UNINTENTIONAL IDENTITY

She asked me: What is your identity?

I opened my mouth to speak. 

Closed it. 

Tilted my head. 

Opened my mouth again.  

Closed it. 

Furrowed my brow. 

Well, damn. 

What IS my identity? 
WHAT is my identity? 
What is MY identity? 
What is my IDENTITY? 

I sputtered out a few ideas… I'm a mom...an entrepreneur...a writer? 

I stopped. 

“Are those things my identity?” 

She shrugged and stayed silent, allowing me time to process.  

It felt like every “good” thing about me was some achievement that could be measured or tied to my kids. Produced. 

Damn, again! 

My identity felt entirely unintentional… 

And it REALLY bothered me.  

Since then, I've been subconsciously, subtly searching for my identity. 

Easier said than done… but to pull my identity out from the rubble of my unintentional identity, it was necessary. 

I identify as someone who feels things deeply.

Someone who cares (maybe too much).

I'm someone who wakes up every day genuinely believing that we all matter.

I believe the stories we tell, the words we choose, the connections we make...

They ripple out further than we'll ever know! 

So yeh -  "I'm an entrepreneur," "a mom," "a deeply feeling person," "a writer"... 
I contain multitudes, dammit! 

And so do you!

Let that freak flag fly, baby!