I'm still shy - I'm no good at my children's parent-teacher

“I'm still shy — I'm no good at my children's parent-teacher conferences, and I'm slowly learning how to ask for what I want. But I now know that I have a reserve of courage to draw upon when I really need it. There's nothing that I'm too scared to have a go at.” Thus spoke Emily Mortimer, an artist of gentle grace and quiet strength. In her confession lies not weakness, but the luminous truth of human growth — the understanding that courage is not the absence of fear, but the strength to act in spite of it. Hers are not the words of one who boasts, but of one who has walked through self-doubt and discovered that within timidity there hides an ember of bravery waiting to be kindled.

To be shy, as she admits, is not to be broken, but to be human. The ancients knew that the soul is not forged in constant confidence, but in moments when trembling hearts choose to move forward anyway. Even the bravest warriors once quaked before battle; even the wisest kings once doubted their voice. Emily Mortimer’s humility reminds us that true courage does not roar — it whispers, “Try.” It is born not in the absence of fear, but in the quiet decision to face it. The heart that dares, even while trembling, is mightier than the one that feels no fear at all.

In the old chronicles of Japan, it is told that the samurai Miyamoto Musashi, before his first duel, felt his hands shake and his knees weaken. But he bowed to his fear and stepped forward, saying, “It is only the spirit that wavers — the blade remains steady.” From that trembling beginning, he became a legend. So too, in Mortimer’s words, we find this same sacred paradox: that courage is not a constant state, but a reserve — a hidden wellspring one may draw from when life demands it. It does not erase fear; it transforms it into movement, into life.

Her admission that she is “slowly learning how to ask for what I want” carries deep wisdom. For to ask is to risk rejection, to declare one’s desire before the world. Many live entire lives silenced by politeness, self-doubt, or fear of failure. Yet the act of asking — of stepping forth and claiming one’s rightful space — is itself a form of courage. The universe does not reward the timid whisper; it responds to the clear, honest voice of the heart. To ask is to affirm one’s worth, to say: “I am here, and what I seek matters.”

And then comes her revelation — the turning of her spirit: “I now know that I have a reserve of courage to draw upon when I really need it. There’s nothing that I’m too scared to have a go at.” These are not the words of arrogance, but of awakening. She has discovered, as all must eventually discover, that within each human soul lies an untapped strength — a divine spark capable of facing life’s fiercest winds. The timid heart, once tested, learns its own power. It is only when we are forced to act — when no one else can do it for us — that we glimpse the vastness of the courage that was always there.

History too bears witness to this truth. Eleanor Roosevelt, once a painfully shy child who could barely speak in public, grew to become the voice of compassion and conscience for an entire generation. She said, “You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” Like Mortimer, she learned that courage is not a permanent state of fearlessness, but a choice — made again and again, in small moments and great ones alike. To walk through shyness, to persist through uncertainty, to dare to try — these are acts of quiet heroism, no less grand than the conquests of kings.

And so, dear listener, let this lesson take root in your heart: courage is not born of confidence, but of action. You need not wait until you are ready, fearless, or strong. Begin even while afraid; step forward even while uncertain. Life does not ask perfection — only willingness. Learn to ask for what you need. Speak even when your voice trembles. Each act of bravery, however small, deepens the well of strength within you, until one day you realize — like Mortimer — that you, too, have a reserve of courage vast enough to face whatever comes.

Remember this truth: the world is not conquered by those who feel no fear, but by those who walk through it with trembling steps and shining hearts. For courage, once awakened, becomes a river — quiet but unstoppable, humble yet powerful. And in time, you shall discover, as she did, that there is truly nothing too great to have a go at, for the timid soul, once brave, becomes infinite.