This article is the third of a three-part series. Read Part 1 here and Part 2 here.
After coming back for my second year at Kenyon, I’ve suddenly become much more vocal. It threw me off at first—as a first-year student, I rarely wanted to make comments, even when I felt that I had something to say. I felt like it wasn’t my place to give input. In short, I was incredibly shy.
So it surprised me more than anyone when I returned as a sophomore and found that I was way less nervous to share my voice. Maybe it’s in part because I’m more confident in my knowledge—I learned a lot in my first year, and not having to start from scratch has given me much more to contribute. It could also be that I’m not the “new guy” anymore. But more than that, I think it’s because I’ve learned to start unapologetically being myself.
I’ve struggled with social anxiety for years without putting a name to it. I thought that I was just awkward, and unhelpful thinking convinced me that people automatically didn’t want me around or want to hear what I had to say. Simply understanding what happens in my brain helps astronomically with overcoming it. When you can identify the things your brain is telling you, you can realize that while those thoughts seem so real at the moment, they’re not the truth.
So, with new strategies under my belt to help combat my own mind, I experienced a swell of newfound confidence. I gave my opinion, rather than waiting for what was popular with everyone else and going with it. I started making my own suggestions in academic and extracurricular activities, despite the fear that they may not be well-received or I may be the only one making them. Instead of resigning myself to eating alone at meals, I found people I knew and asked to sit with them. I started speaking up more in class to give feedback to others, no longer chained down by not feeling like I was worthy of giving input. Above all, I’ve had such an easier time talking to people, no matter what the circumstance.
As I said, I don’t think anyone was more surprised by this change than I was. It’s new and different, but it feels really, really good. I realized something crucial: if people suddenly don’t like me when I start speaking out, they’re not really my friends. And if they’re really my friends, they’ll want to hear what I have to say, whether it’s suggestions for a capella material, comments on choral technique, study methods for Ancient Greek, or how my weekend went.
A large part of what kept me quiet for so long was feeling like I had to maintain the shy persona I had established at the beginning, or else people wouldn’t like me anymore, or they’d think that I had been lying somehow, just because I’m quiet around people I don’t know very well. My social life has contained a somewhat-odd paradox: people would say that I’m “perfect,” and I would never know how to respond because it felt untrue, and incredibly unstable. I always thought, what if they find out how flawed I am and hate me? Just like everyone, I’m not perfect. I’m far, far from it. And that’s okay. It doesn’t mean that my friends are going to turn on me when I let myself make mistakes and be vulnerable. That’s what real friendship is there for, and I am just as deserving of friendship as anyone else.
More importantly, I am entitled to my voice. I am entitled to my thoughts and beliefs, and while I am sure to maintain a sense of propriety, I should never have to censor myself in order to please others. I don’t need to fear disagreement as long as I know how to back myself up. I have learned anew how to step up and take the lead, and make the decisions required to do so, while still listening to others and making sure no one feels ignored. I no longer fear being seen and heard by my peers, but instead face them willingly, looking them in the eyes rather than staring at my own feet.
I have nothing to apologize for when it comes to being me. People can take me or leave me, but I am what they get. I proudly take ownership of myself. And personally, I like who I am.
Image Credit: 1, Writer’s Own
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