Being Seen Felt Unsafe

And then it landed.

I hated public speaking because I hated being seen. I wanted to hide. I wanted to run. I didn’t want to stand out and I certainly didn’t want to be looked at.

In an instant, I was transported back to childhood. Sitting cross-legged on the floor in assembly, waiting for that dreaded moment when we were told to stand and sing. As the tallest child in the school, I rose above everyone else the moment we got to our feet. There was nowhere to hide. That tall, gaunt frame made me an easy target for bullies. I learned early how to make myself smaller. I stooped. And arriving early when I could, so I could slip into class unnoticed. I avoided being late at all costs, because walking into a silent room full of watching eyes felt unbearable.

So why on earth would I ever put myself in a position where I could be judged voluntarily? As I spoke through my hot topic, explaining why chewing gum shouldn’t be banned in the UK, I became acutely aware of being watched. Of being judged. And with that came a familiar tightening in my chest.  I had felt it many times before.

I had allowed myself to be bullied throughout my life. From school, through a traumatic first marriage, and into a male dominated corporate environment, I had repeatedly handed control to other people. Forcing my feelings down as unimportant. I sat down after just forty seconds. My stomach tightened as I braced myself for the evaluation. The feedback. The criticism. 

But no one laughed. No one ridiculed me. No one tried to break my nose against a doorframe, pour hot coffee over me, or throw me into a sandpit and break my collarbone. And in that moment, something shifted. I realised I had a broken belief system. I knew that I no longer wanted to be afraid or apologetic. I had taken back a small but meaningful piece of control.

I sat down and gave my younger self a quiet mental high five. I told her things were going to be okay now. No one was going to make us feel worthless anymore. She cried, and was almsot scared to confront her deeply ingrained belief of being undeserving. Worthiness had always been a struggle, and its roots stretch far back into early childhood.

I don’t know whether it was my age at the time, but after my 40s I began reading more self development books. I had always believed that good things came to those who waited, but I started to believe something else too. That our thoughts might shape what enters our lives. I read about it constantly and heard it echoed by the people I now choose to surround myself with. I often wondered how different my life might have been if I had heard those ideas growing up.

"If you think positive things, positive things are attracted to you" is what I kept reading. I believe that I deserve to own my own home, a dog sleeping by the door, views that take my breath away. And that I am deserving of abundance rather than constantly worrying about making it to the end of the month. So why don’t I have those things? Perhaps it’s because I don’t truly feel deserving deep down. My belief system just hadn't had enough practice at it. The moment I allow myself to imagine these things and feel excited, that old sense of unworthiness crashes in. It’s like that moment just before sleep, when you feel yourself falling and your body jolts awake. I drift into possibility, and then I am snapped back to that deeply embedded belief that I am not enough. 

But that voice belongs to my younger self. Overly sensitive. Frightened. Fragile. And somehow, despite all of that, she has the loudest voice of all.