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There’s a picture of me that I love from when I was about 5-6 years old. I’m on a stage, and I look happy. The photo is black and white, but I remember even now that my dress was bright yellow because I was a chicken. I’m holding my dress and have a big smile on my face. I look so comfortable up there…

That picture made me wonder many times what happened to that little girl.

Today, I went to a small networking event, and the horror of being filmed came up again. I made sure to let people know, that I don’t want that.

After the event, I started talking to  someone about my dislike of being filmed there. They told me to embrace how or who I am ( I don’t remember the exact words). Which I agree with.

But my reply surprised me; it came out without me thinking too much: “But that’s not the real me. That’s not how I am deep inside. The real me is confident, not like this at all.”

And it’s true. Because that little me once felt comfortable with the attention when she was on a stage. It was her truth that came out today. A truth I keep forgetting when I’m in a group with people I don’t know well and have to speak. When the heaviness builds up in my body and I feel like I’m made of lead.

It’s the same heaviness I used to feel when I was in school a few years later. When a teacher asked me something in front of the class and my mind betrayed me; it went blank. And I would end up doing the walk of shame back to my desk with yet another bad grade that made me want to disappear, because I had to tell my parents about it.

That’s what happened to that part of me, the little girl. She got tucked away, somewhere safe. And in her place another young part of me carried the burden, when performances became shamed, instead of fun or supportive.

But my social anxiety when it comes to groups is much easier to hold now. I can push through it when I recognise it creeping on me slowly. And I can show up more as myself, imperfect and all.

Because that part of me, the little girl on the stage, wants to come out again and play. She feels safe enough now to do that at times. And I love it when she does. I missed her playful energy, her lightness.

And the other part of me, that used to carry the shame, feels healed enough now to let her come out, too.

I don’t know if these parts will ever be completely healed. I guess I have to wait and see.

What I do know now is that these parts of us, they never fully disappear, even if we can’t see them anymore. They’re still inside of us somewhere, waiting and sometimes screaming at us to acknowledge them and their pain.

And also waiting for us to remember their gifts and bring them out again into our lives.

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