by
Jamie Elliott Grossman
guess it. But it’s true - underneath all of those different hats I wear is an extremely shy person. My
problem has gotten considerably better over the years, but at one point in my life it was so crippling
that I could not even call the pizzeria to order a pie.
As a child I invested much time devising creative ways to avoid uncomfortable situations. I was afraid
of public speaking, I was afraid of the girls at summer camp, I was afraid of my own voice. I was
afraid to try, for fear I would fail. I was afraid people would laugh at me or pick on me. Avoidance
was easier.
where I needed to pass, for fear they would tease me. I took pains to never make eye contact with
anyone lest I invite a conversation. If there were a chance that I would have to participate in a class
discussion, I would skillfully time a pre-emptive bathroom break. And of course, there were the
garden variety “illnesses” that would plague me so I could avoid school altogether. At summer camp,
I developed a clever method of changing in and out of my swimsuit without anyone seeing any part
of my body. (It involved slipping my bra off through my shirt sleeves and slipping the swimsuit on
the same way, then slipping the underwear off after the suit was securely on.) At the roller rink, when
they called for a "couples’ skate," I would roll straight into the bathroom and hide out among the
smokers.
and kept me firmly planted there for years. It felt much safer to be on the outside because on the
outside there was no mess, no confrontation, and no risk of failure; but it was on the inside that I truly
longed to be. My nose was pushed up against the glass window watching, wishing, waiting. It was
very isolating.
The irony was that I wasn’t shy with my family and close friends. In that world, I was funny,
outgoing, and carefree. I was Queen of the Witty One-liners. I belted out show tunes with reckless
abandon, and I shamelessly pulverized the competition during ping-pong championships in my
garage. It was when I had to step out of my comfort zone that I would shrink back to that lonely
quiet girl. But oh, how I loathed her.
as a girl, she too had been extremely shy. I couldn’t imagine it, for the mother I knew did not
resemble the timid girl that I was. But I guess she knew from her own experience that my shyness
was making me miserable, and she knew that I needed to break free of it as she once had.
She told me to fake it - act confident, even if my heart was pounding and there were wads of tissue
mopping up the sweat under my arms, and my stomach was in knots. Act the part, she advised, and
soon I would feel it.
fake it, and end up feeling confident and secure? It was so much easier to be miserable and guarded
in my fortress of shyness and insecurity. But I decided to take a chance and dip my toe in the waters.
There was a host of things I secretly wanted to try. I wanted to audition for the school musical,
become a cheerleader, go to the prom, get a part-time job, be confident, and be happy. “Fake it, and
then you will feel it” became a mantra.
comfortable. But the simple act of trying helped me beat back the beast that was my shyness. Over
time, my attitude changed from cannot to can-do, and it was liberating. I nabbed a role in the school
musical, got a spot on the cheerleading squad, and even managed go to my prom (ok, so I had to ask
the guy, but how’s that for a 180 degree turnaround?) I worked at a resort in the Catskill Mountains
one summer, and that experience turned into my coming of age story that I would have surely missed
if I had played it safe and worked at the local supermarket. I became determined to seek out
challenges that would help me loosen the chains of my paralyzing shyness.
perspective about failure. Since my school days I’ve had my setbacks, times when I've felt extremely
threatened or insecure. Those days are getting fewer as I age because I force myself to get up, dust
myself off, put on a brave face, and soldier on. I’ve enrolled in public speaking courses, writing
courses, and a self-defense class. I went to law school, where the Socratic method of public
humiliation was de rigueur, and I survived.
Fed up with lonely Friday nights, knowing Mr. Right was not going to just miraculously appear in
my living room, I took a chance and logged on to Jdate.com. I ended up meeting the man who
became my husband. Oddly enough, he doesn’t even think I am shy.
Thanks, Mom.
investment advisory firm. By night (and on weekends, weekdays, and holidays), she is the wife of a wonderfully
supportive husband, mother to a deliciously sweet two-year old son, and now, a published writer!
