A few years back, I attended an art therapy workshop (with this cool art therapist in Los Angeles). And something she said stuck with me:
“Everyone has an art scar.”
An art scar, she’d explained, was a moment in your past when someone told you that you weren’t good at art, made fun of you for trying something creative, or shamed you for your work.
Everyone, she’d said. Asking people in my life has, so far, anecdotally proved that art scars are indeed ubiquitous — the recognition and relief inevitably flashes across someone’s face when I bring up the idea.
I have a theory that one of the business equivalents might be … a networking scar. A moment at a group business event that, to this day, still makes you cringe, floods negative feelings through your body, or has your stomach clenching with rage.
If you have a networking scar, you’ll know it; it’s likely already leapt unwelcome into your mind.
***
I was standing on the concrete patio of a coworking space. People were filtering in and I didn’t know a soul. But then again, I was new to Los Angeles and didn’t know anyone. This was a public networking event, put on by an “ethical business” group I respected, at which I thought I’d meet lots of business owners who shared my values, maybe even become friends or mentors?
It quickly became apparent that most other attendees knew each other and were further along in their companies than I was. It felt like I had accidentally crashed a much more successful person’s birthday party, with attendees looking to celebrate with their exclusive community, rather than meet new people.
I decided to spend at least 30 minutes there, doing what I had come to do. I introduced myself, made conversation, and stayed open to possible sparks of camaraderie. Eventually, I began to have a good time. One person even began introducing me to people she knew. I felt my optimism returning — maybe I could belong here.
Until I was introduced to the wrong person.
***
“You’ve just moved here, and you already found our group?” In the right tone of voice, this might come off like she was impressed at my resourcefulness. Instead, it stung as accusatory. What are you doing here?
After a few polite laughs, I offered her my business card as a means to indicate I was leaving her circle. “It was great meeting you! This is me, if you want to connect sometime.”
She took my card and made a show of looking in her handbag for hers. She dramatically flicked through her cards to mentally count, shaking her head and making a oh shucks sound.
“I would give you mine but I only have … 10 left.” And I need these for important people! — the silent implication. Her eyes met mine, her expression frozen in an overwrought apology.
Looking back, that moment seemed to stretch on for minutes; I knew it was my turn to speak but felt too shocked to do so. Defaulting to smiling, I found myself assuring her that it was totally okay (!) and that of course I understood (!!!).
I left shortly after.
***
Like an art scar, my networking scar has stayed with me, as an underlying belief that I will never belong in any professional sphere.
Over time, as I layer over the scar with more and more positive networking experiences (shoutout to my favorite group, District Bliss*), the scar has faded. The twinge I feel when I think about it now is less a painful memory and more a reminder of how I want to treat other business owners, no matter who they are:
- Never as an asset I have to evaluate for “value,” to use or discard
- Always as a fellow human, living their own rare life
You can’t be an entrepreneur without gathering a handful of business scars — from negative networking experiences to toxic clients to financial mistakes. But you can choose to let them heal, becoming symbols of how you want to be.
***
P.S. Sometimes I have this fear that if I get too successful, I will become like that person in my networking scar story, too busy to bother with anyone who’s not “adding value” to my life or business immediately. But I’m delighted to find that so far, the more successful my work becomes, the less of an asshole I become. More confidence, more financial security, more space to be human.
