The secret hell of a Blusher.

Fair skinned and fair haired, with a penchant for embarrassment and/or outrage, I can barely remember a time before blushing.

It has been a lifelong curse, and something I have never quite accepted – only learned to manage. Just.

Blushing is the reddening of the face due to psychological reasons. That is to say, the suffering of an extreme emotion, such as stress, anxiety, embarrassment, lust, or oh-my-god-did-we-sleep-together?

I am a Blusher. My sister is Blusher. My cousins are all Blushers, too. Our creamy complexions betray any opportunity to appear as a functional adult, with merely the word ‘labia’ enough to send my cheeks into a Fukushima level meltdown.

The worst part of this ailment is that I am not a prude. No, really, I’m not.

I grew up with doctor father, and a mother who was maybe a little too OK with the birds/bees conversation (sorry Mum, but really – did we need the diagrams?). I’ve lived with drag queens, seen the world, slept on airport floors, and seen/eaten/sculled/pashed/done some of the most frightful things imaginable. I am not a prude.

And yet – at the most unpredictable moment – I will feel that slow, crawling heat flush my neck, cheeks, forehead, face. And I go from confidence to a crushing sense of failure.

The responses to a Blusher are varied. If you’re talking to a woman, she will often rush to make you feel comfortable. If you’re talking to a man, he gets this weird smug look like he’s just wooed Shirley Temple.

Some people are bemused, some are confused, and in some rare cases it can even bring out a Sympathy Blusher. God, I remember running into this girl I knew from years ago on the bus, and as we were standing right next to each other, escape was impossible.

I was like, “Ok Maggie, you’ve got this. You’re a grown woman. This girl is exceptionally nice. There is no reason to lose your shit.”

Alas, sure enough, the Blush betrayed me. But in what was actually a rather pleasant surprise, she went a similar shade of crimson and we just kind of battled our way through the conversation somehow without bleeding from our ears.

For someone who grew up on the stage, loving both the attention and the post-show McDonald’s, the curse of blushing has tainted my adult abilities at being able to speak in front of large audiences, groups, more than one person. And as someone who often takes workshops, or speaks before collections of clients, this is problematic.

Which brings me onto the most annoying part of all: finding the solution.

From deep breathing to chanting, mantras to stress balls, mentally stripping people down to their underwear or just focusing on one spot; may I just ask – ARE YOU TRYING TO MAKE US LOOK MORE F***ING WEIRD THAT WE ALREADY DO?!

As if it isn’t bad enough that we are sporting a neon shade of beetroot, you want us to also look over the poor person’s shoulder, too? Whilst squeezing a stress ball, and puffing like we are facing an onset of minor panic attacks? For God’s sake, people – give us a break.

I propose that we move forward the only way I know how: to behave the very opposite as a Blusher would be expected to.

No coy glances away, or nervous smiles, or sweating hands. I vote we stare the person straight in the eye, and bellow – “I AM HAVING AN UNEXPECTED EMOTIONAL RESPONSE TO YOUR COMPANY WHICH IS CAUSING MY CAPILLARIES TO BURST.”

And walk away, like a boss.