Why we talk ourselves down

Self-deprecation = likeability = bollox

I was a guest on a podcast last night. It’s called Talking Bollox, hosted by Calvin and Terence, two delightful lads from inner city Dublin. Now, I’m not great for being up on my podcasts. I barely get a chance to listen to my own episodes as I edit them before releasing, never mind getting around to catching up on others’ - and I know there are so many series worth listening to - so I’m ashamed to say I was not yet aware of their super successful show. The only time I ever listened to a good lengthy episode was while on a walk with my son asleep in the buggy. Fat chance of that happening now, and if he did I’d be in a blind panic to wake him, otherwise he’d be climbing the walls until 11pm. 

It was only when I was in the middle of the recording that I became aware of how big their audience is, and while I chatted away, I became unusually self conscious. I was thinking about who might be listening, what they might say about me, how they might perceive me. As the hosts complimented me on the success of my first book, and the difference they think I’ve made to the mental health conversation, I was overcome with a need to talk myself down. I’d say thank you, I’d acknowledge the success (very mild success, lol I’m doing it even now!) and then I’d quickly caveat that by saying ‘I wasn’t sure why you’d want to have me on’, or ‘I don’t know why or how people still listen to my podcast’ or ‘I don’t know why a publisher thought I could be someone to write a book’. 

It’s possibly an Irish thing, possibly a millennial thing and most definitely a female thing: we have been programmed to NEVER say ‘yeah, I am pretty fucking fantastic, aren’t I?’ I have so many vivid memories from my formative years, hanging around with a group of older girls who I can really only describe as bullies, who drilled into me that you can never think highly of yourself and you could never accept a compliment. Nobody would like you. You’d be stuck up. ‘Who do you think you are?’ ‘So you think you’re really pretty?’ etc etc. Likeable girls, I was made to believe, went about the world thinking and speaking as though they were shit at everything and if there was anything they were inarguably good at, they’d have to just put that down to luck. It couldn’t possibly be their own doing. Unless you’re a stuck up bitch, apparently. Likeable girls had humility in abundance.