Ever since I can remember, I’ve been a blusher. And whenever my cheeks flare up, my instinct is immediate and automatic: hide. Cover my face, look down, disappear into whatever fabric is available.Back in college, my roommates even had a name for it: “turtling.” Whenever I got embarrassed, I would retreat into the opening of my shirt like a startled little creature pulling into its shell. And honestly? It fit.
When I’m blushy, embarrassed, or just plain uncomfortable, I feel exposed. Practically see-through. Vulnerability has never been a skill I’ve mastered; it feels like standing in front of the world without armor. So hiding became my shield—my way of feeling safe when my emotions decide to show up louder than I’d like.
And when hiding isn’t possible? I improvise. I close my eyes. It’s my backup system. Because deep down, some part of me still believes that age-old childhood logic:
If I can’t see them, they can’t see me. Just like the monsters at night.
Sometimes our oldest strategies stay with us, even when we outgrow everything else. And honestly? There’s something strangely comforting about that. And so, I continue to hide!
