When I’m Not Inflicting
One of the many things I learned from my child therapist as a little girl was that people were not nearly as interested in my hobbies as I was, and I should be polite and not inflict my interests on other people - especially with my typical intensity.
I learned many strategies to hide the depth and breadth of my interests - how to have a “normal” conversation, how to suppress the level of exuberance I was feeling about whatever book or movie or fandom captured my heart, and how to temper my reactions to seeing or hearing about these things to not seem “weird.”
It’s worked over the years, but a few days ago, I experienced one of my favorite things - when I can talk openly and obsessively about the things I love the most without feeling like I’m burdening anyone or inflicting my passion upon them.
It started when I saw the art prompts for this year’s Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang (TRSB). This is my fourth year participating in this challenge, where artists create various forms of art relating to anything written by Tolkien, and then writers match themselves up with a piece of art and write a minimum 5,000 word story inspired by the piece of art.
There were over 200 pieces of art assembled in the Powerpoint, but one of them instantly caught my eye. It was the perfect mix of angst and sweetness, upsetting things and familial love. It had a significant mental health angle and characters I have loved for years. It was inspired by the Silmarillion - my favorite of Tolkien’s works - and was so beautiful I nearly cried when I saw it. Even though there was a week between when the Powerpoint was released and when writers could claim a piece of art, my interest never dwindled and I spent many hours imagining what this story could be.
The release of prompts to the writers tends to be very competitive, and when there was an error with the Google form accepting my response, my typing skills came to the rescue as I was able to type the entire form a second time within the first 38 seconds of it being released - and I claimed the piece of art that captivated me the most. I couldn’t wait to start writing!
But first, I had to connect with the artist. I reached out, not sharing any of my ideas in-depth, and was surprised to get a nearly-instant response. We started emailing each other, then I asked if instant messaging on Discord might be a better option for a longer conversation. When we moved onto Discord, she asked if I minded her sharing a “wall of text” about the elves in her beautiful painting.
I said I didn’t mind, and would enjoy seeing her ideas. She sent me a big list, and then asked me if I’d feel comfortable sharing some of my own.
In other words, she asked me - of all people - if I was comfortable talking about Tolkien’s elves. As if I could say anything other than yes!
Sure, it’s likely that someone who paints pictures of elves from the Silmarillion won’t mind talking about Tolkien’s world with me, but I have gotten so used to downplaying my passions that I was floored. Someone actually wanted to listen to me of their own free will? Someone actually cared enough about my passions that I wouldn’t feel like an asshole for making them listen to something I know they don’t like?
Long story short, I responded with a dozen of my Tolkien-related cosplay photos and a full page of ideas I had for the story. And it turned into a beautiful conversation where we could both say literally everything on our minds and not be perceived as weird, obsessive, too interested, or anything else so many people in my life have told me to avoid.
It’s not that I don’t understand the other side - it can be “too much” to listen to people talking about their passions for hours on end. But as someone told that obsessions are bad no matter what they are, even the ones that bring me great joy also bring me great shame. I don’t think it’s right to blabber on about my favorite things to everyone in earshot. But hiding things like this over the years has turned it into such a special experience when I get to share my passions and not feel guilty.
When I’m not inflicting, when the other person finds the topics I focus on equally addicting, I find such a rare thrill that makes me feel appreciated, valid, and worth being listened to. It’s one of my favorite feelings, and in the absence of conventions - where these conversations happen often - it was amazing to experience the feeling and make a new friend who I don’t need to censor myself around. With the two of us working together, I can’t help but feel that this might be my best TRSB story yet!
Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.