Answer quick: Are you influential?

“The more we can be ourselves, the more positively we influence others.” – Carl Rogers, On Becoming a Person

Rogers and other psychologists have said that everyone wants to be influential. But Rogers doesn’t talk about it in the power-hungry sense, or the “compensate for our sense of inferiority” sense. Like most of his writing, it takes a positive view of the human mind, and I appreciate that. Reading about the need to be influential reminded me of when I opened my fitness training business, and how inspired I was to share my own life-improving experiences with other people. 

Recently a writer I follow mentioned having seen herself or himself (I forget who it was) as “an activist in my own small way.” I automatically think of anyone whose writing I read, who I don’t know personally, as “influential” — not “small.” A question and its instant, inner-voice answer popped into my head: 

“Am I influential?” “No, I could never be influential.”

Well… I know that’s not true. Three examples that counter the inner voice:

I made a case for our move to Seattle, and then Tom took a job opportunity that brought us here. Rationally, I know he supports and appreciates my various ideas and projects, and says so, and has benefited from many of them. But (in my mind) influencing my spouse doesn’t count.

I introduced hundreds of gym clients to highly skilled, effective fitness training, and helped them experiment with healthy ways of eating too. In leading my gym in my own unique way, I expressed myself and I saw that I was influential. I knew that I was, because people said they quoted me to their friends; they quoted me back to myself (often hilariously); they remembered things they’d learned from me. They took action and improved their lives and told me so.

How was I ever able to feel safe enough to be my biggest self — and be influential — in the masculine, competitive, loud-opinioned, 2008 world of CrossFit and heavy lifting? Well, one fun thing had led to another. But ultimately my commercial gym was in too small a space to ever be really financially rewarding, and after seven years, I closed it, and it was sad, but it was a relief. My mind’s reflex says I was not influential. I was tiny.

I’ve continued teaching weight lifting, in our garage, including to gym clients who continued with me as their personal trainer without missing a beat. They are stronger than they were, and they know it. But I rarely write or share publicly about my work with my clients, and they don’t either, because they’re mostly not on social media, and they’re mostly people who wouldn’t post about their workouts anyway.

Therefore, goes the mental reflex, I’m invisible and not influential.

I know that one’s work doesn’t have to be big and public and high-profile to be valuable and helpful. But the only way I can own my influence is to mentally talk myself through these and other examples. It’s still too easy to hear the inner voice of my younger adulthood: Don’t assert your beliefs and opinions, because nobody cares. You are small, like you were meant to be. (I had learned early not to stick my neck out, and I know I have that in common with many other people.)

For sure I’m not the only writer who has to steel her nerve before hitting the Publish button, and not the only writer who has a hard time looking back at her own words. (Even Rebecca Makkai has said, “It makes me want to barf.”) But to me, of course, other writers seem to have an inherent dignity that I worry I don’t have. But why? I just have to make up my mind, every time, that my thoughts are as good as anyone’s.

How about you? Where are you influential? Because I’m sure that you are.

I’m cross-posting this to my new Substack, which I’m not linking to, but you can find it if you look. Thanks!