Sense of Self

As a person that has withstood numerous trials in life, I have found myself necessitating adaptability over all things. Growing up, my father was an alcoholic, and my mother the enabler. I was the oldest of six, and it was my responsibility to protect my sisters. As an adult, that translates into various unhealthy relationships that were continued out of fear of necessity, trusting too deeply, and in the dismissive words of a psychiatrist I trusted, “sometimes [I] just feel things too much”.

I procrastinate, sometimes I’m unmotivated, and I almost always feel inadequate. Internally, there’s always a voice challenging every decision I make, every person I put too much faith in and every moment I allow myself to breathe. Oftentimes, I challenge authority on what’s right and what’s immoral, even when I’m proven wrong. I am stubborn- a trait my youngest daughter must have inherited just to spite me. And when I feel an emotion, it saturates every part of my soul.

Thankfully, every tribulation I have endured, every self-defeating thought and self-deprecating feeling I’ve ever experienced, has given me the innate ability to feel exactly what anyone around me is feeling. I can walk into a room and instantly know someone is hurting, or excited, or angry. And I will always go out of my way to help anyone I can. I tend to see a person as a human, and not their mistakes. I stand up for what is right, even at my own expense.

Empathy has been a difficult trait to navigate. I used to walk into a stressful room and instantly feel upset, but not know why. I would take emotions other people were feeling out on them. I didn’t understand what was happening. When I learned how to ground that ability, I noticed that I can actually help persuade other’s moods instead of them manipulating mine.

I am creative, spontaneous, and lively. But I am also reclusive, responsible, and timid. I’ve never felt a sense of belonging, or a complete comfortability with my peers. I love to listen and offer advice, but also believe in action. My sense of self has never quite been concrete. I’m 34 years old and I don’t know that I’ll ever truly know who or what I am to this world. Maybe growing up with cracks in my self’s foundation at such a young age equates to a shattered self as an adult?

I don’t believe I fit any category in the self-assessments my professor made us take. My color blue doesn’t match the shape, only half of the qualities listed in the color ring true to me, just as the wavy line I chose rings half-truths. I don’t think I expected to fit in a categorized box, just as I’ve never fully fit in anywhere in my life.