Stepping backstage

Social performance, reformed bullies, and fitting in

In a recent episode of “Pulling the Thread,” Elise Loehnan interviews

Katherine May

about being diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder. As a child, long before her diagnosis, May remembers teaching herself how to present as “normal” by borrowing behaviors and traits from other people. She cites this as one reason why life can be particularly overwhelming: it takes a lot of work to perform.

May’s writing is relatable to neurotypical people too, given that we all, to some degree, learn how to perform in order to fit in. According to the sociologist Irving Goffman, we each have an outward-facing self, a performance of sorts, as well as a backstage self. The backstage self, so to speak, is our true, authentic person who rarely gets seen.

In agreement with Goffman that we all perform social roles, May says she is interested in trying to understand the people who choose to enforce the seemingly-arbitrary rules of society instead of exploring their own backstage selves. She identifies these people as stereotypical bullies, whom she understands the least—people who police the boundaries of established norms.

I can say from experience that being a bully is exhausting. It takes a lot of work to stay that repressed.

Because I’ve been both the bully and the outcast, I tend to project my experiences onto other bullies. I refuse to believe that bullies don’t also have amazing insane beautiful chaotic backstage selves.

In The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron says we all have these bully voices, which she calls the “critic,” inside us. The critic is our repressed creative soul who tries to tear down our artistic dreams because it feels unable to create its own.

I often wonder if the same is true of queer bully voices. If the women who refer to other women’s gay dating histories as “experimenting” phases are the same ones who fantasize about pulling that hot bridesmaid into the bathroom stall at a wedding afterparty while their husband smokes a cigar outside.

The masks of Venice. Film from November 2022.

For nearly five years, I’ve been in a therapy group designed to help people uncover and communicate our emotions. It’s not themed, and it’s not for recovery; instead, it’s just 10-15 strangers attempting to identify and articulate our feelings towards one another in real time.

One of the group members—we’ll call him A—is starting to realize he might be autistic. He interrupts other people and seems unable to follow social cues. He appears childlike and self-interested at times. He speaks from his heart.

A few months ago, on a day when A wasn’t present, two other group members asked our therapist if A could be removed from the group. This is unprecedented: unless someone violates the core principles of group conduct, there’s no reason why anyone should ever be asked to leave.¹

These group members proceeded to rant all their frustrations with A. They said his interruptions get in the way of connections between other members. They said his monologuing wastes precious time.

Listening to them complain, I had a thought that perhaps these men were subconsciously jealous. I realized that both of them share commonalities with A: they love to monologue when given the chance, and I’d bet they are pretty self-centered. Perhaps A makes them uncomfortable because he fails to adhere to the behavioral rules that the rest of us felt obliged to learn at a young age. Yet here A is, in the same therapy room, without having to perform at all.

Katherine May ends the podcast episode by reflecting on how so-called normal society might benefit from autistic communities’ navigation of personal differences. Although everyone in a room of autistic people might have “quite definite, different needs,” those differences do not necessary lead to conflict. Instead, they can lead to negotiation, and—although May is quick to remind her audience that neurodivergent communities are not utopias—these negotiations often lead to making accommodations for one another in what she describes as a “natural, compassionate, and generous” way.

I’m reminded of how, during my training to become a mediator, we learned to normalize conflict. I’m also reminded of how certain queer and non-monogamous relationships prioritize negotiating particular terms of the partnership based on individual needs instead of adopting one-size-fits-all norms.

In all instances, once we’re able to identify our needs, we can probably meet them. It’s a goal to pursue, at least. The scariest thing is not knowing what needs we have. That’s when someone like A becomes a threat. How dare he take up space with his monologues? How dare he reveal that, buried beneath an adult exterior, he’s just a small child who wants to be praised?

It’s not to say there’s no place for social convention or inherited practices. Like wearing a school uniform, established norms can save precious time and energy. Not every interaction needs to be custom-built for its members. But despite the necessity of at least some social performance, it’s dangerous to lose our backstage selves altogether.

I admire people like Katherine May, and like A, who remind me that I don’t always need to perform. They’re not a threat. They aren’t shameful. Instead, they—we—are likely what keeps the whole show afloat.

Thanks for reading! Here’s a throwback photo from two Geminis² wishing you all a Happy June.

1. I mean, we are paying for it after all…

2. The adoption people think Laurie was born sometime in June! She’s chaotic enough to fit the Gemini bill for sure.