Five Minute Friday -- Identity

For years my identity was based on family connections.
Growing up, I was my father's daughter -- the second one. He was well known and well liked (as far as I knew), so there were worse people to be. The stress came from needing to be perfect so as not to disappoint him. I worked hard to say the right things, think the right things, be interested in the right things, do the right things. A lot of my struggle and confusion came from not knowing who determined the "rightness" of everything.
Later I became my husband's wife. I moved from my father's house to "our" house, but I was still playing a role. Trying to be the model wife I saw growing up, and at the same time trying to be the wife I thought my husband wanted me to be. It was tough trying to merge what turned out to be somewhat opposing pictures.
Then I became their mother. First my daughter -- a precocious red head. Then my son -- the premature, squalling baby. Everyone seemed to think I could read these babies' minds. If there was a problem or discord, I was supposed to know what was wrong and fix it. I couldn't do it.
Eventually all that striving caught up with me. I shut down. 
I went to talk to a counselor.
I found out I had to quit hiding behind other peoples' lives and live my own. 
It meant digging through some really nasty rubble.
It took thinking that rubble was my identity for a while to get to where I am now.
The truth is, my identity is made up of all those things that I survived, all the people who have walked through my life, all the people who have stayed in my life.
My identity is who I am today -- a child of God, a survivor of abuse, a wife, a mother, a daughter, a friend. Not different people, but pieces of one whole person.


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