identity crises and hot husbands

Within about a month, I had left my full-time job of over 2 years and married my boyfriend of 4 years. That’s some big change back-to-back. Both were excellent decisions, for different reasons; and yet the former, as it happened first, brought much unanticipated identity issues.

In the month after leaving my job and before marrying the man of my dreams, I met many people who would love to ask, “So what do you do?” … … … Crickets. How to answer? Hmm, I can tell you what I used to do… Oh you mean, what do I do now? Well, that’s a great question. I got some pretty funny looks in response to being currently unemployed and having no plan (other than to plan a wedding and spend the rest of forever with Richard). It was becoming almost hilarious how often the question was posed, seemingly more often than before this life change. It felt like I was moving backwards, back to the insecure college grad who had no idea what life had in store or where to start. Just waiting for a move of God to put me in the right place, steer me in the right direction. This idea that what I do (for a job) determines my identity, I couldn’t shake. In fact, it was shaking me.

It’s true that when we work 40+ hours a week at a job, that tends to be the thing with which we most identify. I was a Digital Media Coordinator. That was what I did more than anything else – what I was – and so, it must have been who I was as well… If suddenly 40+ hours a week were spent working as an extra on a TV show because I had the free time, going out for coffee with friends, sleeping in, running, dancing, planning, reading, sunbathing; what could I then say I do; who could I say I was?

Upon returning from our amazing Jamaican honeymoon (thank you, in-laws!), it wasn’t back to life as usual. Everything was different. Home, roommate, income, schedule. I had gained a part-time job before the wedding, but my coworkers were gone and off the radar for two weeks, and I sank into a pity-party slump. When anyone else would have been at the pool, working on art, or just reveling in all this free time…. it was a good day  for me if I showered and got dressed. The highlight of my day was what I would try to make for dinner, and if you know me well, that’s just funny. I struggled with feeling like a failure, a loser, a waste of space. My hot husband was getting up and going to work each day to provide for our little family; meanwhile, I couldn’t get an additional job to save my life, and I gave up on the creative cooking thing one week into marriage (sorry, Husband). It probably goes without saying, but money was tight. And I love to worry.

But, as usual, in times of crisis, Richard was my anchor. I couldn’t have asked for a more supportive partner. He loves me well anyway, but he has a way of loving me even better when I can’t love myself. My eyes are welling up just thinking about it. I am someone who prides herself in being able to do it all – and on my own. The thing is: I can’t. I never admit that until I hit the ground, but Richard is always there to pick me up and help brush off my knees.

When I can’t figure out what I’m supposed to be doing with my life, when I can’t figure out who I am, my Creator chases me down and reminds me. And because I’m so stubborn and clueless, He likes to get creative with me. So clever. I don’t know why I felt peace about leaving my job and then struggled with being jobless, but I do know He is using this time to remind me I am His. The picture of marriage as Christ and His Church may not have been as real to me in the beginning of my own marriage without this healthy dependence on my husband that I felt. Not necessarily in a, “I’m your wife, and I need you,” kind of way, but in a, “You’re my partner in life, and you make it more beautiful,” kind of way. Through Richard’s encouragement, I felt loved by the Father. Richard never pressured me or made me feel like I wasn’t doing enough; instead he listened to me, gave me room to go through it, and was there for me every step of the way.

So yeah… What do I do? I live, learn, and love. I’m a wife. I’m a dancer. I’m a production coordinator – part-time. 🙂 Some days I change diapers, some days I teach dance, other days I just watch movies. Each day looks different from the one before it, and I’m learning to be okay with that. Eventually, I will look back on this season of life and be even more thankful for it than I am today, because I will see clearly all that God was doing in me and in my marriage, and I will know exactly who I am.

Coffee Talk

We’re in a coffee shop, my friend and me. It’s been months since we last saw each other, since we had a real conversation. This moment seems insignificant; we may only be passing the time. There are others around and it’s near time to leave, but we hit the big stuff, the life stuff: wedding plans, grad school, career, family.

She’s reflective about the last year of her life – the scary year – the first-year-out-of-school year. She’s putting pieces together. Maybe she was in this position, this job, this singleness, to better understand there’s life outside of school before returning to the books in the fall at a graduate program.

I know I have assured her of these things before. But it was before she entered the season, when it wasn’t quite real to her yet. It occurs to me then, at this seemingly insignificant moment, that the seasons of our life have to be lived by us. I know well that it’s not enough to hear advice or heeding from those who’ve gone before me. I can try to learn from others’ mistakes or digest the lessons of loved ones. But, it may not nourish me quite the same as living the mistakes and receiving the grace for myself. Hearing about it and understanding it are two very different experiences, and the experience of stepping out in faith – of living – is too precious to forego.

This moment in time inspires my own reflection of the past year. The extreme highs and depressing lows. It’s exhilarating to look back and relive the best parts of the year but painful to recall the worst. Had I been given foresight into decisions I’d make or wouldn’t make, I would refuse to believe. At the same time, my belief or unbelief may not have changed the outcome; however, the practice of reflection may be the very thing that saved me. If I merely plowed through that time in my life, rather than feeling each blow, I may still be stuck in a dark place. But, because I stepped outside of myself for even a moment – to look inward, around, and ultimately, up – I found purpose.

A hard fall doesn’t impress as much without the scars. To have no memory, no evidence, surely enhances the probability of recurrence. So, the story is in the scar, and its healing brings the next chapter. Reflection has power to restore and renew, to redeem. Seasons come and go; leaves will change and fall, regardless. But the beauty is in the changing and in the falling. I cannot begin to understand the season I’m entering without acknowledging the one I’ve left behind.

This is the stuff that sticks. That cleanses, grows, and transforms. Each season I enter brings its own insecurity, doubt, and discomfort. It also brings its own beauty. I don’t have to go there alone, but I must go. My life depends on it.

As you get older…

My brother Nathan, seven years my senior and twenty-five years my friend, coined a saying my freshman year of high school, the year of all new and scary things:

“As you get older, you’ll find…”

And he would continue with whatever wisdom was most applicable for the specific lesson being learned.

This saying was first uttered around the time when a boy on whom I had a crush – who supposedly reciprocated these feelings – very suddenly and meanly cut things off with me. This was a terrible thing for a girl at the impressionable and insecure age of 14… or was it 15? Either way, I was straight out of middle school and braces with bushy eyebrows and a perm in my not so distant past. My crushes until this point were on the cover of Teen Bop and singing Mmmbop; and they definitely weren’t hurting my feelings. Also, despite the aforementioned middle school physical features, I managed to move on from that phase of my life with little emotional scarring and a few bosom friends. Point being: boys and humiliation? All fairly new territory.

Nathan took me out to El Vaquero (a Columbus GA favorite) to cheer me up and wise me up. There really is nothing that overeating chips and cheese dip can’t fix. “As you get older, you’ll find…” How must he have finished the sentence then? What was my lesson? Boys are dumb, probably. People are mean. Hearts are fragile. But resilient. This too should pass, and I’d be fine.

As you get older, you’ll find that you are more sensitive than you want to admit and stronger than you could ever imagine.

It’s life lessons like these, yes even this seemingly small one, that we can stuff into our pockets and then lift our heads high, ready to crack the next curve ball out of the park.

As you get older, you’ll find that no amount of learning from others will prepare you for your own mistakes. And it’s only your own pain that will break you down just enough to improve you, mature you, complete you. Impale you for just long enough to feel the sting and adjust.

As you get older, you’ll find life is all about adjustments. That boy was not the first or last to hurt, and I didn’t learn well enough then that I am not defined by the hurt, but rather, how I respond to it. But the experience did cause me to make an adjustment – to evaluate relationships and priorities and my own self-esteem. To decide who I am and who I want to be. To be fully human is painful and uncomfortable; but the sky is always clearest after a hard rain. And life is always more precious after the decision to press on.