There was a hierarchy in my class at school with one girl, Leona, at the top. If you weren’t in with her, you weren’t in. The desired position was to be chosen as one of her two acolytes. That made you pretty untouchable. The dreaded position was to be chosen as her victim. That made you the object of ridicule. Many joined in the ridiculing (even some of your friends) because, if it was aimed someone else, you were safe – for the moment. I was Leona’s victim for a while and I’ve never forgotten what it was like feeling scorned and laughed about. After that, I just wanted to be part of the crowd. Any crowd.
I found my solution in The Salt Cellar, a Christian coffee bar held in the converted crypt of a church in Winchester. There, I had what I saw as a spiritual awaking, turning me into a born again Christian (a state in which I remained until the age of 18). In retrospect, my “transformation” had more to do with the atmospheric setting, the emotive music and the welcoming group of people. Here, no one would ridicule and manipulate me. Here, I could be one of the gang.
My experience at school sent me into adulthood with a dread of any situation where I was on the outside. And anyway, mum had taught me not to rock the boat. To abide by the generally accepted beliefs and practices of the people around us (especially Granny and Auntie Audrey). Regardless of what I thought privately. To conform to the norm at all costs.
Over time, I’ve found myself in many situations where my views or actions don’t match the norm. Sometimes, I’ve adapted to suit what is generally thought acceptable. Making out I had an interest in fashion so that I could be “one of the girls” at a company I worked for. Adopting the formal behaviour of some law firms I’ve had as clients. I’ve compromised in order to fit in.
Right now I’m in the uncomfortable situation of having views that go very much against the majority. And over the most emotive issue that’s taken place in my lifetime. The pandemic and the ever-changing rules that surround it. I either have to adapt and conform – going against my own beliefs. Or become an outsider - a rebel and a law-breaker.
I’ve taken the latter route. But I haven’t always been honest about it. For example, when my friend Charmion and I started meeting up (illegally) for dinner, I didn’t want the neighbours to know. So, until I plucked up the courage to come clean to them, we met at her place. At the end of the night, I’d sneak back into my block of flats closing the door quietly and hoping no one had spotted me.
Over the course of lockdown, I broke the law numerous times. Going to the local DHL pick-up to send my broken earphones off for repair when I was only meant to go out for essential shopping. Taking an unnecessary trip on the tube to have dinner with someone I shouldn’t have been meeting up with. Having a get-together with some neighbours in our shared garden that was anything but socially distanced. Mostly, I broke the rules surreptitiously. I was afraid of going against the grain. Afraid of being disapproved of for my views and behaviour.
I find myself justifying my position on recent law-making constantly in my head. Listing dozens of reasons why I think as I do. I bang on to friends about it. “Let’s not argue about this,” I said to my cousin Gill on Sunday, when we got into a conversation on the subject of masks. “I’m not arguing, Cath,” she said, laughing. “I’m just interested in your views. It’s you who is arguing!” The reason I was giving such an impassioned speech on the subject was because I wanted her to agree with me. Because the more people who do, the less I’m going against the grain. The less I will feel on the outside.
Going against the grain can be tough unless you're one of those people who thrives on bucking the system. There are times when I don’t have the guts to disobey rules that I disagree with. I get angry when I see people who do. But really, I’m cross with myself for not having the courage to do the same. Ironically, I also get angry with people who are obeying the rules because, if they didn’t, they’d be like me and I would be part of the majority. Comfortably conforming to the norm.
What is it I’m so fearful of? I fear disapproval. I fear people thinking I’m stupid or selfish. I fear people slagging me off behind my back. Or not being my friends anymore. Just as happened at school when I allowed myself to become Leona's victim. Perhaps if I'd stood up to her back then, I wouldn't be so fearful now.