Identity

What does that mean? My understanding is that the word identity means who or what you are. Are given our identity at birth by our parents and we, in turn, bless our own children with theirs?

If it is something that we are given at birth how do we lose it? Why do we experience identity crises in our lives?

There have been a couple of times so far in my life where I have lost a grip on who I am. I take great pride in my name, it is who I am and I believe that our names are the largest part of our identities.

My first “identity” crisis happened following my marriage. Up until the point I got married I knew exactly who I was. My name was this and then it wasn’t anymore. I had a new name and I had no idea who that person was. I had all of these 1950’s stereotypes and unrealistic expectations whirling around in my brain which meant I put a huge amount of pressure on myself to exceed those expectations and fit with the stereotypes.

I was a wife now and wives do this and they do that. They clean the house, they cook every day, they take care of their husbands and in a modern world they do all of these and work full time trying to better themselves and move forward in their careers. I set myself up to fail from the moment we returned from our honeymoon because I was trying to live up to an unrealistic idea of who I thought I now had to be.

I had to rediscover myself and stand up to the part in my brain that was telling me that “good wives” do not go drinking with friends until the small hours or order takeaways for tea. I had to learn how to balance the before me and the after me so that I could get to know myself as this “new” person.

I know that may sound strange but for my whole life I had been known as one name and now I was Mrs. I had no idea who Mrs was. All I knew was that Mrs could not be the same person as Miss because Mrs had different responsibilities.

Of course, I can look back now with a different perspective but at that time I was young and unprepared. Once I wrapped my head around it and let go of these ridiculous ideals that I had placed on these pedestals in my mind it was fine and I believe that Mrs became and improved version of Miss.

My second experience of losing my identity, if you haven’t already guessed, was when I became a Mother. I knew who I was before, I was happy with who I was and I was comfortable in my skin and with my name.

For me, becoming a parent was an all consuming experience and again my brain bombarded me with unrealistic expectations and stereotypes of what it meant to be a mother.

Again, I could not live up to those expectations. This started early, I had hoped to breastfeed but my stupid ass boobs decided they weren’t going to work for the first week or so of my children arriving. So I didn’t have any choice but to feed them with formula because if I had waited until my breasts decided to perform their primary function the children would have been very very poorly or worse.

I was going to bounce back and get my figure back quickly and look as I had before like I had seen in magazines. Pah! As if that happened! Six years after the birth of my second child and I’m still sporting a nice little joey pouch where my abdomen once was.

I was going to be in control and know exactly what I was doing. Mums just instinctively know what their child needs so it will be a breeze. I can do this, still be a wife, contribute financially and at the end of the day still have enough energy to perform my wifely duties. As if! Sorry love, not tonight.

I was going to have a great social life with the other mums. Ok…that one is a lie. I have a fear of new people and there were definitely periods of time were I took great comfort in the anonymity that you receive as a mother. There were instances where it was a relief that no one knew my actual name so that I could not be perceived as rude as I hurried away from them down the street.

While I have encountered other parents that I consider friends there is a much larger group of people that I would choose to avoid if possible. I have come to the conclusion that it is better to avoid certain interactions rather than have a painfully dull conversation about the weather or some other mundane small talk. Its boring and always seems to end with me making a comment that I think is hilarious and other parties think are dumb.

I find these situations very amusing and can laugh about them for days to myself, but they are still embarrassing nonetheless.

As the children are getting older and more independent I am finding myself with time to reclaim myself as an individual. People are learning and using my name which is nice. As I am getting older I am caring less and less about the stereotypes in my head. As you know if you have read previous posts I have a plan. Its going to be fun.

Identity is just a word. It has a definition the same as all words. There are many words or labels that people use in their lives to define themselves.

I know what my labels are. I am a heterosexual married white British female with 2 dependents. Is that who I am? Is that what makes my identity? I don’t think so.

I know what my name is so is that what makes my identity? Possibly. I am at a point now where the different parts of me are once again balanced. I am comfortable in my skin and my role as a wife, mother and procrastinator and I hold my head up high sticking two fingers up to the stereotypes in my brain.

Maybe identity is a myth. Maybe our identity cannot be truly defined because we evolve and change over time. I am not the same person that I was 15 years ago, I am not the same person that I was 5 years ago and I doubt I will be the same person that I am today in 5 years time.

As a consequence, I have made a decision not to focus on my identity or my labels. I do not wish to fit in to any particular box that society says I should. I will continue to star fish my way across the wall of boxes. When my life is over I will be put in a box so I refuse to reside in one now and I feel better already.