Tell Me Who I Am!

We have all heard of the seven deadly sins.

They’re the capital vices of all humankind and one way or another, every man, woman, and child is guilty of displaying at least one of these behaviors. Pride, Greed, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Wrath and Sloth. I don’t necessarily believe that these vices should be considered sins because aren’t these the things that make us human? Whatever they are and whatever they could mean to you, I know exactly which vice I am guilty of experiencing. Envy. The simple act of wanting what others may have and enjoying it for yourself, and at this time of my life the one thing I envy the most from others is the state of knowing. Knowing exactly who they are, who they want to be, knowing what they believe, and being perfectly happy with the life that they lead. I envy the people that I see who walk down the street with a kick in their step, a grin on their face and a persona that oozes confidence and wisdom. I envy the sister who can voice her thoughts and share her feelings without a hint of hesitation or doubt. I envy the youth who have a drive for life and a motivation to learn. I envy the people who can approach strangers and form a friendship. I simply just, envy.

Most of my childhood was spent hidden inside the comforts of my bedroom, with my face glued to a screen or the pages of a fantasy novel. The fear of the outside world was strong and the anxiety I felt by the simple thought of interacting with another person, was shockingly too real. I felt like a coward, trembling inside my skin, and simply watching the world go past as I struggled to be comfortable with myself. It was then, at the age of twelve, that I began to compare myself to the girls in my class, the women I saw on social media and even members of my own family. I finally let her out and allowed her to dictate my life. My inner bully. The voice inside my head that was constantly telling me that I was never enough. I let her out and it was her voice that pushed me to change my life, to alter my being to suit the image of someone else. When my sister told me I had no sense of style, I changed my wardrobe. When she told me my taste in music was garbage and my hair wasn’t kept, I altered my music history and cut my hair to match hers. When I moved back in with my father and his new partner, I walked on eggshells and thought before I spoke any sentence. Wondering if what I was about to say would be ignored or looked down upon. What if I said the wrong thing? All my life, I have allowed other people to define who I am and what I should like or aspire to be. I let them mold me into a person that sometimes I can barely recognize. I’m not blaming them because, I allowed this to happen and in reality- a part of me wanted to be changed. The young girl who felt like she was waving through a glass window all her life, no longer wanted to feel like a freak or a weirdo that no one wanted to know. She wanted them to change her because that is what she thought she needed to do to be loved.

But here I am now, at the age of twenty-one with no clue as to who I am, who I want to be or what I want to do with my life. Many people have told me that this is normal, that no one is ever supposed to know these things and sometimes the answers come to us much later in life. I can understand where they are coming from but the feeling that comes with not knowing, is terrifying. Life is too short to not know, and I don’t want to get to the end of mine and be clueless to the name I left behind. So, who am I? What makes me tic and what do I like to do in my spare time? How do I know who I am? How do I know what defines me?

The only concrete answers that I have are the experiences that I have lived through and the past events that have led me to this very moment today- sitting outside my accommodation at Hayman Island. The only thing I know for sure is that we all have a story to tell and, be what it may be, we’re all at different chapters in our book. I know mine didn’t necessarily begin on a high note, having experienced childhood sexual abuse, parental divorce, and adultery, struggling with depression and anxiety and then the loss of the only man who I have ever looked up to. All these chapters in my life, on top of my struggle with self-image, has enabled me to form one conclusion about myself- that I am a survivor and a fighter. I may continue to battle my own mental illnesses in the future, and I may fight to get my identity back, but the one thing I can know for certain is that I won’t give up. I can trust myself enough to try and that should be enough to quench the fear of not knowing.

So, cheers to me. The girl who is still trying to find herself. The girl who travelled fifteen hours (and half a country) away from the people she loves, to build on her identity. You can do this.