue with me, I think I’ll always be "shy." It’s who I am and that’s not so bad. Maybe some days I won’t be as shy as others, but it’s still there somewhere. The only difference is that now I know when it needs a vacation. But vacations don’t last forever. The only advice I can leave you is that when it all comes down to it, you’ve got nothing to lose except sweaty palms, a loss of words, and a blushing face. But you’ve got that now, anyway. Shyness may be difficult to overcome, but loneliness is harder. More Self-Help
Info by Tiffany Lopes |
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