I’ve always struggled with my sense of self, as I imagine most other people do. I see myself through a plethora of different lenses. I see the me my mother sees, a quiet, self-sufficient, closed off young woman working a mediocre job hundreds of miles away from home; I see the me my friends see, ruminative and youthful, unafraid to stand out and be laughed at; I see the me my partners see, mysterious and offbeat, blithe with whims that turn with the wind. Ask anyone in my life and they’ll all give you conflicting answers on who I am. Perhaps thats normal, but I often get lost in who I am without an outside stimulus. Who am I when it’s just me and my thoughts?
I know a lot of people with a firm grip on who they are; they cut their hair a certain way, they wear certain clothing styles, they listen to certain music genres; they present as consistent and sure of who they are. I also know people like me, always trying a new hat on for size, never knowing if they’ll be wearing an Iris Apfel-esque outfit or an Adam Sandler jortfit. I don’t adhere to the belief that your physical expression determines who you are, that’d make me superficial and narrow-minded. It’s naive to view the former as sure of themselves when ones self-identity is far too complex and fluid to be put into such parameters. Yet, I look at them like they have something I'm missing, something secure and whole.
I grew up in an area where what you had meant more than who you were. How you presented yourself was everything. I was never overly obsessed with material objects, but as a suicidal teenager, I was never interested in much of anything to begin with. I’ve always experimented with my hair, tattoos, piercings, etc. I’m often told I can pull off every hair length and style I’ve ever tried; sometimes I feel like a chameleon. My mother didn’t like who I was when I was a teenager; she told me I was too sad, too withdrawn, too much. Around the same time, my older sister saw a little too much of herself in me; she said I was too moody, too bitchy, too abnormal. And so I saw myself as those things. I felt like a child, picking grass in a windy field with no one around; the blades of grass slipping through my fingers with the wind, no end in sight.
In college I found myself in an uncaring, fatuous relationship. I lost touch with who I was; I had no friends, skipped class constantly, lived in his frat house, hung out with his friends. I had no identity outside of him. I didn’t even really like him, to be frank, I just liked being wanted. I knew I was sexually fluid from a young age, I used to watch John Tucker Must Die repeatedly just to watch the scene where Sophia Bush and Brittany Snow kiss. To make a long story short, my barbies scissored but also kissed ken.
Our generation grew up during the rise and takeover of tech. In my eyes, this has created a deep sense of connection and community with one another; with social media at our fingertips we have instant access to a kindred soul on the other side of the world. We know we’re not alone in our thoughts because there’s someone else on tumblr or reddit that has shared the same exact sentiment, just two years earlier. Much like the generations before us, we’re determined to make the world a better place, only this time we have technology in our arsenal. I’m not a fan of AI but I see the benefits it has in research. I’m not a fan of digital activism in the form of social media posts, but I see how it can spread awareness and facilitate a conversation. I’m not a fan of how uninhibited we are with one another online, but I can see how convenient and connective it is in such a fast-paced and isolating society.
However, because of this reliance on tech, we’re so disconnected from ourselves. I check my front camera a million times a day, obsessed with how my hair looks, whether I need to wax my mustache or pluck my eyebrows, if my lipstick’s smudged or my eyeliner fading. We’re obsessed with posting ourselves in our best light, always fronting to the world about how well we’re doing. I went through a breakup and immediately made an instagram post showing how fabulous and rich my life was all while crying in my roommates arms wondering what had happened. But when my ex started posting again, I wondered how they could be doing so well, how could they not be in mourning over our relationship, did I mean nothing to them?
We know too much about each other, yet we know nothing of substance. We know the surface level things. We know what song they like because they posted it on their instagram story, but we don’t know what that song reminded them of or how they felt when they first heard it. We know their favorite color is purple, but we don’t know why: did their mother always dress them in purple as a child? Or did they see a purple flower one random day and decide nothing could ever top it? We’re always accessible, always available. We get impatient when someone doesn’t respond immediately, “What could they be doing? Why aren’t they thinking about me? What did I do wrong?” There’s a whole class of the dating-advice-world that caters to dating through the male gaze: “5 reasons they're ghosting you!”, “What to do when your partner is starting to withdraw”, “how to give a blowjob so good he deletes hinge.” Regardless of sexual identity, we, as a society, have deeply instilled in our minds that we have to become someone else during the courting process. We have to become the cool girl, someone thats easy-going, someone that doesn’t get too emotionally attached yet attached just enough so as to not come off as frigid, someone who doesn’t care if you cancel plans last minute because they didn’t schedule their entire day around it.
I know I’ll come off as a lonely, jaded spinster by saying this but, dating today punishes you for being you, forces you to diminish yourself, quiet your needs and desires. It teaches us to be embarrassed of how we feel about a partner, about ourselves. Everyone’s too scared to show their desire for commitment, there’s plenty of fish in the sea after all! Especially when dating is as easy as swiping left or right. There’s always someone new, someone better, prettier, more talented just around the corner. We can’t possibly be expected to bite the first line cast our way when there could be far more succulent bait a few feet ahead. Is it such a mystery as to why we lose our self-identities in a relationship when we’re rewarded with love only if we tone down our truest selves?
When I date someone, especially men, I find they enjoy experiencing me. They enjoy the put-together, always laughing with my head thrown back, pensive and thought-provoking me. The me thats easily photographed, paints in denim overalls, and journals on a park bench. But I’m a real person. I have days where I call out of work so I can sit in an empty bathtub and cry in silence. Days where I yearn so deeply for a relationship with my brother that I burn through pages upon pages of my journal. Days where I’m so exhausted I forget to brush my teeth. I think people forget I’m a real person with real thoughts, with intricate and complex emotions.
I have a theory that people think I’m just a character in a movie they like to watch once in a while and then turn off when they aren’t in the mood for it. And that’s fine. In theory. I’m not entitled to anyones attention or affection. But I am entitled to basic human decency and empathy. We’re all entitled to that. Again, in theory. But thats exactly what’s wrong with our society today: we value results over empathy, money over emotional connection. We see a homeless woman asking for money on the train and write her off as a bum looking to feed an addiction instead of someone genuinely asking for help out of a bad situation. We see a barista being short with a customer and assume they’re over-confident, rude and entitled instead of someone having a bad day and in need of an ounce of human compassion. As boomer as this sounds, I blame the internet and capitalism. We’ve reduced people to two-dimensional icons and relinquished human connection. We take everyone at face value and, you know what, fair enough; who really has the time in such a bustling career-driven world to stop and account for everyones feelings?
But when did we get like this? Why did we forego mercy and compassion for material belongings, for fiscal hungers? Capitalism! Society wants us to be fast, fast, fast! Work from home, work through lunch, thirty minute breaks for ten hour shifts, written warnings and terminations for being five minutes late. We live to work, but also work to live. Eggs are fifteen dollars, who can afford that when you make that much in one hour before taxes? We’re expected to go, go, go, never sit and be with ourselves, never exist in silence with our thoughts. We wake up, check our feeds and emails, commute to work while staring at our screens, sit in front of a computer for ten hours, then commute home with our eyes glued to our mini computers only to sit in front of a large screen while we eat takeout we ordered through our teeny tiny screens. We’ve said “hi, how are you?” to one, maybe two, people; even our food delivery driver set the bag down and ran before we opened the door. There’s no real need to speak to anyone anymore. That is unless you’re a decent person. We don’t feel we owe anyone a minute of our time because society has beaten that out of us. We see everyone as strangers, nameless characters in the movie of our lives. We’ve gotten selfish and complacent in the convenience and expediency of the modern world. But if we don’t have each other, who do we really have? If theres no sense of community, what left is there? Are we destined to be alone in our trials, alone to acknowledge our triumphs?
We deserve to feel seen, to feel heard, no ifs, ands, or buts! We deserve to show up as ourselves and be greeted with love and acceptance. We deserve to be valued for who and what we are, not for our deliverables and results. And we owe it to each other to provide that to anyone that comes our way.
The me I am today has a stronger grasp on my self identity. Maybe it’s because I’m growing up, have more experiences and insight, more time to get to know myself. I read books about the tribulations of womanhood because my favorite thing to do is gab with my girlfriends about how hard it is to be a woman; I have five sets of floral bedsheets because my grandmother always had a fresh set ready to go whenever I wanted to stay over at her house; I cry about my relationship with my parents, as they did with theirs. I’ve never been able to fully move on from someone I've loved; I’ve always felt a sense of loss for those who have left my life, whether in a profoundly chasmic way or a minute trivial way. I am an amalgamation of everyone I have ever loved, past and present. But, theres more people to love, more highs and lows to experience, more wisdom to seek out. I am ever-changing, much like you. So, no, I don’t fully know who I am, but I am excited to find out.
April 28, 2025
