An Extroverted Introvert

On my last day of high school, I was late.

My high heels clattered on the walkway leading up to campus, my bag slung over a shoulder as I pressed the call button and waited for the receptionist to unlock the doors. Tardiness wasn't uncommon of me senior year. My mornings were a constant race to get to school, my mother's patience wearing thin every time I crawled out of bed fifteen minutes before the first period bell.

"Jackie! You're here," the receptionist—Gina—exclaimed as I entered the front office. She pointed towards the intercom telephone sitting on the front counter. I stared at it for a moment.

"Oh, right!" I blurted out, slinging my bag onto the couch. Gina had asked me days in advance to say the morning announcements. As Student Council president and a graduating senior, she thought it appropriate for me to say them on the last day of school. And I'd forgotten. I apologized to her multiple times before picking up the phone receiver and clearing my throat.

"Good morning students and staff!" I said cheerily. "Today is Friday, May 24th..."

Had I been younger, I'd have stared at Gina in a panic, trying to work my way out of it. Public speaking always freaked me out. I wasn't comfortable talking in front of an audience until middle school. Yet here I was, in a leadership position that requires you to lead meetings, give presentations, and prod underclassmen to participate in school functions.

I scrolled through my dad's Facebook timeline for this. Twelve years later, I'm still kind of embarrassed.

Elementary school was filled with opportunities to face this fear. From first to third grade, my parents enrolled me in the Missoula Children's Theater program, where I played a lobster in "Alice in Wonderland," a raccoon in "Red Riding Hood," and other small, miscellaneous creatures. Every few months or so, my music teacher would usher me to the front of the class to recite a piano piece. I never fully enjoyed the attention.

It takes a lot of energy for me to constantly interact with people, more so act as if I know what I'm doing. Whether I'm going to a party or preparing for an important presentation, I'm always filled with dread of saying the wrong thing or not putting my best foot forward. I don't expect this introversion to resolve itself; it's a part of my personality.

Handing off the Student Council banner to the new president, Adriana, at my high school graduation! How time flies.

That said, I've become more extroverted as I've grown older. I've learned to identify irrational fear and trust myself to speak coherently in front of an audience. A lot of that level-headed confidence comes from experience. I don't shy away from opportunities to showcase the leadership abilities I know I have, nor do I feel wrong for wanting to remain in my quiet bubble at times. You don't need to conquer your fear of public speaking, but you do need to face it.

As of today, I have no problem with picking up the intercom telephone. I can maintain conversations with most adults without wanting to cry (I stopped wanting to around age eleven), and I have a job that requires me to talk to complete strangers. I still get extremely nervous when I go up to present and stutter when I interview people for news articles. But I do it anyway. How else am I supposed to get stuff done?

If you carry along some introversion, know that your feelings are valid. For the longest time, I thought I needed to be this outgoing, audacious person in order to feel accomplished or accepted. But that's not the case. In fact, I've come to accept my discomfort of public speaking, and I balance day-to-day interaction with time to myself. Know your brain, anticipate its needs, and don't be afraid to challenge it every once in a while. The best things will come when you do.

Thank you so much for reading! As always, give this blog post a like and leave your email address in the subscription box below if you haven't already. ♡