My mind was hazy; I did not recognize where I was or even who I was. The blurry walls of the room came into focus and bits and pieces of reality slowly returned to my foggy brain. Sometimes a smile came to my face, other times a frown. The devil was in the details.
Many a Sunday morning in my college years began this way. Too much alcohol, too much sex, too much of too much. Coffee, breakfast at IHOP, a nap, and a long run typically did the trick in the “return to reality” process.
But it wasn’t always hangover talk. This saying was a common joke between my mother and me over the years. A great way to address not knowing how you fit in, or how to adapt to a change. We laughed a lot, uttering this question in a variety of scenarios over the years.
When it stopped feeling like a joke
Lately, though, it doesn’t feel like a joke. It feels heavier. It feels like I keep circling the same question—why do I feel lost in life purpose, even when I can list off all the things I am.
It can also have an ominous feel to it. In the days and weeks after Molly died, my first morning moments fit this descriptor. Not wanting the “who am I” moment to pass, knowing that the “why am I here” would hurt a lot. The haze would be thick until I realized I was sleeping on the living room floor. That always woke me up.
This doesn’t feel dramatic, just a quiet identity crisis
In my current reality I could print this saying on a T-shirt and wear it every day. As I contemplate another “life shift” (Thank you Matt Gilhooly), I seem to be asking myself this question a lot. Not in a dramatic, throw-my-hands-up kind of way…more like a quiet, persistent hum in the background.
Maybe this is what an identity crisis after major life changes actually feels like—not some big breakdown, but a slow unraveling that you can’t quite name.
All the things I am and still feeling lost underneath it
It is human nature to define ourselves. We do it by who we are to others, where and how we fit into the scheme of life and society, who (and what) we love and what we do.
I am a runner, a student, a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a teacher, a coach, a mentor, an athlete, an artist, a poet, a writer, a podcaster, a survivor, a victim, a hero, an angel mom.
So many labels.
I clearly have an idea of who I am. And yet underneath all of that, I still feel like I am questioning who I am in life, like the labels don’t quite settle into anything solid anymore.
The part no one really answers for you
The “why am I here” part has always been, and remains, a tad on the elusive side. Do I go back into public education? Should I open a gym? Do I keep paying lots of money on a podcast that isn’t growing? Do I train for the CrossFit Games? Do I quit it all and just take care of everyone else and their “who’s” and “why’s?
I do not know.
Where I am in life and why this identity crisis makes sense now
Erik Erickson is a favorite psychologist of mine. His stages of development make sense to me. They structure and organize life into meaningful chunks of conflict and resolution.
I am currently in the final years of Stage 7, Generativity vs. Stagnation (Age 40–65). In this stage we are focusing on family, career, and contributing to society. It is logical to begin the “who” and “why” questions at the end of a stage this long and complex. The conflict arises when we begin to feel stuck, like we no longer contribute the way we once did.
And maybe that’s part of it—this feeling of being stuck in a life stage that once felt clear. That quiet sense of feeling stuck in life stage even when everything on paper looks full.
Who am I (am I still any of my former answers?) and why am I here? If I am no longer who I thought I was, then what do I do next?
Looking ahead while still figuring this one out
I am most definitely right here in the thick of Stage Seven.
Having Jack at 57 will extend my participation here a lot longer than age 65. He will be eight years old when I am 65. Little League, Ninja class, dance, school, scouts…I will be involved in ALL the activities!!
Which leads me to contemplate Stage 8. Integrity vs. Despair (Age 65—whenever you go). This stage is the time when you look back at your life, the good, the bad, the ugly, and begin the process of coming to terms with it all.
No roadmap, just the next tiny step
Some critics of Erickson say that he doesn’t give enough “how to” information on navigating the conflict and potential resolution of each stage. I think this aspect is what makes them so relevant and helpful. I do not need a list of steps to follow to feel better about myself. Someone else’s idea of healing and growth might not match mine at all.
It is the vague nature of resolution that is so inviting.
Each small step (you know, the thousand tiny ones I am always talking about) should then dictate what the next one might be. Resolving one conflict often brings up another. This process is cathartic, cleansing, and healing.
At least I hope so.
Maybe I’m still searching for life purpose and that’s the point
Because if I’m being honest, part of this feels like I am still searching for purpose after loss, even all these years later. Not in a desperate way, but in a way that lingers. Like something unresolved that keeps tapping me on the shoulder.
So, as I watch my mother enter into Stage 8, I want to continue to take part in society. I want to earn money and build a solid, safe future for Jack. I want to continue to grow and learn.
I want to see The MollyB Foundation become a multi-million dollar organization. I want a TED Talk. I want Jodi Picoult to write Molly’s story. I want to get a shoe contract for CrossFit. I want Motherland to sell thousands of copies.
I want all of these things, and still…
The question that keeps coming back about my life purpose
I keep asking myself, quietly, sometimes out loud, sometimes in that split second before I fully wake up why do I feel lost in life purpose?
Stage 8 is decades away for me, so I think I better get busy.
Or maybe…
Maybe I just keep taking the next tiny step and let the answer catch up when it’s ready.
