Every girl in the world I suppose has sometime in her life felt that she was misunderstood, that every one looked at her through the wrong glasses, that no one saw her good qualities or appreciated her abilities and that all with whom she had to do interpreted her at her worst.  The cry of a girl’s heart for someone who understands is the cry of humanity.  No one can perfectly understand another, therefore only God can be just.  And so in a sense all girls are misunderstood.  But there are special types of girls who suffer more from being misunderstood by their families, neighbors, friends, and by strangers than do others.

There is the self-conscious girl.  Shy and made awkward by her shyness, unable to forget that she has hands and feet, painfully aware that she must walk while others watch her, that she is expected to say something and those who listen will criticize, she suffers intensely.  The great onrush of self overwhelms her, she stammers, blushes, fingers and eyes help to reveal her suffering and as soon as possible she beats a retreat.  How intense her sufferings are only those who know by experience can say.  The shy and self-conscious girl will always be misunderstood.  People may be very sorry for her but they do not understand her.  She needs a friend who has passed through the self-conscious stage to sympathize with and help her, or some girl quick to see her good qualities who can show confidence in her and smooth over the awkward places for her, until she becomes convinced that she is like other girls and that she can do as they do.

I shall never forget the change which her first year in college made in a girl friend of mine.  In the high school she was exceedingly shy.  Her recitations were accompanied by so much suffering that they were painful to witness.  Her written tests revealed an unusual mind, keen and active.  She won the prize for the best essay in a county contest.  She was asked to read it to the school and though she begged to be excused, her teacher insisted.  She slept little and ate little during the days before it must be read and on the morning when the school assembled to hear it looked pale and wan.  It was with very evident effort that she walked to the front of the platform.  Her lips opened but no voice came.  Her sister thought she was going to faint but she pulled herself together and was able to read in a thin scared voice which could not be heard three seats away.  But those who heard and those who read marveled at the thoughts which the girl had written in a clear and original fashion.  Still when she left for college she was a misunderstood and unappreciated girl in her own home and among her neighbors.

It seemed as if she could not endure the thought of a roommate but necessity offered no alternative.  She reached the room first and arranged all her belongings in her accustomed careful and orderly way.  She sat by the window lonely and miserable, trying to read, when the roommate came.  She was a rosy-cheeked, laughing, vivacious girl who greeted her as if she had always known her and did not seem to notice that she received monosyllabic replies.  Before an hour had passed the shy, self-conscious girl was down on her knees helping her new friend unpack her trunk and talking to her more naturally than she had ever talked with anyone before.