Madison Corley: Conjuring Confidence
Communication has never been my forte. Sure, I can write a pretty eloquent essay for a history class, but ask me to speak one-on-one with another human being in person or over the phone and I feel as though I have been asked to bring the One Ring to Mordor. That being said, by a few weeks into my internship, I was feeling fairly confident in my ability to answer questions in the Visitor Center at Ninety-Six National Historic Site, seeing as most folks asked the same questions: how long is the walk to the fort? Why have a park commemorating a patriot loss? And, of course, is there a bathroom somewhere at this park? So, when a little girl and her father separated from mom at the entrance and came in to look at the books for sale, I didn’t think much of it. The girl waltzed up to the counter and asked me for a Junior Ranger book, and I immediately noted how incredibly well-spoken she was for someone so young, the girl telling me she was seven. Taking notice of this was my first mistake, as I somehow managed to immediately lose the ounce of confidence I had developed, feeling embarrassingly inadequate compared to the second-grader carefully studying the bullet casings in the display to my right. Dad followed behind her, taking time to examine the artifacts and read all the item descriptions at the exhibit as his daughter eventually trotted off back to meet up with mom who was outside reading a brochure.
I returned to my own reading for a bit while the father studied the exhibit. At some point, I glanced up and noticed that his wife and daughter were no longer in view of the VC at what seemed to be the exact moment he did. I closed my book, prepared to help him find his family somewhere in the park. “Anything I can help with?” I asked the man, who had pulled his phone out and started texting. He looked at me blankly for a minute, then sat the phone on the counter and lifted his hands up. Immediately, he began to sign, and immediately, I felt horrible. Of course his young daughter had approached me with such confidence when he hadn’t said a word the whole time; she had plenty of experiences speaking to grownups on her own because dad was deaf. As I reached for a pen and paper, I felt disappointed in myself. Why hadn’t I just signed back? My ASLis far from perfect, but I knew he was asking me if I had seen which direction his daughter and wife had gone in, and I knew that I knew how to provide a rudimentary but more than adequate response without needing to write a thing down. He slid the sharpie and sticky note I had frantically grabbed back to me as he showed me the Notes App on his phone: did you see where my daughter ran off to? Is she with my wife? I typed back a reply and gestured towards the path to the pond. He smiled and nodded, signing thank you to me as he headed out the door.
Why had I responded that way? I mean, what’s the point of learning any language if I can’t use what I’ve learned when the time comes? I stared out the window as I watched the man round the corner. It wasn’t like this was the first time I had been in a situation where the verbal English I defaulted to was insufficient, and in those previous instances, I had gotten by with poorly accented Spanish or my elementary understanding of sign language. One of my primary goals with my interest in public history was to help make history more accessible to everyone; how could I possibly do that if I was placing the burden of communicative access on park patrons rather than myself?
As I sat behind the counter and reflected on the awkward interaction that had just transpired, I started to understand why I failed to solve the problem in the most rational way possible. I remembered my mental reaction to the man’s daughter. When the little girl approached me, instead of feeling admiration for her impressive confidence and communication abilities, I remembered my own insecurity. Before I even knew it, I felt distanced and intimidated by the idea of communicating with park patrons when only moments before their arrival, one of the park rangers had mentioned to me how impressed she was with my improved communication. I realized it was the fact that I didn’t really believe her that led me to doubt myself like I had. Research suggests that the more psychologically resilient and self-confident a person is, the better they are at solving problems. I was so wrapped up in my own self-doubt that I allowed the admirable and unknowing confidence of a seven-year-old to obliterate the value of the sincere compliment I had received only moments before.
In other words, I was so concerned that I wasn’t an effective communicator that I sabotaged my ability to use the problem-solving skills I knew I had. It was much easier for my mind to enter problem-solving mode and sign back to deaf customers years before when I worked retail because I had never felt like I needed to prove myself as a cashier, whereas I cared much more about my work as a historian and worried that I was inadequate. Now, my self-confidence decreased because of the needless pressure I put on myself, and in turn, my ability to respond to everyday hiccups in communication. As I stared out the window, I realized the only way I could solve problems on the job was by remembering that it was my job to do so for a reason. Why was I so worried?
About an hour later, the family returned to the VC, the little girl having completed her Junior Ranger Book, ready to receive the prized reward that was the Junior Ranger pin. I greeted the family with a more assured smile and wave than before, the little girl eagerly asking me in English questions about some of the markers she had noted in her book on their walk. As I answered her questions and pinned her reward to her jacket, I held my head up a little higher than I had before. Mom and dad smiled and nodded as they helped her to collect her things to go, and I responded by signing my thanks and encouraging them to come again if they enjoyed it. When I saw that they understood my signing and all three signed that they would certainly be back for another visit, I felt relieved, glad to have redeemed the interaction.
I went home that day and reflected on the exchange and how silly I was to be so self-conscious. I decided then and there that moving forward, I wouldn’t accept my frivolous anxieties sabotaging my confidence. I started correcting the thoughts unwanted thoughts that popped into my head after each small mistake or awkward interaction, slowly conjuring up the confidence I need to succeed. It was hard at first and I still struggle sometimes, but when I look back on this day, I can’t help but smile about the confidence I’ve gained.
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Madison Allen Corley is a history major and European studies minor from Oak Grove, South Carolina. For her breakaway experience, Madison interned at Ninety-Six National Historic Site and continues to volunteer with the National Park Service today. Madison will graduate from the Honors College at Lander University in May of 2022, after which she plans to continue her education and pursue a career in the field of public history.