Words by Michelle Fitzgerald // illustration by Weijia Wu
I’m so sorry, she’ll warm up eventually!
She’s just a little reserved around people she doesn’t know…it’s nothing personal.
Shy? No, that’s not who she is.
You should see her around her family and the people she loves!
She just likes to do a quick risk-assessment of her surroundings, before she jumps in. Once she’s in, she’s all in!
Shy? No, that’s not who she is.
She just doesn’t know you well enough yet, before long, you won’t be able to shut her up!
Give her time, she’ll warm up. Once she gets started there’s no stopping her!
Shy? No, that’s not who she is.
I’m not sure why I’m frantically trying to explain the perfectly reasonable behaviour of a four-year-old to grown-ass adults, but here I am doing just that and I think it’s time to stop.
I’ve always wrestled with using the word shy to describe Thelma; she’s feeling shy, but shy is not who she is. Feelings are fleeting. Labels weigh heavy and can be hard to shake.
Each time she’s referred to as shy by adults who should know better, my heart cracks a little because she’s already being defined as a person. I’ve seen Thelma sink under the weight of others’ observations and opinions, especially those of the people she looks up to. I’ve seen her sink and shrink into the limiting labels she’s being burdened with at such a young age, until her spirit quietly crumbles.
All she needs is time and space for her spirit to soar – to roar. I can’t tell you the number of times across the years we’ve signed up to activities, only for her to cling to me the entire time, my frustration levels rising to the point of infuriation. My annoyance bubbling over into visible eye rolls to other parents, shrugging my shoulders apologetically in defeat. Thelma’s beautiful blue eyes absorbing every negative vibration I’m emitting, sinking further into her own shame and disappointment at not pleasing me. My negative body language shouting to all who’ll listen – I’m sorry for who she is!
But I’m not sorry. Because I adore who she is. And it is not her job to please me. I retract all of the sorries I ever made for my daughter – if she couldn’t meet your eyes with her own, if her downward stare made you shift uncomfortably, if she never responded to your question or if her reply was so whispered, you asked her to repeat herself and she simply refused to comply.
The brash and bold take up space without apology, so why can’t the quiet ones take up their own distinct space too? The unspoken space in their silence, their measured observations and their courageous rebellion in refusing to make you feel better or more comfortable with trite niceties of nothingness disguised as politeness.
It’s become abundantly clear that this is a me problem.
What am I afraid of?
I’m afraid that maybe she is shy. Introverted. This world celebrates the confident. The vivacious. The bold and outgoing. Not the quiet ones. The thoughtful ones. The observers. The empaths. The ones that need to feel safe before they commit to a situation. But once they’re in, they’re all in. They feel deeply. Love fiercely. They protect their friends and stand up for what’s right and true.
Pretty remarkable qualities if you ask me.
For a whole year I dragged poor Thelma to a dance class, wilfully ignoring her disengagement because seeing my Mum-friend was a lifeline at the time, when I was slowly unravelling from being a stay-at-home parent. We took a long break and when we returned almost a year later, the minute we entered the hall, Thelma squeezed my hand confidently and leapt into the arms of her new dance teacher, without a single glance back at me.
She’s been dancing ever since.
She did her first dance concert last Christmas in front of almost 1000 people. My cautious, reserved, sometimes shy feeling, but always kind and thoughtful little Thelma. Can you believe it?
She danced her little heart out and seeing my little outside-heart shine with joyful abandon, was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in my four short years of parenting.
My heart all but exploded then and there in that audience. I was proud, but better than that, I knew she was proud of herself and the journey we’d taken together to get to that moment. The gentle push and pull of parenting – knowing when to carefully nudge them past their discomfort and when to retreat because the timing just isn’t right – no matter how hard you wish it to be. It’s a delicate dance this parenting gig and I’ve flubbed many steps along the way until we’ve eventually synced our choreography, in mutual understanding of who we are and what we need as mother and daughter. When we dance together, in a flow state, our energy is palpable. Timing is everything. Together, we are unstoppable.
And if you’re one of the lucky few who Thelma lets in straight away – consider yourself special – you’ve been chosen by an outstanding judge of character. Make no mistake, she’s done her speedy calculations, her boots on the ground risk-assessment, and you’ve passed with flying colours. You’ve made a fiercely loyal friend for life.
So, here’s to the quiet ones.
The firecrackers, with the gentle souls, inner strength and hearts of gold.
Give them space. Give them time.
Make no apologies for who they are and when you least expect it, you’ll see them shine.
Thelma might not be the first to jump in,
She might not be the first to leap,
But I’ll tell you what I know for certain – these still waters run deep.
