Otherness

Bigger than Myself

I know it’s been a while since I’ve written. On the face of it all, things have been going well. My resilience has been better, even though people I love have been going through a tough time. I got my first lot of feedback from my Masters – which reassures me that I’m on the right track, as well as the privilege of meeting some incredible people. My coaching practice is growing and maturing, and January introduced me to some new opportunities and clients which has been very exciting. I’m surrounded by people who love, care and respect me.

Over the last few days, I’ve been in a real funk. I can’t concentrate or focus. I seem to have a million thoughts and none all at once. My heart feels heavy and I can’t seem to feel grounded. And I had no idea why.

Until this morning.

After distracting myself on social media, it dawned on me. The persistent news and climate had been overwhelming my subconscious. It wasn’t until I was having my monthly business catch up with a friend that I was able to finally be vocal about what the issue was. I am scared.

As a British Born Chinese person who lives in Norfolk, UK, my social media and news feeds has been full of people’s stories and experiences of racism following the news of the Coronavirus and of Brexit. The stories of British Chinese people’s experiences of racism in the past week has been relentless. People, including young children and the elderly, have been spat at, sworn at, laughed at and told to “go back to China” up and down the country. Although I haven’t experienced this personally this week, I realise now that it’s impacted me more so than I initially thought.

I was in London this week for a meeting. I’m there quite regularly and usually enjoy the hustle and bustle of the city. It felt different this time though. I was uncomfortable being surrounded by so many people. On reflection, it’s because I didn’t feel safe; I didn’t know what the danger might by or where it would come from. This is a feeling that is always there in the background, developed after years of experiencing comments, catcalls, threats and harassment as a woman of colour. But now, right now, I am so aware of it and there are people who have been emboldened to behave in this way.

I’m sad because I want to be optimistic about the world.

I’m afraid that my young sister will have to endure some of the bullying and harassment that I hoped was left within my own childhood.

I’m worried that my grandmother might get abused in the street as she goes about her day-to-day.

I’m anxiously assessing the risk has on my family’s businesses.

I’m frustrated that this still happens – and that there are people who experience this more often than I do, who are told to just get over it.

I’m angry that this hatred is creating a bigger chasm in society.

I feel helpless because all of this is bigger than myself.

However, there is good news.

It IS bigger than me. There have been some incredible responses to the racist behaviours and actions that have taken place, such as this response to the “Happy Brexit Day” note left in my local area and hearing stories about active bystanders who intervene on public transport when abuse is happening. 

This IS bigger than all of us and, in my current state of vulnerability, I want to say a heartfelt thank you to each of you who advocate, defend, and support others. The fact that you understand that the emotional and mental load of always being the person to stand up against the hate and ignorance (especially if it’s directed at them), and are willing to be an active and vocal ally means a great deal to someone who, at that point in time, doesn’t have the energy or courage themselves to deal with it – that is the work of a superhero.

It’s OK if you don’t know how, yet. But try. Ask questions. Use your kind intention and the skills you have to-hand. Please try.

If it helps, we were never told how to deal with it either…

A mixed bag

It was my first day at school. I don’t really remember feeling nervous. I learnt to speak English at nursery (or kindergarten for non- UK readers) so, as far as I was concerned, the hard part was done. My mum and I got to the school gates and went to say goodbye. She put her hands on my face and told me to have a good day. All pretty standard. She then handed me a bag of pick-and-mix sweets – not the penny sweets kind, but the fancy ones from Woolworths in the pink stripy bag! She instructed me to share them with the other kids so I could make friends. This was one of those innocuous memories that I had that I didn’t realise left a profound message on me – at least not until I explored this with my therapist as an adult.

My mum was worried that I wouldn’t fit in.

In support of my mother, this was fair. She grew up in the UK as a teenager, after my grandfather moved the family from Hong Kong. I grew up in a Norfolk town where, let’s be honest, isn’t known for its diversity. Like lots of first generation British Born Chinese (BBCs), we were the only Chinese family in our town, especially in the early days. One of my classmates was of Asian descent and we contributed to the handful of ethnic minorities in our school. So, on that first day at school, she unintentionally implanted a belief that I still struggle to shake off on a bad day –

people will only like me if I can bring them something

As a child, I never really fit. I was too Chinese at school; too English at home. I was taught to integrate by my parents and taught to embrace and celebrate my family’s heritage by my grandparents. I stereotypically worked in our family friend’s takeaway as a teenager. I would deal with racial slurs from some customers at the counter and then be ridiculed for using the wrong Chinese words in the kitchen (if you’ve ever tried to say “wash” or “die” in Cantonese, you’ll know what I’m talking about!)

It wasn’t just about race. I was told to work hard, to make a better life for myself. This wasn’t the general culture at my school, so I was torn between studying hard and fitting in. I tried desperately to be good at sports and the arts. I was lucky to have found a great group of friends, even it changed about sometimes. We were working it all out together. However, I stood out like a sore thumb for some people. After a childhood of bullying, when it started to happen to my younger brother, I learnt to fight back. I became a defender and a champion for those who were being victimised. This certainly meant it was harder to keep a low profile, so I got on with it. As lots of us felt as teenagers, everywhere felt like a battleground. The clash of different cultures, expectations, and languages shaped my upbringing of conflict.

And then I left home. I finally finished school, I packed up my stuff into a car, kissed my tearful mother goodbye before I drove off to university – with my two youngest brothers dragging their mattresses to claim my newly vacated bedroom. To cut a long story short – this is where I found my people. Other outcasts, geeks and freaks. My longest love – my best friend – told me a few years back that she was so grateful this unlikely band of misfits found one another. We all grew up feeling the same – like we didn’t fit, for lots of different reasons. We had also picked up the same skill to “fit in” or “fight it out”. Our adult version of the bag of sweets at the school gates was servitude and usefulness.

Our allocated nicknames from others were maternal in nature.

For example, one of my fondest memories was hearing a rabble outside, chanting. When we went to see what the fuss was, it turns out the rugby teams were outside of my house, chanting “Mama Lou” en route to their social.

Of course, it’s nice to liked. It feels good to be needed and important. But as I argued in my previous blog, agreeableness isn’t always helpful. I developed an unhealthy relationship with boundaries – or the lack of. I gave so much of myself away, I had nothing left. When I had to take time off work due to my mental health, I hated myself for being so selfish, for being a failure. I then felt complete loss. How am I still me if my driving purpose wasn’t to take care of others? It took me three months of crying, therapists and hard work to begin to unpick and rebuild my core identities.

It – and some incredible support from awesome people – eventually helped me unlearn the unintended lesson my mother taught me on my first day of school. I didn’t have to show up with something to make friends; I just had to show up. I didn’t have to pretend to be something I wasn’t to make other people love me. If I did the things that made me happy, I would meet other people who loved what I loved; luckily for my former colleagues, one of these activities was learning to bake! If I was excited and enthusiastic, people around me were too. If I was happy in myself, then I could help others with energy, generosity and authenticity.

So now, I nourish different aspects of my identity – I am a British Born Chinese person, who connects with other BBCs; I am a Magic: The Gathering player, who spends too much time and money on cardboard; I am a budding miniatures painter, who really wants to win my first painting competition in a year’s time; I am a compassionate, loving friend, who is anything between 20 minutes to two hours late for social engagements (patience is pretty mandatory for my closest people); and I am writer and coach, who is still working some of this stuff out herself.

There is so much fear and uncertainty out there – no wonder we’re all a bit anxious. I know the only thing I can truly do is to look after myself and doing the things that gets me “talking hands” excited, so that I can keep helping others find and maintain their joy.

Whatever the activity is that recharges the different aspects of you, I hope you’re chasing it!

Lou