Identity Crisis

Photo by the lovely Jess who pretty much takes all of my photos. Check her out.

It began intellectually, me pondering about identity, how we can define it for ourselves and if we can accurately define it for ourselves, but now I’m ending my thought-process in a more vague tone. I’m not too sure how I want to write this blog post and how I want to word it.

Who am I? That is the age-old question, dusty with weariness from the amount of persistent people. Who am I and how is my identity known?

Is it the way I politely introduce myself to others; I work with children, I’m a student, I write stories, bad poetry and I blog sometimes? Maybe but that is just one part of me. Is it the way I dress and present myself, jeans, that quirky top which I saw and loved, freshly new pixie-cut, and more often than not no makeup? Maybe but that is just one part of me. Is it the way I begin to care and get passionate about causes outside myself, such as developing new foster-care systems for children in other countries or education for girls all over the world or poverty? Maybe but that is one part of me.

Is it my private self, the side of me I don’t show to everyone or the side of me when I am alone, is that my identity? Or should I consider my public self? Maybe but then that is one part of me. How can one part apply to all of me?

I can’t help thinking that identity would be better explained in the fact that I am complicated, a paradox, and I can’t fully put down the essence of who I am, into two full sentences. My identity is not in my job, I love my job but that is not who I am. I am not just that young woman who loves children and babies. I am not just that student who occasionally has to stay up all night working on an essay. I am not just a writer, a poet or a blogger. I am all these things but there is more to me.

I can’t help thinking that identity would be better explained in the things that we love and hate. I love Jesus but I want to love Him more, I hate my sin but I want to hate my sin more. I love writing because it gives me a voice and provides a voice for others as well. I love people who are generous with their time and attention, who serve others without making a big deal out of it and people who are honest. I hate hardness, when people don’t care anymore, and people try to control others either through fear or threats or manipulation. I hate seeing people being hurt. I hate injustice.

But there is more to me than what I love, hate, fear or dream of. You are more than your feelings, more than your hopes, more than your dreams, more than your fears. Just because you are quiet doesn’t mean that you are weak. Just because you are loud doesn’t mean that you are strong. There is more to you than appearance, than what you say, and how you present yourselves. What’s more, you won’t stay the same. We all change in one way or the other. We grow or fade in one area or the other.

You see, I was a lonely and fearful little girl who is now a young woman convinced that she is neither alone or has no reason to be afraid. I am confident in my identity. My identity is Christ and what He has done for me and how I should respond to that. This is me but there is so much more to me, so much more to you, than what you can say in two full sentences.

-Savvy