Shyness and Bathrooms

Most folks have no idea how shy I am. Last Saturday, someone said I “light up a room.” She’d never guess at that moment I was fighting the urge to run and hide in the bathroom.

A Recent Event:
In the grocery store parking lot, I spot a neighbor, a very nice woman-- friendly and pleasant; my daughter used to feed her cats when they went on vacation. But I am so afraid of engaging that woman in conversation, I turn so she can’t see me. Later I ask myself what I was so scared of. I have no idea; I guess I always expect that if people get to know me, they will reject me.

It all started in seventh grade. For the whole year, I was persona non grata. Nobody wanted to be my friend. Imagine the pain of going every day to the lunchroom, knowing you’d have to sit all alone. Sometimes I couldn’t even do that: “You can’t sit here; All these seats are saved.”

Finally I just stopped going to lunch, and spent the whole lunch hour hiding out in the restroom. What did I do all that time? I’d walk around and around and around. Scrape paint off the radiator. Look in the mirror and comb my wretched curly hair. Worry that someone would come in and find me. Of course I got terribly hungry. Sometimes I sneaked out into the hall and bought a pecan pie from the vending machine.

By eighth grade I’d found a couple of other losers to eat lunch with. Then in high school I became a hippie. That way I could pretend it was me rejecting them, not the other way around. I found a whole crowd of like-minded kids to hang with.

But in college, the fears started all over again. I spent most of my time reading in my room, too scared to go out and risk rejection. It was terribly lonely. I’d discovered this new magazine, Ms, and ached for someone to discuss it with.

One day I saw a poster advertising a feminist retreat and signed up. I drove there on a Friday night, checked in, and took my suitcase to my room. Then I panicked. I couldn’t go out and face all those strangers; I just couldn’t. I would spend the weekend in the room. I saw no other option.

Then a funny thing happened. I thought, “That is just too stupid, even for me. I paid money to come to this retreat. Am I gonna let it go to waste?”

I felt like I was walking into the valley of death, but I went out into the dining room, sat at a table and forced myself to talk to people. Today I consider it one of the bravest and best moments of my life.

But I still have a long way to go.