Never Mind About Them

On Pre-Book Wobblies and casting aside opinion

I am known, on occasion, to frequent the interwebs.

In fact I am what is known as “chronically online”. And as I let Al Gore’s powerful rhythm wash over me, I get a lot of neurodivergent content. One thing that comes up frequently, and in my own chats with my neurokindred, is the whole issue of “being perceived”.

It’s the anxiety that comes with the idea of being seen, noticed or evaluated by others.

The feeling of being exposed and vulnerable somehow when making eye-contact, or wanting to disappear in a group setting and not be noticed.

Many neurodivergent people feel they have been just hanging on, trying to figure out the invisible social contract we all adhere to. The etiquette, the body language and vocal tone cues which feel impossible for some to decipher. Wanting to blend in, be invisible and not perceived is an understandable desire. Some days feel too full of survival, and having to wade through the murky waters of social activity while getting it wrong feels too much. Like a heavy coat with sleeves that refuse to be found as you poke and contort your limbs to find entry points.

As a raging extrovert with hyper-awareness of micro-expressions and a chameleon ability to adapt, I had assumed this was never an issue for me.

Socially, I am confident, bombastic and love new people. New opportunities for sparring and banter, for connection!

But there is another real area of being perceived which I and every creative soul has had to push past; one which has come roaring back into my life this year. It’s when you have something to say. The birthing of a creative project: having it leave the safety of the laptop, the sketchbook, the mind, into the arena of public opinion.

It’s something everyone who wants to share something of themselves with the world has to navigate. The de-centering of someone else’s opinion. If this doesn’t happen, then you will never create. You will be crippled by shame, by inner critics, by the need to please and conform and not be noticed and left alone.

I had to do this when I started trying to live my creative life in earnest. For me, I knew life had to be away from where I grew up. Away from the people who had the power at that point to keep me stuck if I didn’t start stepping out from the perceptions of who I was, into the unknown, into the parts of myself I had hidden.

And even then, when when I moved, that damn people-pleaser, desperate to fit in, came with me. She found a new group of people to try and placate and impress. She liked to stand out, but only in terms of being excellent at things. Inside was a roaring maelstrom of whimsy, of feelings, of spiraling thoughts about time, and the memories that rocks hold. She let just enough “quirk” out to placate the inner storm, enough to raise the occasional eyebrow. But inside was a raging push-pull of wanting to love loudly, to express nagging doubts and creative ideas, and a gripping fear of being “in trouble”. The ever-present ghosts of shame of a child who grew up in the holiness movement. The need to sacrifice everything, including personality, at the altar of conformity. (Which they called god and called good, and it was neither).

I learned to exercise the muscles of opinion. To start speaking out loud and creating. I flinched when challenged. Shook and wept and wanted to burn evidence of my creative existence. But would fight back with every harsh word and “concerned” piece of advice from people who did not understand what I was trying to do. The boldness and audacity developed to foster my fledgling creative life.

And every creative needs to do this.

To remember that we don’t take criticism from those we wouldn’t go to for advice.

To protect the inner child.

To let it be nurtured by real wisdom from those that have been there. To receive mentoring and a steady hand from those further along the path.

And I got pretty good at it. Enough to be an encouragement to others and make a living of sorts from my creative work

And then, I wrote a book.

My second book, but first long-form effort. Filled with myself. With stories and experience and pain and confession and snark and joy. With illustrations that poke fun and bring levity to subjects that have cut me deeply.

And it has undone me!

In some great ways, and some ways I did not expect.

I’ve suddenly been feeling all of the wobbly feelings and wanting to delete my existence from the internet.

What if it fails? What if it just utterly sinks into the waters of ‘books that don’t make it’?

What if it does well and then I get critics? How will I cope when people disagree publicly with my understanding of neurodivergence and criticism of the church?

Will I be misunderstood? Too Christian? Not enough?

Will people expect just neurodivergent content from me?

I’m an artist, illustrator and writer also, and this is the book I’ve needed to write, but it’s not the only thing I will say for ever more. I contain multitudes. Will I get pigeonholed?

What if after all this time, now I’ve put something substantial into the world, people read it and just think, “Meh”?

I can’t lie, I’ve been off my game. All of sudden fearful to post. Fearful? Yes.

Ugh. The emotion that drives so many of us and blocks our path.

So this is me, fighting my internal desire to stop being perceived. And inviting fear and naysayers and critics to do what you will, as I will do what I will.

I’m starting to play and create out loud again, albeit feeling like Shasta in “The Horse and His Boy” where he asks Aslan about the fate and journey of another.

Aslan replies, “Child, I am telling you your story, not hers, I tell no-one any story but his own”.

I am playing for an audience of One and in turn am not to be concerned about the path of others. Either fearing their opinion or envying their elevated pathway as I send my work into the world.

Never Mind about them.

You do You.

Fulfill the task and let it fly