I’ve always been quite an insular person and growing up people were quick to label me, I was ‘shy’ and ‘withdrawn’ and I became convinced something must be wrong with me. Teachers would shake their head as I became close to tears after being forced onto the school stage to take part in a play, and although I tried as hard as I could during rehearsals it was never good enough – ‘try harder,’ ‘be louder,’ ‘act confident,’ – but I didn’t know how to be anyone except who I was. I wasn’t allowed to perform on the night as I was ‘too quiet’ and I felt ashamed as I was told I needed to be more outgoing; I wouldn’t get anywhere in life if I wasn’t.
At break-times my hands grew clammy as I was instructed to put my book down and pushed towards large groups of children and urged to ‘make friends.’ What nobody asked me was whether I was happy sitting reading, and I was, largely. I was always comfortable with my own company and a story to absorb myself in. I had a small, but very close group of friends to turn to if I wanted to socialise, but sometimes I wanted to be alone. This seemed to make others uncomfortable as though I needed ‘fixing’ and I began to see being introverted as a flaw.
As I grew I found myself apologising A LOT. Sorry for not being an extrovert, for volunteering for things, for pushing myself forward and as people gave me tips to fix a problem I didn’t know I had, my confidence began to ebb away. What was wrong with me?
Today I remain introverted to a degree, I think perhaps many writers are, but it has just struck me how much I have grown this past year. Just five months ago, the day before my debut ‘The Sister‘ was published my excitement was tempered by fear. Fear of being judged. Fear of falling short again. I felt sick with nerves. On launch day my publisher had booked me onto local radio to talk about my book and as my husband drove, I cried for the entire 45 minute journey there, terrified the words would stick in my throat and my tongue would tie itself into knots. Who would want to listen to me?
My second novel, ‘The Gift‘, is published tomorrow and this time around I feel nothing but pure exhilaration. I’ve just taken a call from BBC Radio Northampton confirming I’ll on again tomorrow afternoon and I surprised myself by feeling genuinely excited and I’m sifting through my thoughts as I write to try and uncover why.
I think perhaps being published is a validation of sorts, acceptance if you like, that it’s ok to sit for hours and hours in solitude, to make up stories. To be content with a quiet life.
I’ll always be an introvert but little by little, with each and every word I write, my confidence is growing. The feedback from readers, reviewers and bloggers has been life-changing. People are enjoying my stories. Stories I probably wouldn’t be able to write if I was an extrovert and I think maybe, finally, it’s ok to be just who I am.