When I was four, I remember being in the kitchen with my mom when the milkman came to the door to make his delivery. My mom had her hands full, so she asked me to have him also leave some eggs. I walked up to the screen door and watched quietly as the milkman placed the fresh milk in the wire container. However, as I watched, I became increasingly fearful. So fearful, in fact, that I remained silent as I watched him finish up his delivery and walk away.
Looking back, I feel like much of my life has been living with this fear of speaking up. I always felt like there was something wrong with me because of my quietness. This seemed to be perpetuated in high school.Read More