In Search of My Identity, Part 2

For years I was convinced that Identity was a one-word label that encompassed the whole of a person's talent: guitarist, soccer player, actor, etc...  This label was born innately within a person and nothing a person did could alter this.  I had a friend, named "B" who was a gymnast, another friend "D" who was an insanely talented musician, "K" was a dancer, "V" was brilliant, excelling in all her classes, and "L" was just jaw-droppingly beautiful.

And then there was me, label-less, talent-less, identity-less.

I craved to be something.  For a perfectionistic, self-conscious, hurting teenage girl, anorexia filled a gaping void in my life.

Those who loved me would try to convince me of the person they knew me as.  

"But you're a good daughter."  

"You are a great friend."  

"You're a good wife."

None of this was very comforting or consoling.  Everyone is a good daughter, friend, wife/girlfriend, etc..., and besides, as sick as I was, I really didn't see myself excelling in any of those aforementioned departments.  When my loved ones said these very well-intentioned things, the ED told me it was all a cop-out, that even they couldn't identify me as being very good at any one thing.  For over 20 years, I believed these lies.

I had what Stanford psychologist Carol Dweck (http://mindsetonline.com) would call a "fixed mindset," a belief that talent, skill, success, etc... cannot be cultivated, that these are things to which we are born or not.  What I am now attempting to nurture is a "growth mindset," the idea that I have the power to shape my talents and successes.  With a growth mindset, I would have understood that those I labeled as "smart" had worked to become smart, that my friend, the gymnast, achieved her success through passion and hard work, not just through innate talent.  I would have understood that if I picked up a guitar and did not immediately belt out "Stairway to Heaven," that it was okay, that I could eventually get there.  I would have understood that even the labels into which I boxed my friends were figments of my creation, and that my friends would have wanted to be known as more than just a one-word concept.  Most importantly, I could have turned my fear of failure and relentless energy to self-destruct into something positive.

Doing the hard work of recovery has given me a wonderful gift, the gift of learning who I truly am.  I've learned that my identity cannot be summed up in one word or even several words.  Who I am is simply me, a person with talents in some areas, weaknesses in others, and abilities waiting to be unlocked.  I am a good friend, wife, and daughter, but I'm also so much more.

Cheers!

Picking Up the Pieces

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

All the king's horses and all the king's men

Couldn't put Humpty Dumpty 

Back together again.

It has been seven months since I last posted.  You could say, that like Humpty Dumpty, I had a great fall.  My winter of sadness lasted longer than the snow.  It is only since the air has warmed and the leaves bloom verdant on trees that the snow weighting me down has melted.

Like Humpty Dumpty, no one could put me back together--no one, that is, except for myself and for time, the great healer.  I lost more than just a baby this winter--I lost a dream, one that now travels with the wind.  But in that time, I learned how strong I could be.  I learned that anorexia no longer controls me.  Through the long winter, I mourned.  I cried, I cursed, and I felt, deeply felt--but I did not starve.  Despite overwhelming pain, I persevered against the beast that is the eating disorder.

Because of this, I have been able to pick myself up, brush off the dirt and dust, and dream anew.  I don't need ED, my security blanket, to protect me in the cold night--I have myself.

Who needs kings' horses and men anyway?