Do you ever feel like someone might steal your identity?
Not me; I don’t have one – yet.
I’m looking though.
Since my kids are growing up at an alarming pace and I’m feeling downsized, I’ve been faced with the challenge of finding my identity, so I started looking for a new job. (Call Me Maybe)
I hate to admit it, but motherhood makes me feel inadequate and guilty, so when my kids leave for school, I fantasize that I’m a master of disguise; a freelance spy with a micro-chip for a brain, whose weaknesses are caviar, luxury yachts, and beer-battered onion rings, but alas…
…I’m a freelance writer who spends a lot of time searching for an identity, and an equal amount of time worrying about it failing me when I find it.
I do have a few identifying features that have nothing to do with my kids: I like green smoothies, I eat nuts, I cook with coconut oil, and I’m allergic to practically nothing – except eggs and alcohol, which stinks because my favorite meal is a vodka omelet.
I love sports, music, writing, reading, eating, and laughing so hard that tears stream down my face.
I love laughing even more so, when I’m doing it with friends and family, and friends who make me feel like family, and complete strangers.
It hasn’t been hard losing my identity inside the framework of being a wife and a mom, but my feelings of inadequacy and guilt often leave me feeling like I’ve failed.
This kind of thinking is dangerous for me.
I used to think failing was the worst of all possible outcomes, so I felt like a failure most of my life.
I still do.
No matter how much I achieve, how well I perform, or how perfectly I perfect, I feel gravely, inadequate.
I didn’t understand until recently that not trying was failing, so now I try in order not to fail and I pray for the absolution of my guilt before it kills me.
I know that someone can steal my identity, and ultimately, make my life a living hell, but I’ve been to hell and back.
My identity might only be a sketch outline at the moment, but no one will ever really be able to steal it because it’s not attached to the things that hackers like to hack.
It’s securely attached to who I AM, so the only one who can hack my identity is me; it’s an inside job.
The absurdity is, I’ll be teaching a writing class at the library next week called ©The Writer’s Shed: Everyone Has A Story, helping others to develop a deeper sense of who they are and what they do by finding inspiration in their own stories – whatever they might be.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
…Cheers to finding humor in our journeys, feeling secure and empowered by who we are and what we do, and to forgiving ourselves of whatever guilt we are carrying around.