A Sunday to grow into myself in front of the microphone

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There is a part of me that has always been a little shy and it is not a secret. It is that small voice that prefers to listen before speaking and I am the one who stays a second too long thinking about whether what she is going to say sounds intelligent enough. Sometimes I wonder if that shyness is a barrier or just a part of my inner landscape.

The truth is that sometimes another version of me appears and it is one that dreams of growing, of taking up space, of raising her voice without asking permission and today, while I was walking distractedly along the sidewalk, I passed right in front of the provincial radio station and a memory hit me with a clarity that almost stopped me in my tracks.

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I saw myself a few weekends ago, sitting in one of those studio chairs that seem bigger than they are, with headphones that weighed more than my own insecurity. I had been invited to a Sunday program: "The Sunday Star." The topic was my literary work and my book projects. I, who write from the stillness of my room and who hide in paragraphs and let the characters speak for me, suddenly had to speak myself live.

I remember the knot in my stomach the night before and having mentally reviewed every possible question, every answer, every word I could get wrong. I was terrified of drawing a blank. The best part of all was not the program itself but what I discovered right before they turned on the microphone.

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I learned to grow and I do not know where that strength came from. Maybe from knowing that my books, those that were born from my trembling hands, deserved to be defended or from remembering that I was not there to be perfect, but to share. I took a deep breath, looked at the host with a smile that pretended to be confident and, when the red light came on, something inside me let go and the words flowed.

It is true that not all the words were perfect, but they were mine. I even allowed myself to laugh when I stumbled on a sentence, and I kept going. I talked about my poems, about my fears turned into plots, about those book projects that still sleep in drawers but dream of seeing the light.

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Today, passing in front of that station, I understood that that Sunday I did not only talk about literature but I talked about myself and I did it despite the fear. That is what I want to capture here, in these lines, that shyness is not a sentence, but sometimes a starting point and that growing does not mean ceasing to be afraid, but deciding that fear does not have the last word.

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Today I dream again of growing and this time, it will not only be a Sunday on the radio, but in life.

🎙️

🎙️

_{✨ 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈! ✨
𝑰𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒆 𝒚𝒆𝒕, 𝑰’𝒎 𝒂 𝑪𝒖𝒃𝒂𝒏 𝒏𝒆𝒖𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝒂 𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒂 𝒘𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒐’𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝑯𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒂𝒓.
𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔, 100% 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏-𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 (𝒏𝒐 𝑨𝑰).
𝑩𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝑳𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒊.
𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕? 𝑼𝒑𝒗𝒐𝒕𝒆, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒕𝒚! 💛}