Assumptions

I lost my temper today, and an anxious little cloud took up residence in my being. The overthinking cogs were on maximum overdrive.

For the last few years I’ve been working on a manuscript, and because of the social stigma around the themes explored in the manuscript, fear of judgment, unhealthy shame, and my own insecurities, I had pretty much decided against using my surname when the time came for publication. There is also a prominent, affluent and influential family in my city, with the same rare surname. We are not related (I checked our ancestry), but even since I was a child, most new acquaintances assume that I am a member of that family. During my university days three decades ago, I adopted a nickname which would later become the artist’s name under which my writing and artwork would be published.

Last November, I applied for a fellowship under my full name. I truly believed it was time to own my past, and using my full name was my way of trying to accept myself for who I am, and all that I am, and to stop being afraid of “what people would say”. I was, and still am, very proud of that fellowship application, even if in the end I’m not a successful applicant.

Then today happened. During a meeting, I was singled out because it was assumed that I was a member of that family. Instantly furious, I interrupted the speaker and declared loudly that I was not related to that family and made it very clear that I was upset such an assumption had been made, especially since it changed the way the speaker spoke to me.

After the meeting I stewed and fretted. Why did I lose it like that? I have no control over incorrect assumptions made about me, nor over anyone’s behaviour toward me because of those assumptions, so what the hell?

Was I was angry because this person and I, together with three others, are going to be working closely on a project that requires us to vulnerable and open? Was I upset because I was no longer feeling safe? Did I care about what this person thinks of me because I care about about the project? Still, even if all of the above were true, there was no excuse for losing it like that. A calm, collected correction was all that was needed.

No one likes having to defend themselves against an assumption. Assumptions, by nature, exist without proof. It means we’re being judged without evidence. When someone assumes they don’t simply wonder whether something could be true, they proceed as though it is already established truth. Which is inherently a bit unfair. I chalked my reaction up to feeling judged, sighed a deep long sigh and resolved to just let it go.

But what I came to understand, after many hours in a little ball under my blanket, was that my discomfort, anxiety and panic had nothing to do with the assumptions that were made about me. It was in fact, all about my fear of the additional attention that surname would bring to my work.

People, especially on social media, tend to enjoy making fun of and gossiping about “well known” people, especially if the subject matter is “juicy” and will bring the sharer more likes, hits and engagement. I am not well known, but that other family is, and they were recently splashed all over media sites because of a malicious rumour. That debacle went on for weeks!

Tonight I find myself asking if I am really ready for this kind of attention? Am I ready to speak from an informed place about child molestation, self harm, assault, shame, substance abuse, dysfunctional co-dependent relationships, addiction, and a host of other personal challenges I am still working through?

If I decline to speak about all of this, as I know is my prerogative, am I still ready for strangers to connect my writing and art to me? Am I strong enough to shrug at societal expectations of what succeeding at life looks like for someone my age, knowing that my life looks nothing like those expectations?

Am I ready for the finger-pointing and moral indignation from those who have harmed me in the past, and from the ones I have harmed? Do I feel secure and comfortable enough with where I am at now? Am I proud of how far I have come? Not yet. But I am working on it.

In the meantime, I can apologize to my project-mates for losing my temper. I can take the lessons each day offers me. I can journal, and write here in this space. I can learn from those who offer insight and wisdom, such as this post I came across this evening:

I can endeavour to do better.

And, come hell or high water, on publication day, I will be standing tall.

Love and light, Phoenix.