Heard but not Seen

I look like I fit in here. I’m fair-skinned, use a fork and knife like a Brit, and successfully drive on the left without killing people. My family is British, and I’ve spent a lot of time here. I feel at home.

But the second I open my mouth, the illusion breaks. In that moment, I plunge from Presumed British to Obviously American. An A is suddenly stamped on my shoulder. Accents are a language here… I’m classified without them knowing anything real about me. And there’s no easy way to quickly explain to a stranger that 1) I’m not a tourist, and 2) no, I don’t like Trump. It happens every day… the guy at the wine store. My elderly upstairs neighbor. The mum in the school parking lot. There’s a look. It makes me feel instantly vulnerable and defensive. Why does it bother me so much?

It’s because I’ve always had the immense privilege of blending in. Aside from my gender at work, I’ve never been in the minority. And it has hit home because this difference is tiny compared to what people of color (or visibly different people, period) feel all the time. Skin color is ever so much more visible, and the sense of unspoken judgment, especially in parts of the US, must be severe. I don’t even know what to do with that. To have to constantly overcome someone’s projection, which has nothing to do with you- to fight to be seen as yourself and not someone’s else’s version of you- to choose between wordlessly absorbing their assumptions or endlessly credentialing yourself. What a terrible burden to bear.

Every time I have that little twinge of self-consciousness now, I think of how many people feel it far more keenly (and unjustly) every day of their lives, and I blush with my privilege. I wish we could all feel it, those of us who blend in. I’ll never take it for granted again.