Identity Crisis

Awareness is half the battle.

I’m on vacation with my four children and a daughter-in-love. I have been so excited about this trip. Excited to see South Padre, excited to get away and relax, excited that my adult children still want to vacation with me.

The conversation and music on the trip down are excellent, and I’m so proud that my kids are interesting adults. We arrived to find the condo beautiful and just a short walk to the beach. The view from the balcony doesn’t disappoint. My oldest breaks out his guitar, and before I know it, everyone is singing. Finally, I feel — at home.

It’s hard to feel at home when life doesn’t turn out as expected.

Everyone is settled in, and we begin our first day at Yummy’s restaurant for breakfast. Not bad, but the grits needed help. The day is spent on the beach. All is well, and I’m at peace. I’m filled with gratitude as I remember that over the past four years, I have been homeless 3 times. My ex left me that way. He was my husband of 28 years at the time. He left me. I was discarded like a dirty rag. Homeless. Penniless. Jobless. No car. No experience. No education. No explanation. He just didn’t want to be married anymore. Three years later, I have an education, a job I love, a car that runs, a little money in the bank, and to top it off, I’m on a nice vacation with my children who still want to spend time with me. Life couldn’t be better.

Knowing all of that, it seems impossible that as I sit here typing, I’m battling sadness. The kind of sadness that those of us who have been depressed fear. I fear going down into the black abyss. The murky darkness that I can’t understand. Why won’t it leave me alone? Why am I sad? I decided to think on it, to lean into my sadness and feel the pain.

I’ve heard it said that emotions are meant to be felt. If we ignore them, they’ll just keep coming back. They want to be seen, heard, felt, and understood.

My kids seem to know. Twice, I’ve been asked, “Mom, you seem sad. Are you ok?” I just laugh and lightheartedly reply, “Of course, I just didn’t sleep well. I’ll be fine.” I know there’s more, but I haven’t explored it yet. I can’t talk about it. I want this vacation to be fun for everyone.

I am hauntingly aware that my subconscious is catching up with me.

As I sat on the beach and watched my grown children swimming in the ocean, I thought about how little things had changed. They still love the water. Still love riding the waves, swimming out as far as they can, and making me nervous. They are bigger, but it’s amazing how much they are the same.

I sat, watched, thought, and prayed. I even laughed. But I looked beside me, and the man I expected to be there with us, wasn’t. I was tempted to take a picture and send it. To show him what he was missing, to show him that family isn’t easily replaced. Just because you marry someone else, you can’t just move your kids to your way of thinking. Moms aren’t easily replaced. Neither are good wives. I wonder, does he know this yet? Then I remember, he doesn’t care.

I guess that thought started the funk. A funk I didn’t want to be in.

The next morning, I decided to cook a big breakfast for the kiddos. A breakfast like I used to cook for them when they were little. It was fun. I love to cook. Especially for people who love to eat. And they do love to eat. As we sat around the table talking and laughing, while gobbling eggs, bacon, grits, and pancakes, I realize again, that they haven’t changed much — just bigger.

After breakfast, everyone is getting ready for the beach. I’m washing the dishes, and I hear my daughter say innocently to my daughter-in-love, “Don’t worry, she’s just in mom mode.”

It made me angry. Now the funk is nostalgic, sad, and angry. The perfect storm.

She’s right. I’m in mom mode. I’m a mom. They haven’t changed, and I haven’t changed. Only he changed. Forcing his change upon us. A betrayal that can’t be excused no matter how high we are on the happiness radar. Dad isn’t home.

Which begs the question, “Where is home?”

Is it where you live? Some have said it is where you hang your hat, where the people you love are, where you are comfortable with your identity.

I just bought a house. I always wanted my children to have a home. A place where they lived all their lives, filled with happy memories and sentimentality. I imagined a place where all my babies would be born, and the nursery would be redecorated with each new birth, but my rocking chair would stay the same. When I sat it in, I imagined that I would still feel the soft, plump coziness of babies on my skin. I would still be able to smell that sweet baby scent in the room and conjure up memories of the countless hours spent rocking and singing to them there.

That didn’t happen. So, to comfort myself, I embraced home as where you hang your hat. When poverty ensued, I embraced home as where the people you love are. When we moved to Texas, and I became severely depressed after an emotional breakdown, I embraced the phrase, “Bloom where you are planted”. A choice. I found out blooming requires more than a choice.

There is literally nothing in nature that blooms all year long, so do not expect yourself to do so. — liryae

As I sit here on the balcony overlooking a beautiful beach, I hear the roar of the ocean and the happy sounds of laughter from children. My funk still lingers. I’m still thinking about “mom mode”. It makes me wonder if maybe, just maybe, home is an identity.

I’m a mom. I’ve always been to some degree. I remember as a little girl being a nurturer. Any animal that needed a home was adopted on my watch. I cared for my siblings. I helped in the kitchen. Looking back, I know that a child shouldn’t be asked to carry as large of a burden as I was expected to carry, but life happens for us, not to us. (Another phrase I’ve chosen to embrace)

Back to my funk.

Technically, the reason my daughter said I was in “mom mode” is because that is who I am when I am with them. Sometimes, even when I am with other people. I didn’t change, but I am forced to deal with change. I think my new phrase to embrace will be,

Home is being comfortable in your own skin.

I live within my body. I, me, my soul, the essence of my being, my values, the things that truly make me who I am, are housed within this skin. The house that I buy, the clothes that I put on the skin, the car that I drive, they are all things that reflect what is within. They reflect either what I want the world to know about me or what I want the world to think about me. With those thoughts, I realized,

Holy Cow, my funk is based on an identity crisis.

Divorce is hard on everyone. Empty nest is hard on most. I’ve gone through both at the same time. Interestingly enough, while most look at me and think I’m rocking it on my own, it still rocks my world. It has shaken me to my core. I question every truth I have ever embraced from religion to culture.

My identity as a wife and mom came easy. It is who I wanted to be. When I introduced myself I said, “Hi, I’m Brenda, his wife. Their mom.” It’s not just what I do, it’s who I am.

How do I introduce myself now?

I’m not his wife anymore. When people ask, “Is that Mrs.?” I say, “No, Ms.” They respond with shock. I hear, “You look so married”. I just smile, but I want to ask, “Please, tell me, what does married look like?” Do I look like I’m smart, and beautiful, and have it all together? Do I look like a woman who is not needy, so one assumes I must be married? I don’t wear a ring. Did you notice?

I’ve learned so much. I know now it was an abusive relationship. I didn’t know before because it was my normal. It was where I hung my hat. It was where the people I loved were, it was where I understood and was comfortable with my identity, it was home by those definitions.

But, I couldn't bloom there. I needed love, acceptance, encouragement — the things healthy relationships give. Now, I give these things to myself as my identity shifts, and “From the ashes, I rise. I am blooming into something radiant.” — Melody Lee, Moon Gypsy