Reclaiming my Authentic Identity
After a lifetime, I am rediscovering my authentic identity. It wasn’t lost, but always there, just hidden deep inside me.
Confused? Let me explain.
These days, as I scan my social media feed and read what was trending in the culture and lifestyle columns, I notice the term authentic identity appearing frequently. Like any word, term, or idea, when overused, its original meaning becomes diluted.
Consider the word love. I love ice cream. I love sleeping. I love facials. And I love you. Doesn’t the word sound less precious and genuine when we use it to describe everything from the routines of daily life to something so profound that some of us do not dare express it for fear of feeling vulnerable?
In my life, authentic identity is not about getting a tattoo or wearing a new outfit to express myself. My authentic identity began to shrink away when I was four years old. I had to hide it in order to survive. I became someone else because that was what my very traditional Chinese mother wanted. She broke me as she would a wild filly. She tamed me.
What does authentic identity mean to me? I believe we are all born with an innate set of talents and characteristics. I have witnessed these traits in young children. When I watch my grandchildren play, I see one child who is adept at building with Lego, while another loves drawing. With proper nurturing, any natural ability may one day lead to a lifelong profession: artist, pianist, tennis player or architect. Authentic self does not necessarily mean creativity. For some of us, it can be a value system, or sexual orientation, or religious freedom.
For simplicity, let’s say that parents and guardians play an important role in encouraging children to explore and expand their creative interests by offering them the opportunities to further their interests. In my case, however, mine was beaten out of me.
Consider what happened to left-handed children in the past. Teachers sometimes whacked a child for holding a pencil in the left hand. Today, we understand that forcing children to deny this natural trait was barbaric and entirely unnecessary. Yet children have also been forced to suppress parts of their personalities, talents, and identities because those qualities did not meet an adult’s expectations. (I’m reminded of Billy Elliot, the little boy who wanted to become a ballet dancer.)
Not only was my authentic identity buried deep inside me, but I also failed to develop self-esteem or confidence. I felt I did not fit in and did not belong. When I appeared to fit in, I was an impostor pretending to be like the other children in my classroom or my clique.
As an adult, I learned to live through trial and error. Many of us learn this way, I suppose, although those who are more fortunate, have supportive parents as role models may begin life on firmer ground.
From the age of twenty until I married my husband at fifty-six, I dated and engaged in multiple toxic relationships. I was ashamed as I recognized a pattern of attracting partners who were not good for me. Although they were not physically abusive as my mother had been, they were manipulative, domineering, selfish, and deceitful. They preyed upon vulnerable women. I was a single mother who looked and behaved like a woman who was down on herself and needed someone else to validate her.
As they say, we learn from every experience, good or bad. And I did.
During those years, I was surviving rather than thriving. That changed after I married my husband. I had to confront many truths about myself, and I sought counselling. Later, while my husband and I operated a bed-and-breakfast in the Okanagan, my self-esteem and confidence began to bloom.
We were the hosts of a successful business, and I created attractive, wholesome breakfasts for our guests. We were rewarded with smiles, praise, and five-star reviews. When guests returned year after year, I knew I was growing in a way I never had before. My husband, a strong supporter of my adventures in the kitchen, served coffee while my creativity and confidence grew.
After retiring to Port Moody, I began to write. At sixty-eight years old, I published my debut book. Writing it was therapeutic and it became my self help book. I hope that some readers may find it helpful too. Today, I continue to write. My authentic identity no longer hides, but guides me. I am discovering what I can accomplish during the next decade of my life.
From seventy to eighty, I have set myself an ambitious agenda. I will publish my third book within the next year or two. I have the bones of another in my head. I will create YouTube videos, appear on podcasts, be interviewed, and present workshops about reclaiming authentic identity—and why doing so is essential to a happy life.
After a lifetime of living according to someone else’s values and beliefs, I finally gave myself permission to live according to my own.
To everyone in their fifties, sixties or beyond, my most sincere advice is this: Do not waste another second. Now is the time to embrace your authentic identity and begin loving yourself.