A movie opens with a girl reading a book, her hair in a messy ponytail, glasses poised on her nose; the viewers all know the common stereotype. This character is the common, run-of-the-mill, bookish nerd with only a handful of friends — or, in other cases, a singular best friend who is just as nerdy as the lead girl. We all know that by the end of the movie, this girl is bound to either end up with the popular jock, or will learn that the tall, dark, and handsome man is worse at being a boyfriend than he is in math class.
We know these movies, we love these movies, we hate these movies, and we watch these movies. We like to see the quiet girl open herself up to be with the popular guy, because that somehow makes her a better person. Or does it?
Why is it so bad that the shy girl is shy? Why does she need to break away from her books and glasses in order to apparently get anywhere in life? What is it about donning a pink skirt and dropping the pocket protector, that makes her so much better than how she was at the movie's opening? Dare I say, this should not be the case?
Perhaps my bias is so great. As someone who has gone through over eighteen years of being labeled as shy, timid, and quiet, it would be natural for me to detest the idea that I need to change myself for anyone to like me. If this is the case, then please pardon me for enjoying a quiet night in with my newest hardcover and mug of tea.
In fact, I found that my shyness was a negative for so long, but it was so embedded in my head as part of my identity that I feared it would never be something I could shake. I didn't have the confidence of my peers or the ability to lose inhibitions in a crowd. Unlike other classmates, I found that speaking in front of the class was painful to the point that the thought would lead to stomach aches and hands that would shake throughout the day because I knew what was coming. It felt that I was facing a firing squad, and there was no escape.
Even in casual conversation it was something that stopped me, held me back, and made relating to people hard. Making friends was difficult because of the number of thoughts that raced through my head at any given moment. So while others laughed along and carried on, I was stuck with wondering whether or not I should have provided a word in on the conversation, but ultimately deciding not to because I was still the shy girl, and the shy girl in the movies is never liked by peers.
Looking at myself now, I can happily say that I am still that girl. I didn't give up my books, I didn't give up my shyness, but I'm still living my life. The difference is that I don't see it as a factor that holds me back from who I am, because it is a part of me. The day I am labeled as an outgoing person is the day I am no longer myself. Of course, time has changed some things, as I no longer feel the overwhelming urge to hide when a presentation comes up (though it's still not something I look forward to), but I am still me.
I don't seek to change from the person I am, and I'm not a character in a movie. I'm happy with myself, shyness and all.