Finding Myself

What do you do when your old identity just doesn’t fit any more?

I confess there was a time that I did not give people the grace they deserved when they claimed to be taking time to “find themselves.” It just made no sense to me. I mean, I could find them, so how hard could it be for them to find themselves?? No need to disappear down some rabbit hole when they could just scroll through their own selfies for pretty solid evidence. Alternatively, I could save them some time and spare us all a little drama by just telling them who I think they are, myself. Done! You’re welcome! Who’s next? Turns out I was next, ironically. In 2012, the busy, bubbly, and rather bossy “myself” got lost, and when I searched for and found myself…the old self no longer fit me.

After my marriage of 20 years came to an end, with an empty nest and broken heart I realized that the boundaries of my community had shifted.   My children had gone away to college, so I no longer had their activities or schedules to keep me connected.  The “couples” friendships I had shared with my former spouse had divided or become uncomfortable for me.  Even a good portion of the women I had considered friends seemed distant, as if divorce was a transmissible disease…and they certainly didn’t want to catch it.  I only divorced ONE person that year, but it felt like a mass exodus had occurred.  Ashamed of myself for being unable to hold the marriage together, I retreated into my own head and flooded it with self doubt and criticism. Although I definitely didn’t want to go back to the marriage, I wasn’t prepared for the gnawing ache of my aloneness.  I wasn’t pleasant company to anyone in those days, including myself, and felt utterly friendless.  I was constantly self-flagellating and apologizing to others, even for things that were way beyond my control.

“A good portion of the women I had considered friends seemed distant, as if divorce was a transmissible disease...and they certainly didn’t want to catch it. I only divorced ONE person that year, but it felt like a mass exodus had occurred. ”

I sought out a counselor who advised “getting to know myself” as part of my post-divorce healing.  To “check in with myself” regularly.  To be kind to myself, meditate, be more intentional.  So, I read some self-help books, downloaded an app on meditation, and took a few yoga classes.  I had a hard time staying consistent with these new additions to my schedule, especially since I’d started my new post-divorce career and was trying to fast-pedal it to pay for my kids’ college tuition…and life in general, to be frank.  I needed efficiency in my meditation, a better body-soul workout from my yoga class, and switched to audiobooks so I could listen to self-help while grabbing something to eat from the drive thru.  Getting to know myself was just one more thing on an already daunting and oppressive to-do list that was growing longer (and lonelier) than ever.

To be honest, that’s when I began talking to myself out loud.  Well…okay, I actually already did that to some extent BEFORE, but I intentionally ramped up these convos-with-self in an effort to connect with the Real Me.  Isn’t that how we get to know someone?  Chat them up?  I had spent most of my marriage minimizing myself, trying to be a quiet, humble wife and selfless mother above all else.  But with this new practice, I became my very own cheerleader, selling myself ON myself, with the occasional mental finger waggle or imaginary eye roll (umm, probably visible, actually).  “You’ve GOT this, girl!” “Don’t let them underestimate YOU, baby!”  “Oh no he did NOT just try to pull that!”  This silly exercise was doing more than just entertaining me, it was actually helping me keep my head up and move forward.  All this positive self-talk mixed with a heavy dose of false bravado began to replace the voice of my ex, whose gaslighting and subtle put-downs had unfortunately seeped into my psyche after so many years together.  I was refreshing as hell to myself, even if I didn’t necessarily buy what I was selling.

All of this said, I was also realizing that my new sassy inner-voice had no place on a yoga mat and could completely hijack my haphazard efforts at meditation (which were absolute torture).  I was overlooking the “still small voice” for the one that lit a fire under my butt.  While it was exhilarating to cheer myself down new paths and across intimidating thresholds, I had not allowed myself enough quiet introspection to understand WHY these things were so hard for me, and I hadn’t slowed down long enough to be intentional about where I wanted to go or who I wanted to be now that I was on my own.  Despite its perks, I couldn’t sustain the full-steam-ahead pace I was pushing, and was still aching for close, consistent, non-judgmental relationships that would accept and embrace even the weak and weary me.  Ironically, in my haste to heal I had ignored my wounds.  

Even with all the hyper-positivity, the loneliness and disillusionment could not be drowned out for long.  I headed back to the counselor, bawled my exhausted eyes out, and re-attempted “connecting with myself.”  This time, I wasn’t so pushy or critical when the mind-monkeys showed up with their sparkly distractions.  I’d set a very-manageable 5 minute timer and journal casually in longhand, filling the margins with words and doodles as they popped into my head.  I taped a handwritten note-to-self to my mirror: “Have the courage to end the misplaced shame of resting.  Creativity, love, and vision all expand in the space of quiet stillness.”  Those were three prized things I felt like I had left in the dust a long long time ago.  I’d given more headspace to feeling guilty for not doing enough, and to shame for being weak or fearful.  I had not prioritized what made life rich and beautiful and was in terrible need of a re-fresh.  A renewal. The little voice in my head eventually began to soften with compassion and the self-talk in my head began to soften with compassion.  The monologue became more aspirational, less critical.  And my heart began to heal.

Since then, this more sensitive and forgiving inner voice has helped me proactively, rather than reactively, lay the groundwork for a “myself” that isn’t afraid to try new things, change my habits, and re-frame my struggles.  I have to be intentional about all of this, crafting my self-talk as if authoring an on-the-spot memoir for a protagonist who, although imperfect, is entirely worthy of goodness and grace.  When I inevitably fall back into old patterns, I try to correct myself the way a mother does when listening to one of her children speaks to a sibling—gently redirecting the speaker to use a kinder tone, or to make more edifying and uplifting word choices.  It’s not as easy (or as crazy!) as it may sound—this release of a death-grip on my false bravado backed up by sarcastic self-criticism, but there is no doubt it has helped me feel much more calm and hopeful.

Honestly, my go-to is no longer the snarky voice in my head that operates like some kind of a mental meme generator (regardless of the entertainment value I can provide for myself).  When I shifted to thinking of myself as a child of God who was worthy of being nurtured and fostered into the fullest expression of the gifts I’ve been given, it felt like a pleasure to be, well…ME.  I mean, who KNOWS where all this creativity and vision will take me?  I certainly will be doing nobody any favors if I ignore the desires of my heart or belittle my potential.  When the temptation to slide back into self-sabotaging or critical old patterns resurfaces, I still have to re-set and remember to make time for some quiet contemplation and be more emotionally brave and honest.  To, ahem…”find myself,” before I lose myself again. 

These days, I’m using my recently reformed inner voice to read myself an exciting (though unfinished) chronicle about a courageous woman who accepts her past as the introduction to what is turning out to be quite a fine story. She cannot see into her own next chapter, yet she moves ahead with patient perseverance, cherishing rest and the nourishment of body and spirit when needed.  She treasures her smaller but more intentionally tended circle of friends and the wisdom, joy, and diversity of thought they offer.  Although my inner narrator occasionally notes that she is not getting any younger and that she occasionally mismanages her own bank account, the protagonist of this story accepts her challenges as an integral part of her own humanity and tries to pay better attention, be on time, and remember where she put down her keys.  She acknowledges that setbacks are inevitable, isn’t ashamed of being awkward or incorrect, and occasionally cracks herself up.  She is totally and completely her own heroine. She didn’t just FIND herself—she CREATED herself.

The old “myself” would have scoffed at this imaginary storyline, and the fact that I’m even telling you about it.  But whatever works, right?  In my experience, the most compelling stories take their time and keep us on the edge of our seats as we progress through complex character development and unexpected plot twists packed with struggles, romance, heartbreak, and triumph.  The difference between the way I narrate my own story now versus then is that I have learned to revere its protagonist. I try to refrain from diminishing her, and I don’t let anyone else tell her who she should be or how she should feel. This is MY story to live as well as to tell, and nobody else’s.  

And, of course, your story is YOURS.  It shouldn’t star anyone else or be dubbed over by someone who doesn’t really care about you.  The tone and dialogue matter, and the supporting cast must be selected wisely.  You are in the Director’s seat, so you can choose to make this story a comedy or a tragedy, but either way is going to be a hell of a lot of hard work. Also, let’s be real – there WILL be critics along the way who simply can’t say anything nice and don’t bother to sit through to the end.  But who KNOWS how it will all end, anyway??  “In the end,” I’ve heard it said, “everything will turn out OK.  If things are not OK, it’s not The End.”   So there you have it.  Critics will just have to miss out on how this all turns out.

You and I both have PLENTY of our story yet left unwritten, and I, for one, intend to make mine a good one.