I’ve always said things like “I don’t like attention” and “I would rather be behind the scenes and let my work speak for itself”. For the most part this was true. Until I started to realise that I was missing out on opportunities and possible career advancement because my work was visible, but I was invisible. While I didn’t want to be the centre of attention, some situations genuinely required me to step up and take ownership of my accomplishments, but I was almost physically incapable of doing so. For a person who spends 90% of her time working and whose business entirely has been running on word of mouth and referrals, this made no sense.
I’ve been a designer for almost 10 years now. I’m actually very proud of my work and justifiably so. I’ve worked on numerous projects, received amazing feedback consistently and been paid quite well over the years, so I have enough tangible evidence that I’m good at what I do. My apprehension about sharing my work (or publicly taking credit for it) definitely didn’t come from a lack of confidence.
Let’s start at the very beginning
[A very good place to start]
As I was actively trying to understand what my issue was, I started to think about my childhood. I grew up in a big family of 7 children, so naturally we drew attention everywhere we went. Each time we travelled, at immigration my mum would be asked if we were all hers biologically. We took up an entire pew each Sunday at Mass. Our 'gender ratio' was also severely skewed, 6 girls and 1 boy. I say all this to say, that (unwanted) attention was pretty normal and should’ve been something I was used to.
I’m not kidding when I say that the idea of self-promotion was beyond just ‘cringe’ to me. It felt like a dangerous scenario. Like wearing bright red in a bullring with my feet stuck to the ground, unable to run. I have never shared any academic achievements online and I've had plenty. If I shared my work, I wouldn’t expressly say it was mine. IFYKYK. I also hardly shared anything remotely self aggrandising. In fact, I deliberately keep my social media random and vague.
Desperate to find the genesis of my very real problem, I started to dig deeper. One day, it suddenly clicked.
“Does the person that came first have two heads?”
If you’re Nigerian you’ve probably heard this before. It’s what a lot of parents asked their kids when they came home with less than satisfactory grades. In Nigerian schools (I’m not sure if it happened in other countries or if it even still happens), students are ranked not just in general percentiles like top or bottom, but they are actually numbered from first to last. At the end of term, your report card wouldn’t just say your grades, it would give you an actual numerical position, depending on the number of students in your class. Hence the question.
I was the ‘person that came first’. Not bragging, just facts. All through primary school. In fact, it became so expected that I would handover my report cards without flinching. One time, my mum opened my results, looked up at me, paused and said "You came second". I immediately burst into tears. She was just kidding, of course.
In secondary school I was also regularly top of my class. At home and abroad. I would constantly receive prizes and academic awards. I was just naturally good at school and everyone was used to it - parents, classmates and teachers. But just because they were used to it, doesn’t mean they liked it.
The Unspoken Cost of Excellence
Holding the coveted position, bred (not so) silent competition between me and my peers, put a target on my back and automatically made me the one to beat. To some this might not have been an issue, they might've revelled in it, even. But I'm not competitive. At all. Never have been. Not even in sports or board games.
I was never bullied and I had friends. But there was definitely pressure from their parents at home, wanting them to do better and I was just the person in their way. After all, I didn't have two heads. Some mothers even asked my mum who my after school lesson teacher was and they didn't believe her when she said I didn't have one. Perhaps most traumatising of all, was this particular mother, who would heckle me every time she came to pick up her daughter, saying "The Onyinye that comes first", her tone full of disdain. Every. Single. Time. 'Til this day, she still has not let go that I supposedly deprived her daughter of having first place.
I'm not entirely sure when I subconsciously came to this realisation but at a young age, I must have realised that being evidently brilliant - though largely a good thing, had its downsides. I internally decided all those years ago that I would continue to be excellent. Well, I couldn't help it. But I would do so quietly and privately. I learnt how to play small and fly under the radar but still operate at a high standard. One of my report cards actually read "Onyinye is maintaining her high standard." And that's exactly what I've done all these years. Maintain a high standard. Remain excellent. But in the shadows.
Until now.
