I’ve been thinking a lot lately about identity. Who are we as people? What contributes to how we define ourselves as individuals? How do others view us and, more importantly, how do we view ourselves?
For women, I think we often define ourselves by the various roles we play: a mother, a wife, a daughter, a friend.
In each role, we belong to, serve, and are responsible for others and, as long as we present ourselves through this particular lens, we can’t be judged for failing to serve a purpose. In our roles, we provide. In our roles, we are needed. In our roles, we have an identity. In our roles, we are important.
After all, according to society, Abraham Lincoln, and likely the Bible too (all three of which seem to be quintessential authority figures in America yet are still misinterpreted regularly), if we’re not living for, doing, or attending to someone else, who are we really? What’s more, how can we possibly have an identity if we haven’t been assigned a part?
The catalyst (and forthcoming epiphany) for this blog began during a recent conversation with a dear friend who chose many years ago in agreement with her husband not to have children. Their choice was both deliberate and deeply discerned; a decision made out of an abundance of respect for their marriage and their future. Bearing children simply wasn’t for them, and being a parent isn’t a role either of them had (or have) any interest in playing.
Now, after nearly 20 years of marriage, having spent more time on this planet together as a couple than they have apart, they find themselves confronted regularly (albeit not often directly) with the question, if you’re not a parent and never will be, who are you and what do you do?
For her, a wildly successful, brilliant, witty, organized, endearing, and personable woman, she sometimes worries that perhaps she may have made a mistake. Not because she now wants to have children, but because she’s unsure how to explain her identity without that one key role to rattle off alongside wife, daughter, friend, and all around incredible human.
I told her that an explanation about her identity should be about much more than the role she’s chosen not to play. What’s more, an explanation about her identity shouldn’t be required in the first place. Fortunately, she knows exactly who she is and it’s because of that knowledge I decided to explore the concept of identity and the roles we play further.
As a mother, I’m never questioned about my identity or what I do. Even as the parent of one child I’m exempt from having to explain how I spend my time. It’s assumed that I’m busy (I am), that I work hard on behalf of my family (I do), and that every hour I’m not working or sleeping I’m consumed by my son’s activities and making plans for his future (I am not). Nevermind that I also spend a lot of time (and money) regularly tending to my hair and nails or that I often enjoy an evening cocktail in the backyard while my kid sits inside playing video games in his room. As a mom, my extracurricular activities are considered valuable “me time.” It’s the people without children who enjoy the same indulgences who are designated as selfish, especially since, sans kids, they clearly have nothing else going on.
Assumed selfishness aside, what concerns me most about the conversation with my friend is that regardless of our status as parents, both of us are defined by our respective roles in life rather than the attributes that actually establish our individual identities. And here’s the kicker: you are too.
Whether it’s a stranger defining your place in this world based on the role you play or YOU who assumes an identity based on that same role, it is the role and not you that has and will continue to create the largest chunk of how you are perceived by others and also how you perceive yourself.
And while we cannot and will never change how we are perceived by strangers, perhaps we can change our own perceptions in order to see both ourselves and the countless women in our lives as actual human beings with a myriad of components instead of just someone who’s playing (or should play) a particular role because it’s what society, Abraham Lincoln, and the Bible all expect.
For example, my capacity for being both successful and unsuccessful in my roles as a mother, wife, daughter, and friend is because of who I am and not because of what each of my roles entail. My accomplishments in each role are the result of my organizational habits, my compassion, my loyalty, and my candor, whereas my deficiencies in these roles are the result of my selfishness, vanity, temper, and impatience. Becoming a mother didn’t make me more compassionate or any less vain. Rather, my existing attributes simply became a part of the role itself. In other words, the roles I play have never defined who I am; I have defined my roles based on who I already was as a person.
Still, did I ever question whether I should change myself to better suit the role I thought civilization, Lincoln, and King James wanted me to play? Yep. Did I ever contemplate throwing away my flat iron and wearing my hair in a permanent top knot to allow for more time with my child? Sure. Did I ever purchase copious amounts of art supplies in the hopes I’d craft some Live, Laugh, Love adjacent signage for my home’s interior? You betcha. But did I also at some point realize that I feel better when my hair and makeup are done and that I hate crafts and also generally loathe any design inspired by Hobby Lobby? Absofuckinglutely. Because THAT’S who I am as a person, and I don’t need to change a thing about my many attributes to suit any role I’ve been chosen to play.
With that said, have my likes and dislikes also contributed to how I’m perceived by other mothers who, say, view crafting as their life’s work, messy buns as their hairdo of choice, and their child(ren)’s every whim as their sole purpose for living? Oh yes. Then again, my perceptions of these same mothers haven’t helped expand my circle of friends either. The way I see it, for them, I’m not as committed to motherhood as they are, and for me, their identities seem to be hidden behind hydro flasks and some construct of who they think they’re supposed to be. For all I know, they love wearing their hair up, excelled at art in college, and strongly believe in encouraging their child(ren) in all endeavors, which is something I’ve never had the patience for myself. And therein lies the problem: their perceptions of my role are writing my narrative and my perceptions of how they approach the same role are also writing theirs…
Just like every single one of us seems to be writing the part of the wedded woman who doesn’t have any children and doesn’t want them either.
Remember, she’s more than the roles she plays (or doesn’t), and you are too.
“Tell me, tell me, who are you? Cause I really wanna know.”
