Please Don't Look At Me

Self-confidence, public speaking and -shit, think my prefrontal cortex just developed.

Song of the week: Evergreen - Omar Apollo

On Thursday, I sat in Shoreditch Church, as person after person got up and read their life story aloud to a packed audience. Stories of brave solo travels, falling in love, getting back up, and more. We cried together, laughed together, and clapped together but with each story I knew I was closer to my own. ‘I can’t do this’ I thought. Then suddenly, the host is calling my name and my legs are taking me up the steps to the stage. I’m standing there in front of this huge audience and they’re all waiting for me to start speaking. The lights are so strong I can’t make out their faces. The room so quiet except for a few chairs creaking in the back. My hands are shaking and my throat dry. I’m not sure I can do this.

London has been kinder than usual lately. Blue skies and warm days that turn to pink evenings, spent with sweet friends leaning against the wall in packed pub gardens. Too many cigarettes and sticky hands from sickly drinks, a soft background for the fresh heartbreak I’ve been given. I didn’t think this was how my Summer was going to be. When it first happened, the humiliation and shame ripped a hole straight through me. Left bloody and raw, I hadn’t expected it to make me feel so insecure. My greatest fear overnight became being perceived. I did not want to be looked at. Ashen thoughts of wanting to archive my Instagram and stop writing these substacks were my new normal. Loyal to the very end, I felt myself wanting to break up with me too. I did not want to leave my bedroom. Let alone my house. Scared the stain of what had happened would be visible to everybody.

I felt the self-hatred creep up like quiet cravings all week, I’d see beautiful women on instagram with kind boyfriends and acid-like jealousy would burn at the back of my throat; what was it about me that turned them mean? I’d see their sharp jaws and pink lips and begin to think, maybe the answer is there. Maybe the reason is my bottom row of crooked teeth or the other thousand insecurities I thought of as I lay in bed. No one would need to know, I’d bargain in my dark bedroom. I could book an appointment and have a new face tomorrow courtesy of a credit card. Luckily, I have learned by now that these thoughts are best not to give oxygen too. Starve it out and if you’re lucky it’ll die.

Last week, whilst I was mid bed rot, I had an email come through from Seanchoiche, asking if I’d like to speak at their event all about hope. My best friend once told me about how if swallows fly too low they can’t get back up again. I realised locking myself away wasn’t helping anyone, least of all me, so I emailed back that I would.

As the days blurred into Thursday, I became more and more aware that I had signed myself up for something I did not want to do. Not even a little bit. My cheeks always flush red as soon as anyone looks at me, and especially when I have to speak. ‘I am not a good public speaker’, I have told myself this repeatedly like a twisted affirmation. ‘I have never been able to, this isn’t me. I am shy and anxious. I don’t want anyone to look at me, least of all a hundred strangers judging what I have to say.’

Once it got to the interval, I thought about taking my jacket and leaving. I imagined the cold air on my skin outside the church, how relieving it would be to be away from here and safe in my isolation. I looked around at all of these confident people and was scared I didn’t belong here. It’s one thing to write my work here for you all to read and another to read it out.

I looked at Cathy next to me. ‘I can’t do this.’ I mouthed.

“You do hard things. You can do it.” She said simply.

And, so I did. Somehow, I walked up to the stage and took the microphone. I opened my mouth and words came out. I made sure to breathe and I didn’t stumble over my words. My voice so loud over the speakers it was strange to have a room filled by myself. The trick seemed to not think too much as I was up there, just to keep going.

When I was finished, everyone clapped the way they had for the other brave speakers and I walked back to my seat. To my surprise, when I saw videos from me speaking I looked confident, and for the first time in a few weeks I was proud to be me.

I think it’s about showing up in spaces where you are wanted, where people support you and are kind to you. In this room, I felt like I belonged and I realised I never wanted to go back to a room where I didn’t ever again. You know, like that old instagram quote still floating around the internet about how you’re not asking for too much, you’re just asking for a glass of wine at a Mcdonalds. Maybe that’s the lesson here. You are the love you give out, not the love you receive.

I’m not unlovable, I’ve just been in the wrong room.

Also, I found out the swallow thing isn’t true. Like humans, swallows can fly so low to the ground and then get back up again too.

-Shit, I think my prefrontal cortex just developed.