I Have Outgrown Victimizing Myself

Jon Marcantoni

One of the traps of the writer life is that, by our nature, we focus on the struggles of life more than the positives, since the struggles attract far more positive attention than if we wrote about how great our lives are. This is human nature. It is why social media, where our public selves are highly curated to cover up our insecurities, is also the reason for record-levels of anxiety amongst young people, and the advent of phrases like FOMO to describe the bitterness one feels when everyone around them seems to have endless resources to go on trips, eat out at fancy restaurants, and spend their weekends partying while we are stuck at home looking for extra change around the house to see if we can order Chinese food for dinner (and extend that take out meal for two days).

Being negative is, frankly, easier than its ever been, and it is also human nature to look at cynicism as wisdom and optimism as naivety. This is largely the result of human civilization evolving more rapidly than our brains, which are still stuck in the Stone Age (or if you want to be more generous, the Bronze Age) and so our impulses to be on guard for wild animals and invading armies are more attuned than our impulses for leisure and gratitude.

Being a creative person in a creative industry that emphasizes trauma and victimization, both recent and ancient, and emphasizes how marginalized we are in a society that wasn’t made for us (with no clear definition of what society should be), incentivizes, in an artificial way, an endless cycle of grief and feeling downtrodden. Regular daily struggles take on an epic narrative of the entire world being against us, and that we must “resist” in any way big or small, the relentless assault on our being.

I have taken to this narrative, promoted this narrative, not only in my work, but in my life experiences. If I’m told “no” in any context, it is not a reasonable response from a person, organization, job, etc. That “no” is an indication of my struggle to be seen and heard. This narrative catastrophizes every obstacle to my goals as an epic hero’s journey I must overcome in the name of my ancestors, my family, my people, the historians who haven’t even been born yet who will look at my actions and judge me; I could go as far as to say I’m even fighting in the name of my mechanic because, why not?

This story that is so popular amongst artists has been internalized by me in a number of ways, the biggest of which is that I’m afraid of stating, clearly and boldly, exactly what I need from a job. I undercut myself because I am so desperate to survive, I have to be willing to take whatever scraps are thrown my way, but more and more, I am feeling like I am taking scraps because the people I interact with know I am desperate, and they know I am desperate because I tell them so.

The narrative I have created is one in which I am forever in a struggle to be taken seriously and for the longest time I have believed that struggle comes from outside sources. The world, the US, white people, clique-ish Latinos, your average every-day assholes, everyone and everything discounts me and so I have to prove myself.

This narrative is a lie.

It is a lie I tell myself instead of looking in the mirror to see that I am showing up undercutting myself because I feel so hurt from past experiences that I downplay every aspect of myself.

I am tired. I am tired of this narrative that I created because I mistook struggle as a sign of strength, instead of a weakness of spirit. I have been told countless times by people professionally and personally that my resume is impressive, that my life story is incredible, that my determination and leadership qualities are admirable. I could list the specifics here but the specifics aren’t the point. The point is that I show up to situations believing I’m going to be stepped on and when I get stepped on I act surprised.

I have allowed feckless, insecure people to talk down to me and treat me like I’m stupid when I have years more experience than them. I have allowed, in the name of being humble, to minimize my abilities and how much I am worth to every single company I have worked for. I have spent too many days going home feeling inept, unfocused, and defeated. And I have no one to blame but myself.

The arts world tells me I should blame some system for this, and the only system at work here is my self-fulfilling prophecy of rejection. I could give reasons for where this came from. The last full-time job I had was also the last time I bet on myself and bullied my way into a position that turned out to be an absolute morale-killer. I’m afraid of being cocky and it happening again. But that wasn’t the first time. That wasn’t the origin. The origin of diminishing myself and my background doesn’t truly matter, what matters is that I never let go of that narrative. The one that says I can only be myself if I make something from scratch. Yes, me creating a theatre company that, six months in, has made not one but two narrative podcasts, and in August will have its first production — I did that. I did it at a deficit, risking my finances and abilities to make it a reality. In those circumstances I do bet on myself, so why don’t I when it comes to positions that will pay the bills?

Fear. I’m afraid of staying in the place I’m in professionally and financially and that fear prevents me from lifting myself out of it. But what I do have to lose? All I’m losing is this story that I tell that makes these struggles seem noble, when all they are is tiring.

I’m so tired. I need a new story.