Who Am I?

I’m a woman of an age where existential questions such as this should be long past asked and answered. I should know how the world defines me and how I define myself. Yet, here I am, questioning, probing, seeking.

On its surface, the answers would typically revolve around what I do and how I do it in my life in relationship with others. We answer questions such as this with labels. Wife, mother, sister. But now, at this moment, even those labels are inadequate to describe the essence of me. Or should I be looking for the essence of the woman I glimpse in my future?

There is the woman I’ve been in the past. The woman I am now. And the woman I’m still seeking.

In my past, I’ve been a student, a teacher, a corporate executive, an apparel designer, an entrepreneur, a traveler, a creative. I’ve been a woman influenced by a childhood belief that being the-good-girl was necessary and correct. I’ve been the hard worker, the woman taught not to lie, the woman who believed in right and wrong. The woman who, when push-came-to-shove, sacrificed her needs for the needs of her family.

The woman who saved a life.

Today, I could say I’m a mother, but my children are grown and gone. I could say I’m a wife, but my divorce is imminent. I could say I’m a woman who needs a home to feel grounded and safe, but I’m living in temporary quarters in a place that has long felt foreign. I could say I’m a writer of mysteries, which is true, but the work that makes my heart race with passion and the desire to put words on paper is personal, painfully raw, and real. I could say I’m a daughter, but my role has morphed into a caregiver for my elderly father. I could say I’m an artist, but I haven’t painted in months, and won’t be able to for many months still.

I could say I’m a woman whose greatest love betrayed her. I could say I’m a woman without a compass. I could say I’m a woman gasping for breath. I could say I’m a woman drained by the needs of others and no longer certain of my core. I could say I’m a woman increasingly filled with wanderlust, eager to see beyond the tall fence of confinement.

I could say I’m a woman who has been broken, but is not broken.

I could say I’m a woman rediscovering the material of my spine.

I could say I’m a woman who doesn’t know who she is morphing into but wants nothing more than to find out.