Mapping My Identity
Have you ever moved so far from a place you once knew intimately that it became difficult to map its dimensions, colors, and energy?
More than ten years ago, nearing a birthday beginning with a five and ending with zero, I sat sobbing on a therapist’s couch. Growing older was not wringing tears from me. Not a single kleenex was deployed for wrinkles or age spots.
What moved me to tears was releasing a lifetime of fear and distress and surrendering to a birthright of trust and peace. My inner mapping changed.
To explain the word that brought me to tears I have to veer back and forth between childhood and the three or four years I was doing the work (aka in therapy) leading up to my 50th birthday, then jump to the present. Hold on tight. Here we go.
In therapy I began to examine the way I mapped myself in the world. My mapping project began when I was very little. If you're nineteen or ninety, you know what I mean; you could call it your self concept, self image, the way you see who you are.
As children we figure out how and what we think of ourselves based on how we read our parents, siblings, relatives, teachers, schoolmates, neighbors and church folks. They could say aloud or imply all sorts of things that mark our maps. That they have time for us, or not. That we are interesting, funny, attractive, or a bother, a burden, a bore. All of this data shapes the mapping of our identity, cueing us to expand or contract, to make our maps spacious or small.
The data that poured in early and repeatedly over time included 1) a particular problem of mine, and 2) the remedy. A daydreamer: don’t be so lazy. Highly sensitive: grow a thicker skin. Self expressive through music, acting, the arts: The human heart is deceitful above all things. In other words, don’t trust your self or your intuition. Who you are isn’t right. Change (and be accepted).
Try and wish and pray as I might, I never figured out how to be someone else. And I clearly shouldn’t and couldn’t be happy being me.
Vigilance, loneliness, and self-distrust undulated and twisted all over my map. Painfully shy and self-conscious, the fear of rejection kept me clenched and constricted.
In therapy the short name for this topographic map of feelings came to me: Unfriendable. I grew up feeling Unfriendable. Because I couldn’t be different, I didn’t like me. I understood relationships as transactional and felt I had little to offer. If anyone showed me kindness or care there must be a catch, an ulterior motive. What were they really after?
In fourth or fifth grade a classmate brought a friend or cousin from out of town to school. The girl seemed ordinary. She wasn’t stuck up or conceited, nor was she especially attractive. Her clothes were not fancy and there were no stories of her math or kick-ball prowess. She didn’t even play the flute or piano. Without a single thing to make her special she was relaxed and friendly. My classmates liked her. I was deeply and profoundly affronted. What nerve!
Back to middle age. Doing the work will mess with your mapping. This is no reason to avoid the work. Just know that the way you move through the world will change. For the better. But first you will sob. You will rail. You will grieve. Landmarks of your world will shift, entrenched ideas will erode, light and tenderness will enliven bitter corners and whole fields you believed it best to abandon. Beliefs will crumble as truth gently softens hardpan dirt and nourishes desolate places.
What we believe and what is true are not always the same thing. There are many definitions of truth. I’m writing about the truth that is our birthright identity.
On that couch tears and truth flooded my self-loathing, shame, unworthiness—the signs of being unfriendable. Into the open space rushed a sweet word. It drenched me with grace and welled up beneath me as buoyant, effervescent truth: Friendable.
Mortal, fallible, and quite quirky, yes. And also seen, companioned by the Spirit, utterly beloved. I. Am. Friendable!
I wept with relief.
I have moved so far from the once familiar places marked Unfriendable. It is difficult to map those dimensions, colors, and energy. At the same time I am still right here in my story, in my skin. I am much the same: daydreamer, highly sensitive, expressing a wide range of thoughts and emotions through art.
What I believe about these aspects of myself has been turned upside down.
The truth that I am Friendable surged over me in a moment. The opening, the trust and ability to take in and own this truth, were the work of months and years.
This work continues even now as I keep company with my childhood self at age six, nine, 13, and 18. I listen to and comfort her. I value her lived experiences and assure her at every stage that I see her and I’m right here holding her sweaty little hand. We are emotionally safe now.
She was not alone then. We are not alone now. We are friends.
Knowing that I am Friendable changes the way I map myself today. I can become anxious or distracted — life is wondrous, and it is confusing and unrelenting. But I’ve learned to find my way back to the spacious truth; my map is well marked with the dimensions of belonging, the colors of mutual respect, the energy of deep trust.
My current map called Friendable changes the way I think, apologize, lead, love, connect with others, do my work in the world, and worship.
How, dear friend, would you map yourself if you believed the truth that you are deeply and inherently Friendable?
“...I have called you friends.” John 15:15
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This essay was written for my faith community blog. The prompt: Would you share a word of God that has been life-giving to you? This may have come in the form of a Scripture. But God also speaks through the lyrics of songs, poems, the words that come from a friend or mentor. And sometimes, we hear a word or a phrase in our mind that feels like it comes as a gift from outside of ourselves. (I do so love a good writing prompt!)
