Identity

What makes up an identity? I’ve been struggling recently with contrasting parts of myself and deciding who I am versus who I was and who I want to be. The past and present versions of me both exist and have existed, and although I no longer recognize who I was, there’s parts of myself that I don’t want to lose, things I do want to lose, and things I hope to gain.

When you’re a kid, other people tell you who you are. When you’re a teenager, you go through phases and try to figure it out for yourself. When you’re 24, you’re expected to know. There’s a few things about me that haven’t changed. I’ve always been a reader and a writer. I’ve always been curious about the world and the people around me.

But when I look at photos of myself as a child, I can’t remember being her. There’s a disconnect that I can’t bridge. I remember my childhood in fragments, as I imagine most of us do. I remember feelings more than anything. As a child, I was scared of everything. I had no grasp on my anxiety and no understanding that my brain was so different from everyone around me. Because of this, my anxiety had full reign to control my every thought and every action, and for a long time, it did. My parents would ask me to watch my siblings for a few hours. “We’ll be back at 8,” they’d say. When the clock struck 8:01, and they weren’t home yet, my insides would turn to liquid. I would fall into a panic and imagine my life as an orphan and what would happen to all my siblings. Then, they’d walk in the door at 8:15, wondering why I was losing my mind. I was called dramatic and sensitive a lot, and I don’t think people realized that the fear I felt was so real and tangible to me, even if there was no reason for it to be.

As an adult, I’ve learned to deal with these spiraling thoughts in a way that doesn’t disrupt my life. It’s partially due to medication, partially therapy, and partially an understanding of what anxiety is and being able to recognize that just because I think something, that doesn’t make it a reality. I’m constantly having to battle between my anxiety brain and my logical brain. But my anxiety doesn’t define me anymore. I don’t let it be a part of my identity because I know now that I’m more than that.

I no longer relate to that terrified child I was, but I do feel sorry for her. Every time I see her, I want to hug her. I want to hold her and tell her she’ll be okay. I want to tell her to tell someone how she’s feeling, want her to know she doesn’t have to keep it all in, she doesn’t have to let it control her. As a teenager, I hated her. I hated myself for being clueless and stupid and young. But now, when I see my younger self, I’m able to feel a deep sympathy for her, as if she were someone else. It’s always been easier for me to extend empathy and kindness and understanding to others. I think this is unfortunately true for a lot of people. When I view myself as someone else, it’s easier for me to care.

This is something I’m still working on.

I recently started a new job at a law firm. That’s where a lot of my recent thoughts on identity stem from. For the last three years, I was an infant teacher at a daycare. I put my heart and soul into taking care of those kids. I loved them like they were my own. A lot of my identity for the last few years has been wrapped up in being a teacher. It was something I was proud of. I’ve always loved children. Even when I was one, I thought of myself as older. When I was eight, and my sister, Eden, was born, I think there was a part of me that thought she was mine. I would hold her for hours. I would stare into her little face and be so overwhelmed by how much I adored her. I called her “my baby” to the point that it annoyed my mother. I would wake up early and bring her downstairs and make her breakfast and read her stories and play with her. If I heard her crying in the night before anyone else did (I’ve always been a light sleeper), I would take her out of her crib and bring her to my bed and lay with her until she fell back asleep.

When I became a teacher, I called my mom one day and told her I hadn’t expected to fall in love with the job in the way I did, and she laughed at me. She told me she’d always known this is what I would do. And I admit, for a while, it felt right. I loved talking to the parents. I loved watching these kids grow into the little people they became. I loved coming into work in the morning and seeing their little faces light up as they reached out for a hug. I loved being Miss Miriam.

But at the same time, that job drained me. At the end of the week, I could barely get out of bed because I was so tired. It’s hard having a job that consumes you like that. Emotionally, physically, mentally, it takes a toll on you. I think because I put so much of myself into a being a teacher, I had to leave. I knew I couldn’t do it forever. I knew I was in law school because I wanted to do something different. It’s been hard though. This past month, it’s been difficult for me to recognize myself. I’m no longer defined by my job in the way I was. And I think that’s good for me. But at the same time, I don’t want to lose all the parts of myself that I gained when I was a teacher.

Being a teacher showed me a side of myself that is patient and understanding and loving in a way I didn’t really know I was. It showed me I’m capable of so much. And being a part of a child’s life in that way is something I think is truly special, and it’s something I’ll forever be grateful I got to experience. I’m still in touch with many of the families I met, and they keep me updated on their lives and their children, and in that way, Miss Miriam lives on in me. I know I made a difference with that job, and I hope that I can continue to make a difference in my future career.

So, who am I, really? I’m a woman. I’m a sister. I’m an aunt. I’m a writer. I think the integral parts of myself that are important will never change, and that brings me peace. I’ve had a lot of labels over the years. External factors, like my job, will change with the years, but I hope my heart and the things that really make me who I am never do.

Have you ever had a job that you loved, while knowing it took too much from you for it to be sustainable? Have you ever defined yourself with something external like that? Let me know!I