Here's a journal prompt:
What embarrasses you?
I garble my words, too many of them, getting gushy when in fact I'm not gushy. The real me is a quiet soul who never gave herself permission to be quiet. I'm self-protective, but at the same time, paradoxically outgoing. I push myself to be with others.
Consequently, I often feel that I have overshared. That I've taken my skimpy, stained feelings, and shaken them out in plain view of everyone.
I fear hugging someone too hard, bubbling over instead of gently containing my happy fizz.
I still cringe at a year-old memory. I hadn't seen this writer buddy for a while and I threw my arms around him and said, "Gimme some love!" And then I stood back and swallowed and thought, What the heck? Why did I say that? That is not even something I say . . .
Your turn. What embarrasses you?