I was chatting to my psychotherapist on the way out of session a couple of weeks ago and he mentioned in passing a new client was coming to visit him from Islay. Now Islay to Glasgow is one helluva long way: 4 hours plus. Weekly. I raised an eyebrow. 'Good grief: aren't there any therapists on Islay – Oban even?' He looks quite bruised, and I realise later that I have accidentally burst a bubble. 'What's so special about you!' I've implicitly suggested. Oops.
Do you know I genuinely don't know what's so 'special' about my therapist. I just trust him and it works for us a team. That's what counts for me — I may well be working with someone with a hugifeous, grand reputation in the trauma field and I wouldn't have a clue, in the way this chap from Islay might have discovered.
OK — reputations scare me
I sense all sorts of undercurrents from old, playground or otherwise. Being isolated, left out, unimportant. Unwanted. Frightened if you are the centre of attention because the playground bully has seen the spotlight move from him. The violence or alienation that ensued. Covering up any talents for fear of abuse or retribution.Therapist and I talked about talent this week, partly because I felt so bad about being so leaden-footed. Well – aside from all the threat of being bullied, it's a bit of Inner Brat – my inner sprog in Bad Behaviour ME ME ME ME ME mode.
I am a graphic designer, and as every designer will tell you, studios usually have an undercurrent of hidden envy and jealousy. Some abusive heads of department (so-called creative directors) actually encourage it. It is of course, extremely tedious and ultimately destructive, and it makes the occupants of the studio small and miserable, even though they love their job and would do it anyway, paid or not.
Here's a thought for every kid who's exhibited a 'talent' from small, from piano to drawing, to painting to singing to intellectual prowess. For a brief few moments, or even a few too many, the world revolves around you. You glow. And you are adored. Little Prince, Little Princess. Think about it: most of us feel about three in this mode. It is essentially the grandiose emotion of the child, puffed up, unique. Then there's the whole other far more sinister side I mentioned – the bully who's envious of these 'skills'. You learn to hide talents from these folk very quickly, or play the clown.
I think it's fortunately a lot easier as we get older to see that folk can have talents and they don't detract from us or anyone else by being very good at what we do – we just are, and there's no shame in that.
Forget the word talent and you just see people as extraordinary, diverse and creative
There is no reason I can just draw, although it's hardly surprising I'm good at it after 40+ years of practice. The same goes for all nascent talents which are honed into skills I think.I'm still struggling with the bullying and the talent thing – that's a work in progress. I want to draw again publicly but that is proving very scary. Perhaps I'll ditch the Talent moniker.
So how do we address who we are, and be allowed to be who we really are without fear?
