Saying You’re “Self-Made” is Small Dick Energy

The author's grandfather; quick to tell you to work hard but also quick to help you do it.

 

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the idea of being “self-made.” Of boot-strapping your way to the American dream, the rarity of that accomplishment, and the celebration one is entitled to when it’s achieved. It always niggles at the back of my mind around an election year, as once again these narratives become vital as candidates trot out their accomplishments and try to justify the absurd idea that they are best-suited to run a whole goddamn country. 

And who can blame them for trying to sell that self-made narrative? It’s undoubtedly more impressive if someone has started with nothing and clawed their way to success. Who wouldn’t trust someone’s judgement if they’ve made something of themselves against all odds and with just a good idea and lots of hard work? But we should ask how many of those stories truly exist, and how many of them ever did? 

Saying you’re self-made in this country is a badge of honor. Tossing back “I’ve earned everything I have” is a perennial comeback to any accusation you might be wielding privilege you don’t appreciate. It’s also woefully ignorant and a carpetbag full of small dick energy. 

For the average successful person to say they’re self-made ignores reams of issues like inherited wealth, race, government programs, mentors, the kindness of strangers and loved ones, and any number of other things that does not diminish our accomplishments but rather illuminates them in a way that makes them more truthful and, importantly, more achievable for others who are looking for any sign the American dream is not dead. 

As a first-gen student who went to college at age 26, toddler in tow, and finished two degrees, it would be easy — perhaps even encouraged — for me to say I did it alone. That I’m self-made. That I pulled myself up by my bootstraps. But would it be honest? And, more importantly, would it be helpful to others looking at my story and wondering if they could do the same?

Or would it be more honest to acknowledge that Medicaid and food stamps helped me care for my daughter while I was in school? Would it be more human to point out the encouragement I felt when a close friend showed his faith in me by paying my enrollment fee when I got accepted to college? Would it be more helpful for others trying to do the same thing to say how my degrees would have been impossible if professors didn’t let me bring my daughter to class on days her daycare was closed due to snow? Or would it feel more achievable if I explained that friends watched her for me during final exams, that I swallowed the bitter pill of federal student loans knowing I’d be in a better position on the other side, or that the $900 balance on my student account miraculously disappeared a few weeks before graduation because some kind soul in the financial aid office found another scholarship for me? 

We as individuals gain nothing by ignoring the role of helping hands in our success, but we as a country lose a lot.

American individualism — this notion that your destiny is your own and no one is expected to help you and you’re expected to help no one — is a cancer that stunts our growth as individuals and as a whole. It’s a lie the rich tell us and that we repeat to ourselves to feel like we alone control our level of success. Ultimately, this country is slightly better because I was able to succeed and get the help I needed to do so. It gets more taxes, a more skilled worker, a more thoughtful citizen. How much better off could we be if we did away with the lie of being “self-made” and normalized the notion of help?