When I was little, I dreaded school. Not because I didn’t like learning — I actually loved being curious — but because school meant people. Crowds. Talking. Teachers calling on me. And the unbearable fear of saying the wrong thing.
Each year, I remember wondering: Who will be in my class?
That question carried more weight than most kids might understand. I struggled to talk to people and felt embarrassed more often than not. I lived with a quiet, constant hum of self-consciousness.
And yet, there was one place that felt safe: home.
I loved when I got to stay home from school and just be with my mom. I’d spend hours in my room, lost in play with my dolls, completely content in my own little world. Looking back, that wasn’t laziness or antisocial behavior — it was me, protecting my energy.
“You’re Too Sensitive…”
That phrase followed me throughout childhood like a shadow. I cried easily, I startled easily, and I felt everything deeply. Even my mom wrote in my baby book that I “scared easily.”
She wasn’t wrong.
I often was scared — of being judged, of standing out, of getting it wrong.
It didn’t help that my older sister was the opposite. She was the social butterfly, the extrovert who could talk to anyone. I admired that about her… and I was jealous, too. I thought there must be something wrong with me because I couldn’t do the same.
I didn’t understand introversion back then.
I thought it was just another word for shy. And to be honest, I carried a lot of shame around being shy — shame about how I looked, how I felt, and how I seemed to fade into the background when I wished I could stand out. But I didn’t feel good enough, so I learned to hide.
The Cafeteria Test
One of the most vivid memories I have is from sixth grade—my first year of middle school.
At our school, 6th, 7th, and 8th graders had separate lunch periods, and I remember agonizing over one thing: Who will be in my lunch?
It sounds small now, but for me at that age, it was everything. The idea of sitting alone felt like a social death sentence. That anxiety followed me right into the cafeteria on the first day—heart pounding, eyes scanning the room, praying I’d spot a friendly face.
And I did. I saw a few girls I recognized and, gathering all the courage I had, I walked over and sat down.
One of those girls was Melissa.
Neither of us knew it then, but she would become my best friend. And almost 50 years later—we still are.
That tiny moment of bravery, that quiet decision to not give in to fear, changed the course of my life. It reminded me that even in the scariest places, connection is possible.
The Truth About Introverts and Shy People
It took me years — decades even — to understand that being introverted is not the same thing as being shy. They can overlap, but they are not one and the same.
Introversion is about energy. Introverts feel drained by too much stimulation or socializing. We recharge by being alone, in calm, quiet environments.
Shyness, on the other hand, is rooted in fear — fear of judgment, fear of not being enough, fear of being seen.
Today, I know I’m an introvert.
People — especially large groups, small talk, or high-energy events — can completely exhaust me. I’ve learned that it’s not weird, it’s not broken, and it’s not something I need to fix. It just means I need rest and solitude to feel like myself again.
But I also know I was shy because of shame.
Shame around my sensitivity. Shame about how I looked. Shame that made me believe I had to hide the very things that made me… me.
What I Know Now
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to embrace both parts of myself.
And while I can still feel shy when I go to spaces where I don’t know anyone, I feel much more confident. Understanding what being an introvert truly means, I now realize why I crave meaningful conversations and deep connection. I’ve stopped trying to change that about myself—and I’ve started to celebrate it.
I think it’s one of the reasons I love coaching.
Holding space, listening deeply, connecting one-on-one—it feels natural. It feels aligned. It doesn’t drain me… it fills me up. Being an introvert hasn’t held me back. It’s actually served me well.
If you’re reading this and you’ve ever felt like the “too quiet” one, the “too sensitive” one, or the one who just wanted to stay home and play with your dolls — I want you to know:
There is nothing wrong with you.
You’re not broken.
You’re beautifully built that way.
And your voice, even if it shakes, is still worth hearing.