The Voice of Fear
by Diane Elayne Dees
In the late 80s, when I made a drastic career change and became a clinical social worker on the lowest rung of the lowest ladder, an experienced colleague invited me to be her guest at a body image group she and another psychotherapist conducted. At the group session, she asked us to close our eyes and remember a time when we took a big risk. It could be anything: getting married, leaving home, going to graduate school, moving to another location, starting a business. It took me all of three seconds to select my risk—giving up my career in public relations to pursue my Masters degree in social work and train to be a psychotherapist.
She asked us to recall all of the things people said when we told them about our plans. Many people said "Good for you!" and "I know you'll do well." But there were a few who said "Aren't you afraid to do that?" and "Oh, I'd be too afraid to make that big a change" and "How can you manage that?"
Remembering those negative comments made me think of the multitude of negative things I was told as a child by my mother. Perhaps more significantly, it reminded me of the constant negative messages I also heard about my gender from schools, churches, the media, and the world at large. If someone is told often enough that she cannot do something, either because she does not have the ability or because she is "not supposed" to do it, part of her will come to believe those messages.
Internalized sexism exists as an overwhelming problem in our culture, probably even among feminists. If we take charge, we do not get the accolades that take-charge men get; we are more likely to be called "bitches." If we show ambition, unlike men who are praised for it, we are called "ambitious" in a rather unkind way (consider Senator Hillary Clinton, for whom this is a chronic "insult.") If we follow our conditioning and try to please everyone, we are called "weak"; if we go against it and make detached decisions, we are called "cold."
All of the people who said negative things when I told them I was going back to school and changing my career were women. The idea of taking that kind of risk frightened them, and they projected their fears onto me. In my psychotherapy practice, I constantly see women who believe they cannot do things they need or want to do—leave their spouses, train for a dream career, live alone, fire an employee, go to a restaurant alone. This is not to say that there are no men who feel the same way—because there are—but women like this greatly outnumber similarly afflicted men.
Fear is not a valid reason to avoid taking action. Risk involves fear.
To this day, I sometimes feel a twinge of anxiety before I write a letter to the editor or demand that someone pay an overdue bill. As humans, and especially as women, we do not like rejection, and we do not like to "make people unhappy." We also do not like to face the possible consequences of confronting another person or an entire society. The letter can result in nasty responses; the demand for money can result in a termination of the contract. But acting is always better than doing nothing, for acting authenticates us, and doing nothing turns us into passive receptacles controlled by others.
Changing my career was not easy. I entered a work-study program for my internship, taught two classes a week, and continued public relations work with a friend who became my partner during this transition period. After graduation, I had difficulty finding a job in my new field. The employment I eventually secured was low-paying, in an agency that offered a mentally unhealthy workplace environment. At one point, I had to work four jobs in order to pay my bills. But I achieved my goal, and eventually established my own practice.
A few years ago, I realized I almost cheated myself out of a long-abandoned goal—the pursuit of a writing career, or at least a writing avocation. I returned to the essay-writing I once enjoyed many years before, and did something I swore I could never do—write short fiction. Then I took a couple of workshops to help develop my craft. Before I knew it, I was attempting the other thing I said I would never do—writing poetry.
I have a long way to go as a creative writer, and I often become discouraged, especially when I see younger friends getting MFAs and immersing themselves in their craft. But learning at my current pace is so much better than what I was doing before: not learning at all.
I am not sure why I abandoned my writing dream so long ago. I wish I had received more guidance when I was younger. But I also believe that I listened to the "you can't do this" voice that can be so soft, it is barely audible to the conscious mind. It is a voice that whispers to women, seducing us into what we believe to be safety, but is actually paralysis.
BIO: DIANE ELAYNE DEES, a psychotherapist and writer in Covington, Louisiana, is a regular contributor to Moondance. Her short stories, creative nonfiction, poetry, and political commentary have appeared in many publications. You can read her blog, The Dees Diversion, at thedeesdiversion.blogspot.com. Contact Diane at deesdiversion@gobigwest.com.