If someone were to play me on stage, I wouldn’t want to watch the play. That was the most revealing realization from today’s exercise. I wasn’t expecting fun, although I also wasn’t prepared for how uncomfortable it would be to sit down and really look at myself—my mannerisms, my behaviors, the way I show up. It felt like suddenly getting a front-row ticket to the theater of my own life, and realizing I wasn’t exactly portraying the role I thought I was playing.
There are many scenes I wouldn’t want to see again. Not because they were dramatic or tragic or even particularly memorable. More because they revealed a version of me I don’t want to continue embodying. Scenes marked by hesitation, people-pleasing, missed opportunities. Moments where I coasted through the dialogue or let someone else direct the plot. It’s uncomfortable to acknowledge, yet a lot of my life story would make me want to look away.
One thought surfaced unexpectedly: I’ve been played like a fiddle.
There is a kind of emotional choreography that happens in groups, in workplaces, in families. Certain individuals are skilled at sensing your triggers and using them to influence the outcome—encouraging you to step back so they can move forward. I haven’t learned those strategies. I’ve often felt more like a soft instrument in other people’s hands than an active character in my own right. That’s a difficult realization to process.
This brings up the connection between theatrics and local politics. Not politics in the governmental sense, but the politics of any room: who gets listened to, who gets overlooked, who is cast in the role of “supporting character” when they could be the lead. There is a script behind the script, and I am only just beginning to notice it.
Here is the part that brings some hope: I don’t have to stay stuck playing the character I’ve been playing.
That is the opportunity the stage provides. There is always the chance to step out from behind the curtain and try something new. I don’t yet know what that new character looks like, or how to create the kind of social support that helps sustain it when old habits return. I am curious. That is something.
This isn’t entirely unfamiliar. There have been moments in the past when I played a different character—more confident, more vibrant, more free. People responded differently. That tells me there is range in me. The script is not fixed.
This post does not end with a triumphant costume change or a curtain call. It ends with a bit more awareness. A quiet backstage moment where I begin to question the role I’ve been playing, and wonder what it would take to audition for something new.