I Changed My Name To Make a Movie. It Worked. And It Erased Me.

My producer and I thought we were clever.

When it became clear that we couldn’t get funding for the film I wrote - because nobody would back a ‘woman director’ - I changed my name from Melanie to Mel and left it to people to make their assumptions.

And it worked. It made investors feel safer. The script got funded, filmed, and distributed. Worldwide. It premiered in the MGM in Mayfair, London, and some of you may know I became the first British ‘woman director’ to get an independent feature a UK cinema release.

Except: I’m not on record as a woman.

The Loop That Doesn’t Close

This is what I call an Avoidance Loop in Open Loop Mastery—where the drivers of curiosity and protection pull in opposite directions, creating internal friction that stalls movement.

Most avoidance doesn’t look like rebellion.
It looks like hesitation, shrinking, shape-shifting, or silence.

It’s not laziness—it’s practiced self-protection, so well-rehearsed it often masquerades as being rational, responsible, or relatable.

We call it pragmatic. Or perfectionist. Or humble. But it’s usually a loop.

Avoidance is rarely just fear.

It can be loyalty to who we once were, grief over what didn’t work, or mistrust of what’s possible.

It can be also be the echo of rejection, a clash of values, the weight of culture, or simply not knowing what we really want. And until we name what’s underneath, the loop stays open—draining energy without obvious resistance.

On the surface, my directorial debut looked like success. But underneath, it was a protective strategy that required me to erase myself to move forward. A loop that remains open—not because the film failed, but because I had to vanish to make it happen.

Avoidance Loops are the stories we tell ourselves to stay safe, respected, or accepted. Sometimes, they even bring rewards. But deep down, something feels incomplete. Not because of what we did—but because of who we weren’t allowed to be while doing it.

I am not saying I was skilled enough, or resourced enough to make a really good film (first time out) but I sure as hell was focussed and tenacious enough to take that movie across the line, on budget, on time, on a 6 to 1 ratio, and one reel under stock. It takes considerable strategic tenacity, resourceful leadership, and brave vision to get it done.

You’d think I’d go on to make another film.

But I didn’t.

I got the film made. But I didn’t get to arrive with it.

The experience of shrinking to fit—of giving away my name, my credit, my identity—left a loop open. And something inside me quietly decided: I won’t do that again unless I get to be whole doing it.

I wasn’t trying to write myself out of the story. I just wanted the story to reach the screen. In doing so, I left myself on the cutting room floor.

Belonging At a Cost

There’s a kind of success that makes you smaller. That makes you choose between being seen and being included. That says:

• Be brilliant, but not too loud.
• Be visionary, but not threatening.
• Be the author—but maybe don’t put your name on the cover.

This kind of success creates open loops. Because while you may cross the finish line, your identity never arrives with you.

And the mind knows it.

There are many ways we contort ourselves to belong.

Some of us shrink to fit. Some of us sand down the edges to be more palatable. Some of us wear masks so seamless we forget we’re even wearing them.

What I did—changing my name—was ‘shrink to fit’ what the system allowed. I didn’t disappear entirely. I simply removed identifying markers to get the story across the line.

That’s the thing about Avoidance Loops: they’re not always about hiding. Sometimes they’re about hiding in plain sight—strategically compressing ourselves to get through tight spaces.

But even then, the loop stays open. It looks like adaptation. But because we know we made ourselves smaller to belong… it feels like erasure.

If you have ever had to ‘shrink to fit’ you know what I am talking about.

It feels like success—but leaves you narratively hungry, because the version of you who made it... wasn’t all of you.

This is one kind of loop—shrinking to fit. But it’s not the only way we adapt.

Some of us soften the truth to be more palatable. Others wear seamless masks that conceal entire selves. Some stall in emotional ambivalence. Some vanish at the very edge of change, unsure who they’ll be if they truly arrive. And some of us subjugate ourselves entirely—yielding power, space, or authorship to protect a dynamic, preserve a relationship, or survive within a system.

These are six distinct protection expressions—and each maps to one of eight resistance thresholds I teach in Open Loop Mastery.

Here’s a glimpse of the map I use with clients and students to locate where their resistance lives—because most of us aren’t stuck at the surface. We’re stuck at a deeper threshold, one we haven’t named yet:

In the next essays in this series, I’ll explore the other five of the six distinct protection expressions—Masking, Palatability, Shrinking, Stalling, Retreat, and Subjugation—and how they map to this scale. If you recognize yourself in one of them already, you’re not alone. You’re not broken. You’re in a loop. And it can be closed.

Protection in Disguise

In Open Loop Mastery, Avoidance Loops are not laziness or resistance. They’re smart, protective strategies—but they are also loops. They say:

• “I’ll dim my light so I don’t provoke backlash.”
• “I’ll use this name so I can just get in the room.”
• “I’ll tell their story first so they’ll let me tell mine later.”
• “I’ll hold back to preserve the relationship, not rock the boat, keep the peace.”

Except that “later” often never comes.

We think we’re buying time or opportunity. What we’re actually doing is selling presence.

And eventually, the story turns in on itself. We burn out. We go invisible. We wonder why something doesn’t feel done.

It’s because a loop only closes when the real self is seen.

Take the Name Back

When I look back now, I don’t feel shame—I feel clarity. The system was rigged. My strategy might have been ‘brilliant’. But it wasn’t a resolution. It was a survival tactic.

Today, I tell that story not to glorify it, but to complete it. Because I know how many women have made that kind of trade:

• Shrinking the title
• Adapting the voice
• Erasing the name
• Yielding the authorship
• Playing small to protect someone else’s comfort

If you’ve ever had to choose between being yourself and being allowed—you know the loop I’m talking about.

Narrative Completion Starts With Naming

This is your invitation to stop hiding in plain sight. To stop hoping someone else will finish the story.

The loop ends when you name it. When you name you.

What did you give up to stay safe?

And what would it look like to take your name back?

✍️ If this resonated with you, reply or comment with the moment you first remember shrinking to fit. You’re not behind—you’re just ready to close the loop.

📍This story is part of the Avoidance Loop series in the Open Loop Mastery framework. If you’ve hidden your brilliance in the name of belonging, you’re not behind. You’re in the loop. Let’s close it together.