Claiming My Own Space Always Felt Like a Privilege
Talking myself into making space for emotions
“I try to take no space,” I hear myself say to my new therapist in my first session.
It’s not said angrily, or sadly. Hell, it’s not even dripping in shame. It’s just a matter of fact.
She pauses dramatically, so I can sit with what I just said. But I don’t feel uncomfortable. Why should I? I have been conditioned my entire life to slowly give more and more of my space until there was none left to give. Eventually, the idea of taking new space seemed futile.
“Why is that?” she pushes when I say nothing to follow up my statement.
“I don’t know — maybe because I don’t like confrontation,” I say sincerely.
“And taking space equals confrontation?” she pushes gently.
I think back to my life. Not necessarily difficult or touched by any kind of tragedy like others’. But just because there is no tragedy doesn’t mean there is no trauma. The sneaky kind of trauma. The one that masks itself as “that’s normal” until a therapist starts questioning it.
“I think I give space…to others…” I begin and I realize how weird it sounds.
“I have had to,” I rationalize a little too defensively.
“Why?”
“Because,” I pause trying to voice something I have never said out loud, “I feel like I have to apologize for who I am.”
There it sits, the statement like an awkward piece of art we’re both pretending we’re understanding but really, it looks quaint and it sounds like a sad bumper sticker on a teenager’s notebook.
I don’t like how it makes me feel. Much like art, it moves me, I just don’t care for the direction it moves me in. I came to the US as an eager 18-year-old on a scholarship. In order to not jeopardize the privilege of attending a school in the most famous country in the world, I began putting up with stuff. Disdain, ridicule at my accent, expectations that I should be grateful that America opened its doors to me.
And so I began adjusting my way of being. Started with the obvious: Never give anyone a chance to question your worth.
This new life ‘philosophy’ resulted in always performing at 110% and never giving anyone a reason to confirm that I didn’t belong. I became a machine. America’s return on investment was worth it. But with a high return also came a high cost: making myself small enough so that I never bothered anyone.
One of the only friends I made at college once told me that it made sense I was in New York. I beamed thinking she was acknowledging my accomplishments. She added, “The college has an ‘exotic international’ quota to make, that’s where you come in.”
And then I started not only making myself small but also giving more of my space away. To the point where I wasn’t even aware I was taking no space at all. I was floating in a bubble made of anxiety and hard work.
After college, the ‘hits’ came at a faster pace and always took something with them:
‘You’re a woman, this client only works with guys — easier to get things approved. You’ll do the work but someone else will take the credit.’
‘You’re too young to be in this role. Don’t tell the client your age or she’ll think you are unprepared. In fact, don’t join any of the meetings. But continue the work.’
‘Don’t mention you’re not from the US. The client is a Trump supporter.’
The shock started wearing off after a couple of years. Nothing really surprised me. I remember being in an important client meeting and presenting a complex strategy worth millions. In the middle of my presentation, in a room with 10 executives, my manager interrupted me and asked me to pass him a sandwich. With a straight face. I looked around and the only horrified person was the only other woman in the room. I ignored it.
“So… I take no space,” I resume startling my therapist. “I think somewhere along the way I made a connection that if I don’t take any space in the room, in a business meeting, or even at home, then I won’t be ‘attacked.’ I will slip through without anyone noticing and there will be no conflict.”
I am not alone in this predicament, I think. Most women will read this and nod their heads in recognition of the microaggressions they deal with every day. Most immigrants will probably laugh and say I have it easy. They are right.
But not taking space, and in some instances giving it has brought me here, in therapy at 31, unable to voice what happened, what finally broke the camel’s back, because I am not sure anything did. I am terrified that I have accepted this as life.
“So, how do you express emotion?” my therapist asks.
I look at her and for the first time, I have nothing to say.
“I don’t mean emotion like: I am frustrated with xyz. I mean when was the last time you said to another human being: I feel sad because this happened?”
“Never,” I whisper.
She looks up from her notes.
“In 31 years?”
I say nothing.
“Not to your parents?”
“No, I don’t want to overwhelm them. They worry.”
She nods.
“Friends?”
“No.”
“Significant other?”
“I am single.”
She nods.
“So? Who do you rely on?”
“Me.”
She pauses again and I feel exposed and judged. Saying this out loud sounds stupid but I promise it makes sense in my head.
“I just never saw the right time for it. In high school nobody had time for it, in college I was afraid I would lose my scholarship, at work I needed a place that would help me apply for a work visa, in relationships I was always the easy one. The no-drama friend, the never get upset one. I was constantly terrified.”
“Of what?”
“Sorry?”
“If you expressed emotion, and failed, and didn’t get the job or lost the scholarship. What were you afraid of? What was on the other side? What was the failure?”
I looked down. “I don’t know…I have never let myself think of it,” and suddenly I feel foolish. For someone who is overprepared, I have no answer to arguably the one thing that has driven me my entire life.
“But you were running of something that was terrible. What was it?”
“Being alone? Outcast?” I try.
“I want you to consider that you are living your worst fear right now. You are alone. Nobody knows who you are or how you feel.”
I sit there. Numb. She is right. I know she is but I am finding it hard to care. The thing about space and giving it away is that with it, you also give away the space to feel emotions, to react to them, to understand them, and to share them. I haven’t had the space for emotions in so long that I feel anesthetized. Sure, in theory, I understand the gravity of this but in reality, it doesn’t change my understanding of my life.
Space, I consider, is a privilege. One that I happily gave away in exchange for not being bullied. But, had I been wrong? Did I reinforce the idea that bullying was ok with more space I gave away?
How do you take up space? How do you claim it? I feel like a toddler lacking knowledge when it comes to normal social interaction.
I look confused at my therapist.
She smiles, “ We’ll start small. Let’s make it a point to express one emotion to someone between now and next time.”
Hardest homework I have ever received, I think.
