I’ve written about meetings before, and how they’re the stuff of nightmares. This wasn’t a meeting, per se. This was a briefing. This should have been safe.
We were talking about team cohesion. The nightmarish concept of team building dissected in detail – obliquely, not by name, but recognisable in full and terrifying form. But the everyday stuff got a mention too. How to encourage knowledge sharing, technical briefings; just talking to each other about what we’re doing, getting a feel for what’s going on in the department.
“I know”, says one smart guy, full of confidence and authority. We’ve been talking about people sharing their work in briefings, informally, chatting on stage or gathering the team around a plot. I can do this. I would enjoy this. “Let’s video the talks. We can save them on our internal website so people can share their knowledge”.
But no. No, this is not a thing. Chatting with my colleagues about a plot: every day, absolutely. But videoing; picturing; recording? That is something altogether more sinister. I almost bolted the room.
I know, you see, that I am wrong. My movements are clumsy, hands ceaselessly restless, legs pacing out of key. I have a crooked smile. My voice is too loud, too forceful. The pitch, often rising excitedly, is too low for the brightness and enthusiasm it means to convey – I’ve been told it’s intimidating. There is no music to the spoken tone, no phrasing to give the lines their depth of meaning. Speaking in words is a graceless act, stilted, all harsh lines and corners. Like a small child draws, with the pencil scrunched up in its fist, thick lines spreading from a blunted edge pushed too hard against the paper; and like that drawing, the finished product is artless, naive, painful to the ear and to the eye.
I exist each day knowing this about myself. I know how I look; how I sound; how awkward it must feel to be in my presence. Yet I hold my head high, having taught myself to believe that this does not matter. My talents are valuable, and they lie elsewhere. And this is completely true.
But that knowledge is fragile. The understanding is brittle. And seeing myself in image, speaking and moving in that way that does not fit, that does not flow – being so wrong – would shatter my confidence to the bone. To be recorded, this shattering of self-image branded onto physical media to be relived again and again and again, is merciless in its permanence. The humiliation forever and inescapable. I cannot bear to see myself.
It is strange to be faced, out of the blue, with the remembrance that normal life is not like this. That most competent adults are aware, confident and comfortable in themselves. This fear of self-awareness on a literal, physical level is not something that’s accepted in the professional world. My fear is unreasonable. It’s weakness. It’s unprofessional, and it will hold me back.
I do resent this. I resent that my professional life is governed by a system that demands conformity. It is not enough to be good – even sometimes to excel – at what I do. But I must look right. I must “be” right. I must smile, and move, and think, and feel, like everyone else. I must be open and willing share my inner self; but not as me: as some false, created inner self that looks like it’s supposed to. My work is not enough. I must have the courage and the confidence to show my “wrong” self to the world, to suffer judgment and humiliation, with only that tiny inner voice to remind me that the only person qualified to judge me is myself.
It’s hard, sometimes. Seeing myself.