Identity Crisis

I do not know if I will ever have an identity. Sometimes I look at my driver’s license, stare at the person on my identification card and seriously question who she is. She is not the person who tiredly looked in the mirror this morning or the person procrastinating her homework right now. No matter how much I think I am growing, I cannot help but doubt who I really am.

I was the type of kid who focused on others and the nearby surroundings to understand what type of people I was seeing. The way they would interact with each other or carry themselves throughout a conversation was fascinating to me. And when someone would portray a trait uniquely meaningful, I would hold onto it. It would feel like the quality I noticed was so rare but necessary to be a good person, and I wanted to find a way to implement it myself. 

My mom has always been generous in a way that appeared effortless. She never had to be asked to go the extra mile for someone. She never had a second thought about comforting someone in need. She never even hesitated when it came to lending money or giving to those in need, even when we did not have much ourselves. Growing up, I watched her show up for others again and again, even when it was inconvenient, even when it went unnoticed and I felt an urge that I had to do the same. Now, when I give my time and energy to others, I feel her influence reflected in myself. 

My sister carries a type of wisdom you would not expect in a 24-year-old. But she had that same wisdom when she was 20 and when she was 14. My sister has been giving me advice since before I even realized I needed it. She does not always rush to speak, but when she does speak, what she says matters. She is able to put herself in others’ shoes without diminishing her own morals and beliefs. She is able to walk through life with her head held high while uplifting those around her. And as I am going through a period of time where it is so easy to get caught up in my own life, she is whispering in my head to listen more carefully and respond with intention. 

My best friend believes in people in a way that I did not know was possible. No matter if they have wronged her or even if they do not believe in themselves. She trusts, supports and gives people the benefit of the doubt. Some would call it naive, but I see it as a strength. Her ability to see someone for who they can be instead of the insecurities they outwardly portray is a gift to those around her. And now, I try to carry some of that faith in the people I see every day. 

Back in elementary school, there was someone I felt was my first real friend. At least, that is what I told myself. I did not have many friends, so I stayed close to her, did anything she asked and followed her lead. I did this because being near her felt like I was being accepted, even though being friends with her was not exactly enjoyable. She had a way of making me smaller without ever saying it outright. And in the moments where she shunned me, I would sit quietly, trying not to sink into the feeling of loneliness. 

I did not have the language for it back then, but I just knew what it felt like to want to be chosen and to realize you were not. Do not worry, I have many wonderful friends now, but that experience has stayed with me. It taught me that the way people treat you is often less about you and more about what they are carrying. And even though she is not the best person to keep with me, she changed me just as much as any act of kindness could.

My dad left his home when he was 16. In the midst of war, he had to find a way to make a better life for himself. So, he learned two languages, took odd jobs, got a degree, married my mom and created a life that his kids could flourish in. He does not always talk about his experiences. You can see some pain when he does. But even with a few words, he taught me that it takes strength to continue. This was a conscious decision he had to make every day, and I know I always have to make the same decision. Especially during the times when I wanted it all to end, he would be there in the back of my mind, telling me to continue. 

And the list goes on and on. 

People who have been there since the beginning of my life are on this list. People who may not even realize the impact they had on me. Each of them has given me a part of who they are. So when I stop and stare at the person in the mirror and wonder if anything about her is truly real, I have to reconsider what “real” even means. 

Identity, I am starting to realize, is not about originality in the way we think. No one is perfectly unique and untouched by others, but there is a way to be unique in your intentions. Every quality I carry has passed through me. I have examined them, decided they matter and work to make them my own. I am not trying to become this list of people, but I am shaped by what I chose to learn from them. 

Maybe identity is not something you suddenly find one day. Instead, it is something you collect at the end of all your days. Something you look back on as a piece of art you have curated. And right then, maybe it will feel earned. It will feel like mine. 

If you feel like a collection of the people around you, be proud of it. Because that is the best part of being human. 

• family and friends
• identity