“You are going through the death of an identity.”
These words came from my therapist’s mouth one random Friday a few months ago, and while I don’t remember the specifics of the day or what I was talking about right before they were uttered, that moment will forever be a marker in time of a ‘before and after’. Before I had a name for what I’ve been suffering through and all the insights that have come after it.
“You’re going through the death of an identity.”
The death of an identity.
Death.
No word in the English Language has scared me so much and for so long.
Death.
That fearsome and loathsome word. That word that we dare not speak its name. That we hide from and ignore and refuse to acknowledge until it is literally staring us in the face – and even then deny its existence. A word that has been made to seem dirty and wrong and if we can just not think about it or talk about it then it must not be real and it certainly won’t happen to us and just be quiet about it already!
We spend our lives pretending as if death doesn’t exist. Our culture teaches us to gloss over it, photoshop it, pump it full of fillers and shove it down where it belongs – away. We largely ignore the elderly and the infirm, as they are stark reminders of our own mortality – and ageing, especially for women, has become almost forbidden.
For as long as I can remember I was perfectly happy to partake in this ideology; ignoring death as much as possible and when that didn’t work, foolishly raging against it, behaving as if I actually had any control or say in the matter in the first place.
All of it: my incessant OCD and subsequent anxiety, bouts of depression, crippling panic attacks, they all go back to this one thing. The one thing I know I cannot control or avoid, and yet refuse to accept as the absolute truth that it is. And to what extent you ask? Well, let’s just say that I planned on making Dylan Thomas proud. “Do not go gentle into that good night… Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” Sounded like a solid plan, if there ever was one.
So to be told that I am going through the death of an identity – when just a whiff the word ‘death’ could send me into a tailspin, was one of those metaphorical slaps in the face – the universe tipping its hat and forcing me to confront my fear, albeit in a round about, somewhat advantageous way. Because it’s not as if I received a terminal diagnosis or lost a loved one – occurrences that I have been mostly spared from thus far in my life. And I won’t pretend that one’s identity and one’s physical life are the same – not all types of death are equal.
And yet.
At the same time, a death is a death. It is energy moving from one space or form to another – cyclical and never ending. But alas, such was the depth of my aversion to even the word itself, it was a revelation to feel anything other than outright, devastating panic.
And in that moment I truly was more curious than scared – more intrigued than fearful.
In her book Broken Open – How Difficult Times Can Help Us Grow*, Elizabeth Lesser writes, “All of what we crave in life – security, health, personal gain – is fleeting and out of our control; all of what we fear – conflict, aging, loss – will come to pass.”
A bitter pill to swallow upon first glance – yet deeper examination reveals that the study of this – the study of death – is actually the key to a life of, as Lesser describes it, “wisdom and freedom and joy.”
She goes on, “When we study death we see how everything is dying and being reborn as something else, over and over, every day, everywhere, in all kingdoms, species, elements and forms. Nothing is wasted, everything has its purpose, all things are connected, and therefore eternal, in the vast cycle of birth and death. When we understand this, we can let go of our crippling compulsion to hang on tight to who we think we are and to what we think we need in order to survive. We can appreciate how new life is always born out of the dark fertility of death. We can enjoy what is given with gusto, grieve what is lost with passion, and dwell with humor and faith in the vast, infinite mystery.”
Forgive me, as I must restate this astonishing declaration, “When we understand this [the cycle of birth and death], we can let go of our crippling compulsion to hang on tight to who we think we are and to what we think we need in order to survive.”
In other words, if we can learn to let go – to accept – to surrender – to give in – to trust; not only will it not all go to pot, but life could be – will be… better, nay it will flourish and so will we along with it.
This is nothing less than a fucking miracle. There is no other way to describe it.
“You’re going through the death of an identity.”
So what does this mean?
Overall…
I am tired.
Tired of reliving the same cycle again and again, day in and day out. Tired of old habits and familiarly annoying patterns. Tired of being afraid. Tired of my “crippling compulsion to hang on tight.” Tired of my own shit.
And yet.
The safety and comfort that comes along with the familiar cannot be understated. These are the burdens I have chosen to bear because I know them and have suffered them all my life.
And while I have never been more ready to let them do, experiencing a death – a loss of any kind – is never easy.
Nor should it be.
To change – to finally let go – to cast myself willingly into the transformational flames – to “die” – the thought is horrifying – because even though I know that glory and greener shores lie on the other side, there’s always an incessant and nagging worry that I might not be able to handle it. That I am not good enough. That I will end up worse off than I was before. That I will fail.
And yet.
It’s these exact thought patterns that have sapped every bit of my energy and made me weary to the bone. The never enough-ness – never smart enough, fit enough, small enough, quiet enough, pretty enough, brave enough, strong enough, calm enough, feminine enough, thoughtful enough. That I’m not the perfect enough mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend, teacher, ally.
And while the truth is that there is no way to be certain of what comes after the release – after the journey into the flames – there comes a point when taking that risk is far less scary than staying put, because staying put would mean the death of another kind:
The death of my soul.
And that, I have come to realize, is a sacrifice I am no longer willing to make.
So as a result, I am suffering through the death of an identity – have been for some time.
This identity I speak of is multifaceted and deeply rooted in who I am. It is as much a part of me as my skin and heart and eyes. It includes, but is not limited to, constantly:
- striving from a place of insecurity rather than joy
- seeking reassurance from others and various outside factors
- trying to control the uncontrollable
- perusing reduction both physically and emotionally
- holding onto blame, anger, and resentment
- allowing fear to run the show
- refusing to be present in the present moment
I am so, so ready for this identity to die a thousand deaths.
And it seems so simple – the act of letting go – releasing what no longer serves us, these bonds that bind us. Do this and you will be free.
Again I say: And yet…
It is never that simple. While some journeys in life are effortless and easy, the vast majority do not have linear or clearly defined paths. There is progress and then the need to backtrack – forward momentum and then unexpectedly being thrown off course – feeling like you’re just about to discover the way out of the woods, only to find that you are, once again, right back where you started.
It can be infuriating and exhausting – but in all my time being lost in the wilderness I am beginning to understand that this is the way. This is the path – and this struggle is what is teaching me the lessons and preparing me for the splendor that awaits – that is waiting for all of us. It is hard won and there are no shortcuts, and it is only after I willingly do as Lesser suggests and “die to it” – surrender to it – that real progress will finally be made.
Broken Open came into my life at a time when I needed it the most – when I the most ready to receive its messages. Life has a way of doing that, doesn’t it? Giving us what we need when we need it – like it or not. In this case, it was a gift I was more than happy to receive. Towards the end of the book Lesser writes:
“Over and over, we are broken on the shore of life. Our stubborn egos are knocked around, and our frightened hearts are broken open – not once, and not in predictable patterns, but in surprising ways and for as long as we live. The promise of being broken and the possibility of being opened are written into the contract of human life.”
And that’s the other thing. In no way am I deluded into thinking that there is an end to this journey – that once this identity is surrendered, and once it dies its full death, will there be only peace, calm waters, and no more room for growth.
Quite the contrary, in fact.
Rising from the ashes and standing naked before the truth, only opens the door to more opportunities for expansion – freeing up vast quantities of energy and allowing it to be channeled into more important and even deeper matters.
This is the contract of human life – that we are broken open again and again for as long as we live.
There is no end to the effort, no finish line to cross, and giving in is in no way giving up. You can still rage, and rage and swim against the current, and there are times in life when you should. But when you give in and “die to” what is holding you back, to what frightens you beyond measure, to what is keeping you from yourself, you are able to better discern what is worth raging about and what is not.
The hope I have is that each time I am broken open I am able to handle it with a bit more grace and dash more wisdom, ultimately leading myself to embody what the badass Brené Brown calls True Belonging:
“True belonging is the spiritual practice of believing in and belonging to yourself so deeply that you can share your most authentic self with the world and find sacredness in both being a part of something and standing alone in the wilderness. True belonging doesn’t require you to change who you are; it requires you to be who you are.”**
I like to think of it as – and yes I am going to say it – embodying the Goddess – my Goddess – the one that has lived inside of me all my life, if I only I can find the courage to become her.
It is in this spirit that I usher in 2021 – submitting to the flames, not to become something that I am not – something I have been taught I should be – but to burn away those falsehoods – the ones that are preventing me from being who I really am. To die to it, every single day, so that I may dance and laugh and love and play and reunite with my soul once again.
Lesser and I both share an affinity for the Persian Poet Rumi. He gifted humanity with these words:
Drum sounds rise on the air;
and with them, my heart.
A voice inside the beat says,
I know you are tired,
but come.
This is the way.
I am going through the death of an identity and I am finally ready to walk into the flames.
_______________________________________________________________________
Stay savage friends and Get. It. Done. with a strong back, soft front, and wild heart.**
If you’re interested in any of this, in my journey, my story, check back… frequently? Much more meandering musings and kuhlhuman thoughts to come.
Also! If you have questions about what I write or even suggestions for future blog posts, feel free to leave a comment below or email me at thekuhlhuman@gmail.com.
_______________________________________________________________________
Works Referenced:
*Broken Open – How Difficult Times Can Help Us Grow by Elizabeth Lesser – @elizlesser on Instagram
**Braving the Wilderness – The Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone by Brené Brown – @brenebrown on Instagram