Stepping out of your comfort zone can be daunting, no matter how minor or random the task may seem. It is often an experience filled with self-doubt, yet it leads to growth. For me, this moment came during my first Model United Nations (MUN).

I was initially excited to find out my school was participating in a MUN and that I’d be part of the delegation. At first, I thought MUNs were just good for college applications and involved some debate, so I didn’t think much about it. But as the event approached, I started to grasp the scale of what I had signed up for.

It all started when my teacher informed us that we’d need to wear formal attire. That triggered a wave of anxiety. Suddenly, I felt I’d be judged based on my outfit. Like many teens, I struggle with body image issues and usually wear oversized clothes that don’t cling to my body, making fashion not my strong suit. Even if someone helped me pick an outfit, I’d still feel uncomfortable with how I looked. My appearance has always been a major source of my social anxiety. It got worse when a group chat was created for my committee; seeing everyone’s profile pictures only intensified my insecurities. As Thom Yorke said, "I want a perfect body, I want a perfect soul," and that perfectly summed up how I felt.

On top of my appearance-related insecurities, the fact that this was my first MUN only added to my worries. A senior explained the flow of debate to us, and it turned out to be far more complex than I had anticipated. I became terrified of making a fool of myself. A million “what if” scenarios started running through my head. I worried about sounding foolish, or worse, being humiliated if someone called out a factual error. Those were just a few of my countless concerns. Forget real life interactions, I was scared to even interact on the group chat.

Before the MUN, I had exams, and as a 10th grader, I definitely knew I couldn't afford to mess those up. After my exams, I had just over a week to prepare, and research was a struggle. I didn’t fully understand my agenda, and the resources provided by the organisers were too complex for a beginner to comprehend. The night before the session, I called the senior for help, only to realise that I had been researching way off topic. He helped me get back on track, but by then, I was filled with regret and couldn’t sleep, worrying about all the things that could go wrong.

The day I dreaded finally came, and we went with students from our sister school, who were much more experienced—an 8th grader had already done five MUNs. They all looked confident and polished, especially the girls with flawless skin and chic outfits. I found out the 8th grader and two others were in my committee. When one of them showed me her 25-page research document on our rival’s scandals, my confidence hit rock bottom.

The event took off with an impressive opening ceremony. I definitely did not pay attention; I was busy researching. Or should I say trying to research? Because I wasn’t actually able to do anything. My anxiety was eating me up. My anxiety was consuming me; I hadn’t noticed that I was tapping my heels at an unusually fast pace, my hands were fidgeting, and I couldn’t focus. My heart raced, and every little sound heightened my nerves. I only tuned in when they announced the chairpersons for my committee. Hearing their long list of achievements made me sure they wouldn’t go easy on us. I’d already decided not to speak during the sessions, and this solidified that choice.

Entering the committee room, I found my seat right in front of the chairpersons in the centre of the room, and it felt like I couldn’t escape their gaze. My anxiety spiked when the chairperson announced that everyone would have to present their opening stances—there was no escaping that now. The other delegates from the sister school weren’t near me, so I kept glancing at the girl who had researched the rivals’ scandals, almost like a helpless baby seeking help. I asked her to sit with me, but she had to stay with her party. Looking back, asking someone I barely knew to comfort me wasn’t the best move—it must have been pretty annoying for her.

I presented my opening stance later that afternoon. I didn’t receive a single question to my speech. I was oddly relieved. After day one, I approached a friendly, experienced delegate and complimented his speech, which really energised the committee. Before he spoke, everything felt pretty dull, with most of the speeches coming from newbies. He encouraged me to be more outgoing and not to worry about embarrassing myself. His advice stuck with me because it felt personal rather than the usual generic stuff people tell socially anxious kids—it was like real feedback just for me.

By day two, I surprised myself. I spoke up, asked questions, and delivered two speeches. I even enjoyed some of the heated debates. On the final day, I gave an impromptu speech, and to my surprise, I received applause in the MUN way—tapping on the table. And before I knew it, the committee session was over.

This MUN really transformed my personal growth. It may seem like a small event, but it led me to attend more MUNs, significantly improving my speeches and my confidence. I’ve become way more social now. I used to call myself an “anti-social extrovert,” as Kendrick Lamar put it. I hated starting conversations due to my fear of judgment, but I enjoyed chatting with people I was comfortable with. Now, I find myself easily striking up conversations and joking around with new people—things I used to dread. I made a lot of friends and gained tons of knowledge.

But most importantly, I ended up realising that it was me who hated myself. I, cared about the way I look. I, made it up in my head that people wouldn’t treat me well. I, did not believe that I was capable of delivering hard hitting speeches. I, thought I was dumb. I, thought I would make a fool of myself. In the end it was ME who did not believe in MYSELF. The people weren’t rude or mean to me, I WAS. It was years of self-pity, self-loathing and self-hatred that had led to this. And I’m proud to say, after that event, I’d started taking baby steps to grow out of that persona.

In this entire incident, the part where I stepped out of my comfort zone wasn’t when I spoke up in committee, but it was when I showed up there, even after dreading it so much. As I’ve mentioned above, stepping out of your comfort zone doesn’t always mean having to take big leaps, it can be something as simple as just showing up.

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