After writing a post on being shy and getting a good response, I have decided to create a series on my blog names “Timid Tales”, which will be full of stories and anecdotes featuring my bashful behaviour. One of my very first memories of being shy is from being around four years old. My dad worked late at the Royal Mail headquarters so my mum would pick him up from work so he didn’t drive home tired. As the only child at that point, I had to go with her as there wasn’t anyone else at home. I have a strong memory of feeling so shy when picking my dad up, I would be close to terrified when he got into the car and I knew I had to say hello because it’s polite.
To this day, I have absolutely no idea why I was so apprehensive at that age as there’s no logic behind it. I had a very close relationship with my dad when I was younger but there was something about the Royal Mail and night time that I just didn’t like. When my dad jumped into the car and turned to say hello, I would release this tiny little squeak of a “hi” that could only be heard by bats and mice, while wrapped in a Barbie blanket and looking away. From a very early age, being shy has always really frustrated me. It was never anxiety, as I could happily have a conversation with someone and respond if they asked me a question; on the other hand, starting conversations or being in the spotlight was my worst nightmare. Now I’m a lot different, and could probably walk down a high-fashion catwalk if I really wanted to. Thank goodness I left those wary moments in the past!