Who Am I actually?
Is Popeye right?
Has anyone else had an identity crisis? I’m guessing yes.
Up until twenty one years ago, my identity was an ever shifting label. Why? Because I defined myself based on what I did for a living, what I did creatively and who I thought I was. It's a universal desire to want to define ourselves, but can identity, and by that term I mean who I am, can that really shift and change?
I’ve had a few bouts of identity crisis. In this post I’m sharing my first and last. Each one felt like the rug was pulled out from under me. If you’ll humor me, here’s how I learned who I am actually.
Audio version: Who Am I Actually?
Identity Crisis #1
It happened over dinner. I was eight and we lived in Northern Ireland. I must have mentioned something about who I am, because my parents quickly corrected me.
“You’re not a princess, Sidse.”
Of course I didn't believe them. Being a princess was something I knew about myself. It was in my soul. Sure, I’d seen Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, but I didn’t sleep by a hearth or have ugly step sisters, and I would have never made the mistake of pricking my finger on a sharp spindle. No, they were characters. They were animated. They were not the kind of princess I was.
When we lived in England and Ireland, my parents would take us on day trips to see the sights. Often these involved castles and churches. On one such occasion, I was walking around a castle looking at the display cases filled with fancy clothes, artifacts and armor. There was a school outing that day and children my age were touring the castle. I wanted them to know I was a princess, but I was too shy to introduce myself. I decided on the next best thing. While they were viewing the display cases, I made a point to walk near them, nod, smile, and then walk to another group, thereby making my way around the entire group. It wasn’t my castle, but I felt like a host. To make it obvious who I was, I walked the way a princess walks. I stood very tall, I clasped my hands behind my back, and I pointed my toe before taking each step.
I responded to my parents' mistake, “I am too a princess! I’ve always been one.”
A disagreement ensued regarding my princess status when my dad finally said, “You can’t be a princess, because your mom and I aren’t the king and queen.”
Looked at them in a haze. They were trying not to laugh. Sure, it was obvious that they weren’t the king and queen and they had a point that we didn’t live in a castle, but it didn’t match what I knew about myself.
Tears welled up in my eyes, I told them they were wrong and ran up to my room. I needed space. How could I reconcile this new ‘truth’ with what I knew about myself?
I paced, I sat on my bed, I paced some more. There must be a way. There must be a way for me to be me. Before the end of the night, I had a solution. I found a way to reconcile reality with my internal knowing. I ran downstairs to announce the news.
“I can still be a princess if marry a prince.”
They nodded and let it go. Time would work that one out.
I began my search for a prince. There were a few in the encyclopedia, but they were too old or too young. I gave up my search. Honestly, I didn’t want to marry to validate myself and the princes weren’t cute.
Identity Crisis #2
In May of 2002, the company I worked for since 1996 closed its doors. Sci-Tech had been a dental manufacturing company with FDA clearance to install filters in the dental waterlines to protect patients from biofilm. That’s a mouthful.
So what’s biofilm? In essence, it’s a matrix of slime that houses microorganisms. Biofilms are immune to chemical treatment and they’re a huge problem in the dental industry. It was a meaningful job. We were working to safeguard the health of patients.
After a 20/20 expose with Barbara Walters that showed dental water was dirtier than toilet water, after decades of scientific articles exposing pathogenic bacterial in dental water, after working to get the ADA to address the issue, after all that, the majority of dentist switched to bottled water systems and filters became a thing of the past.
When Sci-Tech closed, I was the VP, so, not only did I lose my J.O.B. I lost my status symbol title. I also lost 250,000 stock options that had been valued at $7 a share. Ouch.
I didn’t know what to do next. I had wanted to be a writer for years so I took a stab at writing greeting cards. But I had a two year old son to think of, had a mortgage and was the family’s breadwinner. I needed to figure out something fast.
The woman I worked with when Sci-Tech closed had started a commercial janitorial cleaning company. Her brothers ran similar companies and were highly successful. I reached out and asked for help. She told me how to pitch companies and I started going door to door. I got some commercial clients the first month. I also got a contract to turn apartments after tenants moved out. I wasn’t in a position to hire anyone, so I was the one doing all the cleaning.
Most of the apartments were horrible. Yellow nicotine on the windows would drip off like sludge. Blinds had to be removed and washed in the tub. Brown shower walls turned out to be cream. Cupboards had sticky old food dripping down them. I didn’t feel like Cinderella, I was past the days of thinking I was a princess, but cleaning allowed me to have my own awakening.
So, a three bedroom apartment would take anywhere from four to seven hours to clean, and for the entire time I would be thinking of the moment I would turn in the keys. It wasn’t so I could be done. No, I was plotting how I could casually mention that I had been the VP of a company, that I had a biochem degree and had done theater for a few years. I needed the manager to know that I was more than this cleaning job.
On one attempt, I asked her, “what did you do before this job?” Obviously, I hoped she would ask me the same in return, but instead she went on a tirade for thirty minutes about her last job and then had a call to take. I turned in the keys and left.
I came up with more leading questions, “did you go to college?” or “have you ever been sick after the dentist?” But the next four or five times I turned in keys, she was on the phone or meeting with potential renters.
About three hours into cleaning the next apartment, it dawned on me: the manager doesn’t care what I did before, she just wants the damn apartment cleaned.
Then I had a truly wild thought: What if I’m not what I do?
I’ve said, “I AM ____” lots of things in my life. I am a princess, a gymnast, a ballet dancer, a mother, a single parent, an actor, a rebel, a biochemist. I am in love, I am divorced, I am smart, I am a writer, the list goes on.
But in that moment, vacuuming the carpet, I saw all those things in a new light. I saw them as things I have done, rather than who I am. I also saw how intrinsically impossible it is to think that I AM, anything I’ve done. I am the same ME as the day I was born. And back then, I hadn’t done any of that stuff.
I finally saw that Who I Am doesn't change. My job can change, my relationships can change, my health can change. But the essence of me is still me. And the essence of you is you.
I cleaned the windows and got another flash.
If I’m not what I do, then neither are you. That thought blew my mind because it cleared away the comparison bullshit. Now I could stop trying to achieve something so that it would say something to you about who I am. You aren’t what you do either, so it helped me see others in a new light.
And when I stopped striving to define myself by what I do, then it actually freed me up to do what I wanted to do.
So in a nutshell: I am not what I do. I am not what I think. I am not even my imagination. I am not the label of mother or daughter or writer. Those are things I do and things I love, but they are separate from who I am.
As Popeye would say, I yam what I yam.
And when I bring it down to its essence and sit with it. There is nothing to do. There is nothing to become. There is nothing but choice.
And how I choose to BE in the world, is simply how I spend my time while I’m here.
I am ME. Nice to meet YOU.
For many reasons getting to know one’s self takes a while. I’m sure some never do. Perhaps others are born knowing, but I’m not so sure. ... Listening to this story will bring back memories of the process — some of us shouting out advice to the writer as she goes along.
It’s the kind of story that leaves an aftertaste of wanting to connect with others to share the experience. Well done, Sidse.