Who Do You Think You Are?

I’m surely dating myself, but this question, asked with varying degrees of frequency and vitriol, was not uncommon when I was a child. It was a strictly rhetorical question meant to check questionable behavior, which had the consequences (intended or otherwise) of inducing shame and shutting the child down. I believe this question has been echoing through the subconscious of my generation, even those who grew up in fairly functional homes, ever since. Until fairly recently, one of my inner demons (we’ll call her Prudence, and I’ll be introducing her and her alter-ego, Crystal, more at length one of these days) was more than happy to take up the mantle and disdainfully shout the question at me often.

Who do you think you are to leave your marriage?

Who do you think you are to imagine you deserve happiness?

Who do you think you are to imagine you can write something other people will want to read?

Who do you think you are to break away from your family of origin?

Who do you think you are to live a life not centered around

men?                                                                                                                                       

The question seemed to get louder and more antagonistic every time I made a little progress or was on the brink of success. Every time I felt a flicker of happiness. Every time I dared to feel like I might not be totally worthless. Often, it was reinforced by the judgment and disapproval of those around me. (Which is why those who have significantly changed their lives almost always end up with a radically different inner circle.) Even when I was well on my way to recovery, my subconscious was constantly wrestling with this misconception that I needed to be a certain way in order to be worthy of existing, never mind inhabiting a life worth living.

Recently, I was confronted by family members who’d been metaphorically blaring this question through a loudspeaker for several years. And for the first time in my life, I was able to take a deep breath and resist taking the ineffective actions I used to think were necessary. I didn’t get angry, I didn’t apologize for something I didn’t do, I didn’t spend time arguing about factual inaccuracies or misinterpretations or intentions. I didn’t accept their disapproval and contempt as a referendum on my worth; at its heart it had nothing to do with me, really. I explained that I was happy to be the villain in the story in order to protect my hard-won peace, and I wished them well. And instead of the temporary adrenaline high I’d have gotten from a “fuck you”, the quiet calm I felt after saying no to the drama and standing up for myself has been long-lasting. Which is when it struck me that there’s a much more appropriate question that we should be asking ourselves (and, I would suggest, lovingly asking our children):

Who do you know you are?

Because finally knowing myself, with all of my liabilities and assets, knowing my feelings and motivations, knowing my heart, is what allowed me to let go of the “injustice” of being misperceived, to ignore the siren call of being “right”, and to avoid the trap of making myself more palatable. Seems I’ve filled the gaping hole that was at my core with enough self-love to be the advocate I’ve always wanted.

I think if we encouraged children to explore all facets of themselves instead of trying to shape them to an arbitrary image, it would be revolutionary. More self-reflection and less shame have got to result in a psychologically healthier adult, and a world full of healthy, emotionally mature adults would go a long way toward diminishing some of the disturbing issues we’re facing as a society today.

So, who do I know I am?

I’m still learning, and I’m getting better at not running away from the parts that I don’t always love being on display: my potty mouth, my occasional defensive withdrawal, my tendency toward intellectual slovenliness (a college professor actually used that term to describe me, and it stung so badly because he was correct), my sarcasm. And there are parts that I’m proud of: my resilience, my sense of humor, my generosity, my compassion. I’m a late bloomer who is committed to encouraging others that it’s never too late. I’m a woman. I’m a survivor. I’m a good mother and a loyal friend. I’m a writer.

I know who I am. I’m learning to love who I am. And I know that I’m worthy of love exactly as I am.

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Thanks for reading. Who do you know you are?