Identities
Embracing the "and"
I first called myself a writer on a Friday night in September of 2019. Saying it out loud, to a stranger, made it feel real. It cemented this shift in my identity, a shift I had been manifesting since January of that year, but also really since I was a little girl. Going from Fashion Editor to Writer was a big leap and a slow burn and I was nervous to complete the transition, hesitant to leave behind that other identity despite the fact I no longer identified with it. The thing was, even though I didn’t see myself that way anymore, I knew it was how many others still saw me. I knew it was where my credibility lived. If I erased that old version of me to embark on this new version then I’d be starting from scratch, from a blank slate, with nothing under my belt. That was hard and my ego didn’t like that very much. Former Fashion Editor was my crutch during that time of transition, as I wrestled with who I was becoming against who I had been. Soon after that night in September of 2019—after my mentor wisely asked, “What do you want to be known as?”—I changed my email signature to read just Writer. I challenged myself to say it out loud more and more, with less and less asterisks attached. No pretense, no clarification, no self-deprecating explanation. Only the simple response, “I am a writer.” That’s it. There’s something about uttering the words, owning the words, that make it more real. Not quite a fake-it-till-you-make-it situation, but close. Until I presented that identity outwardly to others, it was hard to accept it inwardly to myself.
Identity is a funny thing. We hold onto various identities with an iron fist yet they often change and morph over time, forcing us to come to terms with who we are, really. Becoming a writer was a slow transition, unlike becoming a mother. While the road to motherhood was a long one for me, it wasn’t until the moment I gave birth to my daughter that I was actually a mom. I was admitted into the hospital at 2am on a Thursday night and was discharged that Monday. I went in as me; I left as Mom. It was jarring, to say the least. That time I didn’t need to say any words out loud. I didn’t need to present it to others in order for it to be real. The crying baby, sleepless nights, and traumatized body did that all for me. Accepting it was a different story.
I mourned the me I was before I became Mom for a long time. I felt unprepared for how different everything felt after having my daughter. I was frustrated at how this little blob showed up and everything now revolved around her. Suddenly all I could think about were all the things I could no longer do. Grab a quick ice coffee? Run a quick errand? Meet a friend for a quick lunch? Nothing I did was quick anymore. It took hours of prep to leave the house and I had to time it all with her feedings and nap schedule. I felt like I no longer had control over my life, and I was angry. For four years all I wanted was to be a mother and now that I was one, all I wanted was to be the old me. I had experienced a seismic shift and I didn’t really know how to cope. It was not a great place to be, mentally.
Over time, of course, I grew into my new identity. It’s truly a huge part of who I am now and I’m ok with that. In my life’s proverbial bio, it’s the title I lead with. I’ve not only accepted it, but I (mostly) love it. However, I think I only got here because I have staked out and held firm to other identities along the way: writer, interviewer, crafter, baker, reader, newsletter creator, foodie, environmentalist and, of course, wife, daughter, friend. I didn’t do well when, during the first year of my daughter’s life, my identity seemed to only be Mom. It was too much for me to handle, or, better yet, it wasn’t enough. That year my edges all felt sharp, jutting out in every which way, ready to pierce anything or anyone who came too close. But leaning into some of those other identities helped to round me out, fill in all that white space between those sharp points, making them dull and harmless. They helped to create a soft buffer between this new me and the rest of the world. The more I embraced being a mom AND a writer, a mom AND a friend, a mom AND a newsletter creator, the better the Mom identity felt. It was almost as if that title alone was too heavy so it tipped the scale. I needed other titles to balance it out.
So here I am on the verge of another identity shift: Full-Time Employee. Next week I will be starting a new job doing lots of new things with lots of new people. It’s been seven (!!!) years since I’ve had a full-time job, and 17 (!!!) years since I’ve onboarded with a new company. I stayed at my first job out of college for a decade and have been freelance ever since. The idea of beginning anew in this way is both extremely exciting and extremely nerve-wracking. A question that keeps coming up for me is: how will I balance this new identity with the others? Is there room on my bio for another title? And what will happen to some of the other titles that might need to get pushed to the back of the line (I’m looking at you, Writer)? There are obviously many unknowns here but this one seems to nag at me the most. And like when I became a mom, this identity shift will happen overnight. I will go to sleep on September 18th a “mom who is a freelance writer that sometimes gets published and conducts interviews with incredible women who devours books and essays and sometimes publishes a newsletter and who organizes playdates and does laundry every other day and is trying to make more time for friends and did I mention make the beds vacuum the crumbs and wash the dishes”, and I will wake up on September 19th a “full-time working mom who is not sure what else she’ll be able to accomplish in a day”. As the kids say, it’s the uncertainty for me.
But this is what they mean when they say you can’t have it all, right? A brilliant woman I interviewed recently talked about how we are all prisms that turn this way and that to reveal different sides of ourselves at different moments in time. Not every side of us can shine because light is a straight line. Not every identity sees the light of day, every day. We, as complex individuals, are always turning, into the light, and into the darkness, too, sometimes. Emphasizing certain identities, while hiding others—even if only temporarily. My prism is about to take a sharp left. I’m not sure which sides will shine and which will fall into the shadows.
Which part of your prism has been facing the light lately? Which identities have been hiding in the darkness?
xx,
Cris, your older sister
I wish we could change the thinking around work and motherhood (especially for creatives) so that the first thing we think of is enhancement, rather than diminishment. Obviously, we can't make more time. But I do think the more we do, the better we use our time, which is the next best thing. We never know where our roots are reaching, but it's so good to keep them searching, even in the dark. They're still all there, feeding the proverbial mother tree. I'm beginning to trust (in my ninth year of mothering/ lawyering/ writing) that, in time, I'll understand how all of the off-shoots made sense, together.
Omg Cris - my eyes are watering! "always turning, into the light, and into the darkness, too, sometimes." 🥲🤩 I hope this shift in your being shines!