Out of the Spotlight
No one is paying attention to you. Here's why that's a good thing.
In April 2013, after months of stalling, I broke down and bought a pair of forearm crutches to help with my stability.
It was a decision I should have made six months prior when the need first became apparent. I was falling with increasing regularity and nothing — not even my AFO leg braces — seemed to be working.
But I was a stubborn soul and tried everything to avoid the decision. Eventually, I had to face reality.
There were many reasons for my delay, from the denial that I needed crutches to the fear of how quickly my disease was progressing. But there was something else holding me back, something deeper and more existential than denial or fear.
Unlike the AFOs — which I could hide under my jeans — the crutches were an unmistakable sign to the world that I was different.
I was still in the early years of my disease, so I wasn’t yet comfortable with my disability. I was still ingrained in incorrect modes of thinking about what a disability meant for my self-worth and the stigma attached to needing adaptive equipment.
All I wanted was to fit in and look like everyone else; I didn’t want to be treated with pity or condescension just because I struggled to walk.
But I needed the crutches. Despite my objections, it was time to face the music.
On a blustery Friday morning, I trekked over to Massachusetts General Hospital in downtown Boston to pick up my crutches from their equipment room.
The first time I held them in my hands, I marveled at how light they were. I gripped the gray handles and slid the cuffs over my forearms. Then I took them out in the hallway to test them out.
After a few awkward steps, I synced up my walking gait with the movement of the crutches. I immediately felt how they supported my knees and took the pressure off each step. I knew they were going to be a major help.
And yet, I didn’t want to buy them. I nearly handed them back to the woman behind the counter, until my rational mind took over. You need these, Chris. You came all this way. Buy them.
My heart pounded out of my chest as I exited the hospital. Instead of focusing on how the crutches would improve my life, I fixated on what people would think when they saw me.
On my way back to the train station, I stared at pedestrians walking by me on the sidewalk. I expected everyone to stop in unison and stare, or worse, point at me and laugh.
I prepared my fiercest scowl, ready to talk back to anyone who gave a snide comment.
After a few seconds, reality intervened: No one cared.
Sure, a couple people glanced at my crutches for an extra millisecond, but by and large, everyone had better things to do. They were either listening to their headphones, talking on the phone, or thinking about themselves. No one was interested in how I walked.
When I got to the Charles/MGH subway station and boarded the train, my fear kicked up again. Surely everyone on the train would stare at my crutches….right?
I waited for the condescending stares, the looks of pity, the laughter. Once again, I prepared my scowl.
But once again, I had made a mountain out of a molehill. No one was watching me1, and it was a huge relief.
Wearing a Barry Manilow T-shirt in the name of science
My fear that everyone would notice my crutches was due to a cognitive bias called the Spotlight Effect — the belief that people are judging every detail of our lives when in reality, no one is paying attention.
In a 2000 paper that first mentioned the Spotlight Effect, researchers Thomas Gilovich, Victoria Husted Medvec, and Kenneth Savitsky described a study where they asked college students to put on a Barry Manilow t-shirt and enter a classroom full of strangers.
Participants — the pretend superfans — were then asked to estimate how many people in the classroom noticed what they were wearing. After all, what college student wears a Barry Manilow t-shirt?
Their estimates were not just wildly off, they were twice as high as the actual percentage of people who noticed.
This belies an important point: We’re not the center of the universe. We think other people are paying attention to what we’re wearing, or to our every flaw and mistake, but they’re too wrapped up in themselves to care.
They’re too busy worrying that we’re focused on them.
What this means
Have there been any times in your life when you did something embarrassing and wanted to crawl into a hole? Or were there times when you felt like all eyes were on you, judging your every move?
There’s good news — if anyone cared at the time (which is unlikely), they’ve long since forgotten.
The Spotlight Effect lowers the stakes. If people aren’t paying attention to us, then we don’t have to worry about what they think.
Recognizing this bias is a game-changer for our confidence and self-esteem. Instead of fretting about flubbing a line on the teleprompter, showing up to work with mismatched socks, or telling a joke that didn’t land, we can relax, knowing they were just momentary hiccups.
And if someone six months from now remembers you had spinach in your teeth? That says more about them than it does you.
What really matters
Looking back on the day I got my crutches, I understand why I felt apprehensive. For the first time in my life, I had a visible marker that something was different with me. It took many months to overcome that feeling and get used to my new reality.
With the benefit of hindsight, I can now see that the people walking by me on the street had their own problems and didn’t have time to dwell on my mobility. And the people on the subway were too absorbed in their phones or in getting a few minutes of sleep before work.
I used crutches for three years. Although there was the occasional creep who stared at me a little too long or made a condescending remark about my plodding gait, they were few and far between. There are always going to be exceptions to the rule.
Eventually, I came to realize that what people do care about is the type of person you are. As Maya Angelou put it:
“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
People will remember if you’re loving or kind, not if you had a bad hair day in 2008.
How to counter the Spotlight Effect:
Remember that people have short memories. Let’s say, worst case scenario, you bomb a presentation or you get a stain on your shirt, and people do notice. They’re only going to forget about it tomorrow.
Remember that people are too busy thinking about themselves. People aren’t paying attention to you because they are too absorbed in their own thoughts. They’re more concerned that you’re watching them.
Try to recall other people’s mistakes and flaws. Next time you worry that someone remembers something you did in 2021, turn the tables. Do you remember mistakes your friends or coworkers made three years ago? Probably not. You have other concerns.
Talk about the Spotlight Effect with your friends or family. Bring this up in conversation next time you’re talking to someone. You’ll see that this is a common worry!
Let go of trying to be perfect. The Spotlight Effect preys on our perfectionism. We don’t want to make a mistake or show our flaws, because we’re afraid that everyone will judge us. Now that we know they’re not paying close attention, we can give ourselves a break.
People remember us for the right reasons. At the end of the day, all people care about is who we are as a person. That’s what we should focus on.
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Actually, that’s not entirely accurate. A three-year-old boy across from me stared in my direction for a few seconds, before turning to his mom and bursting into tears. Before you blame me, he cried because he was hungry.
Such a courageous essay Chris. And thank you for sharing your important point of view.
When I see differently abled people moving about their day as best they can, my first, and primary thought every single time is that they are courageous. Courageous to be outside, in the whirl of everyday self focused people. I then summon the most loving energy I can feel and send it their way.
I see you, I know how brave you are to live as best you can. You feel the fear and choose to do things anyway.
The conscious choice of mine to respond this way came from (believe it or not) a Sesame Street segment I watched with my daughter 37 years ago. Yes, it was/is that powerful. It consisted of the world renowned violinist, Itzak Perlman (who had polio as a child) sitting with a young child who was practicing scales on their violin. Itzak Perlman was showing the boy how to play a beautiful scale. The young dejected child said “some things that are simple for you are difficult for me”. Itzak responded by quietly setting down his violin, putting on his arm braces, and taking two very difficult steps forward then he turned to the boy and said “some things that are simple for you are difficult for me.”
It is a good reminder that compassion and empathy towards everyone is crucial to living.
Another one I need to remind myself of constantly. Even if people do stare at me when I walk by them, near them, etc. I try to employ Sandra's trick of saying "so what?". I really like the reminder to try and remember someone else's mistakes from 3 months ago when you think everyone remembers a flub you had. Thanks as always Chris!