Why I turned my lifelong fear of embarrassment into a public art display

Years ago, I was a polytechnic student sitting alone catching up on work, when two gorgeous men approached me to ask for directions.

While trying to play it cool, my finger got caught behind my spectacles mid-gesture. My glasses flew right off my face, and skidded underneath the table next to me.

The conversation halted instantly and I froze, my face burning with embarrassment.

The men were nice enough to just say thank you and leave. But even now, whenever I think back to this moment, my skin tingles uncomfortably and I'm overcome with the urge to curl up into a ball and shrink away. I cringe – badly.

I've always had a chronic fear of cringe. I can't help but feel awkward or fearful in situations where I have to show vulnerability, to the point where it paralyses me.

Ever since I was little, I've loved to draw. But one part of drawing I didn't love was when friends, family and even strangers would look over my shoulder at my sketchbook.

Some would be quick to praise me: "Wow, so nice!" Some were quick to criticise instead: "Why are their fingers so pointy?"

While they might not have meant to make me uncomfortable, hearing people's unsolicited comments on my work always made me feel insecure.

The uninvited eyeballs and judgment didn't feel flattering – they put extra pressure on me to perform. I felt like I had to be perfect at drawing so that it would stop people from commenting, even if the comments were positive.

But I kept drawing. Eventually, I even made a career out of it.

I was often curious about other types of art, especially writing, but my fear of cringe always held me back from exploring different types of creative expression. I was too afraid of making mistakes that naturally come with not being able to do something perfectly on the first try.  

So for many years, I stuck with what I was comfortable with: drawing.

Now, after four years of working as a graphic designer, I've gotten more used to showing people my unfinished work. It's necessary – I need the feedback of colleagues and supervisors on initial drafts before I can move on to finalising each piece of art.  

Understanding that it's part and parcel of the job has made it easier for me to rationalise critique as separate from my personal insecurities.

However, outside the safety of a "professional" environment, it became harder for me to overcome these insecurities. The idea of sharing my work with others on my own terms remained unthinkable.

EVERYBODY CRINGES

This year, I decided to try to fight this fear head-on by writing and illustrating my own comic strip for the Singapore Writers Festival – about the very topic of cringe.

Admittedly, it was one of the most difficult projects I've ever done, mostly because it wasn't an "official" assignment from my job or my bosses, but entirely my own pursuit.

Having my personal work judged by others was agonising.

The first time I read critiques on my first draft, I found myself jumping, running and rolling around on my bedroom floor trying to not implode in embarrassment. (Good thing I chose to read the feedback in the privacy of my own home instead of in a cafe or some other public place.)

Years as a professional creative has taught me that feedback was a crucial step for me to make the project better, so I gritted my teeth and got back to work.

But it was harder than I thought. I wasn't a "writer" by trade, so my writing felt even more personal to me. Whenever anyone critiqued my writing, it felt like they were critiquing me.

When I spoke to a colleague – a reporter, not an illustrator like me – about how reading feedback on my script practically felt like torture, I was surprised when he confessed that he too feels the "sting" of criticism – even now, years into the job.

That's when I realised: everybody cringes.

I hadn't been cringing at myself because I was "not good" at writing. Even professional writers still cringe at their own work from time to time.

Instead, my cringe came from my own ego judging me, making me feel like I had to be nothing short of perfect.

I had to learn to let go of my insecurities and focus on the important part: finishing my project to the best of my abilities.

ACCEPTING AND EMBRACING CRINGE

Today, my comic strip That Time I Cringed So Hard I Ended Up On These Walls is on display for all to see at the Funan Underground Pedestrian Link till Nov 30.

It's about a protagonist named Apollo who tries to go back in time to stop a "cringe" moment in his childhood from happening. However, he gets foiled by a mysterious person, who is actively trying to make the embarrassing incident happen as it did.

In a way, it's my love letter to my own fear of cringe and how accepting and even embracing it doesn't have to be embarrassing or shameful.

Never in my life did I think I would ever be standing in a public mall, looking at my personal work plastered on the walls where hundreds of people pass by each day.

I'm grateful to the people who have posted about their visits to the exhibition on social media, tagging or messaging me to tell me that they loved the story. I'm still in disbelief that all it took to make this kind of impact on others was simply having the guts to try.

I'm also thankful for the team at Difference Engine, a homegrown comics publisher, who helped me to develop my story from scribbles in a notebook into its full glory.

Every time I look at the display, I still feel a twinge of the same fear deep inside me.

But this experience has taught me that the value I place on my work cannot be from external validation. If the public likes my work, it's an added bonus – but ultimately, I have to be confident that I find value in it myself.

TURNING CRINGE INTO GROWTH

This year, I started a new habit of bringing a sketchbook and marker around with me. Wherever I could, I would illustrate scenes around me.

Using a marker meant that I couldn't take back my mistakes. I had to learn to live with them, which helped me focus on creating instead of obsessing over my flaws. 

This exercise has been helping me find the charm in my own "cringe". For instance, I tried to draw a self portrait but ended up making myself look like a completely different person.

Instead of beating myself up over it, I was able to laugh at it. I even voluntarily showed it to others, inviting them to laugh along with me.

Sometimes it's not even about my art – I occasionally find myself hit with a wave of embarrassment when looking back on old photos and seeing how I dressed a decade ago. (Seriously, what was I thinking?)

But moments like these fly by and can be laughed at. To me, the real regret that is more debilitating is how long the fear of cringe kept me from trying new things and exploring my own potential.

So yes, I still cringe, but I don't let my fear of doing so get in the way of my potential.

Now, I'm ready for my next challenge: trying to not cringe at myself while speaking at my very first panel, Try Not To Cringe Challenge: First Drafts, at the Asian Civilisations Museum on Nov 16 for the Singapore Writers Festival.

Nurjannah Suhaimi is a graphic designer at CNA Digital. Her debut comic, That Time I Cringed So Hard I Ended Up On These Walls, is now on display until Nov 30 at the Funan Underground Pedestrian Link. 

If you have an experience to share or know someone who wishes to contribute to this series, write to voices [at] mediacorp.com.sg (voices[at]mediacorp[dot]com[dot]sg) with your full name, address and phone number.