Who Am I: An Identity Crisis in The Midst of A Twenty-First-Century Pandemic

I spend A LOT of time on Instagram. I didn't realize just how much time I spend on a little app until I decided to take break.

It's been six days since I was last active on Instagram, and part of me feels silly for missing it so much. It might even seem silly that I decided I needed a break, but I could feel God nudging at my heart and telling me to step back. The interesting thing looking back on my decision is that I didn't step away immediately. I questioned the nudge; I wondered if it was "really for me" because, well, I like Instagram. I wasn't ready to give it up. It wasn't until I saw Lauren Daigle talking about her 21 day break from Instagram that I thought, this cannot be a coincidence. So here I am on day six of my weekly fast to tell you what I've learned because, as I suspected I would, I did actually learn something. . .no matter how silly it may sound.

For starters, I realized I begin my days with Instagram. . .every. single. day. I check my notifications, messages, and sometimes just scroll through the timeline to see what's available for me to consume. I also realized how much time I spend during the day thinking up new post ideas--I think of topics to discuss, whether I should post a picture or a video, and if the content should be light or heavy. I've started to obsess over what to post and whether or not I believe my followers will like what I share. I worry about how I look, I compare myself to others, and I wonder if the material is as interesting as other content my followers may be consuming. It wasn't always like this, but somehow I've lost touch with my why.

I didn't start sharing my story because I wanted to gain thousands of followers or have hundreds of likes on a photo. Hell, I used to be happy just to see 15 or 20 people like one of my post because I believed that meant it resonated with them. I also believed that if someone liked my post then maybe I wasn't so alone after all, maybe there were people who could relate to my pain.

In 2015 I finally reached a boiling point, and in 2016 I chose to go to therapy for the first time. I began to acknowledge my pain by putting words to the struggles I had been facing. I realized how much power there was in telling my story--there was so much power and freedom in finally owning my own brokenness. It was part of my healing process, but as I've learned time and time again, healing is never linear. I think over the last few months, I began to need Instagram more than Instagram needed me. It became my livelihood, my ultimate purpose because what else was there?

COVID-19 has taken a toll on me as a human being. It began with me questioning my purpose and led me to questioning my identity.

Do I have a purpose?

What do I want to do with my life?

If I feel so called to do big things in this lifetime, why can't I find the correct path I'm supposed to take?

Is it okay to change your mind. . .again?

Who am I?

I am constantly brought back to this place of wondering who I am and what I'm supposed to do with my life. I've asked this question possibly a million times within my 24 years here on this Earth, so why does it still scare me so much? Maybe it's because I know that I do have potential--that if I set my mind to it well enough, I just might accomplish the big things I feel I'm supposed to, and quite frankly, that scares the living daylights out of me. Because the very human side of me is terrified of this world. I'm terrified some days of even walking outside my front door--even before there was a global pandemic--because I'm not in control of anything that happens to me. That--the lack of control and the constant not knowing--is the scariest thing to me. I want so badly to control my life, to protect everyone around me, to ensure that none of my people are hurting too much and that nothing too bad happens.

But life is always happening, isn't it?

In this season of my own life, I'm learning this hard lesson of letting go--of control, the need to control, and even the burden of it. I'm learning that my job isn't to control everything, and I'm also learning just how bad I am at controlling everything. It's funny how God teaches you these lessons. I'm learning that pain almost always accompanies growth. Take my sister, for example. I love her so much, and I've spent my life trying to be there for her and make her happy in the way I know how to: making her laugh. If I can be goofy and silly, then maybe I can divert her brain from the pain to simply being in the moment with me. I'm not saying it doesn't still have the potential to work or to help on occasions, but it isn't full-proof like I once thought. My sister is in a season of grieving, and the only way for her to ever come out on some sort of "other side" is for her to face the grief, meaning that I have to allow her to feel the pain in order to heal. It makes logical sense, but it kills me on the inside. I'm finding that many people I love are in a similar season--needing to feel and express their own losses in order to move towards healing. And my role? To let them be. To let them feel whatever it is they need to feel. To be here when they need me. To be the shoulder to cry on or the ear that listens. It's not that I don't want to be those things, it's just harder. Lifting spirits and making people smile or laugh is so much easier for me. In a way it's selfish even because when I complete my tasks of making other people happy, it feels like I've done my job. Yet, now it feels like I have a new job--a job that is bringing about a multitude of discomfort, frustration, confusion and even grace + growth.

So, what does this have to do with Instagram? You might have forgotten that's where I started; there is a purpose to my tangent. I've put so much of my identity into who I am on Instagram--as the mental health advocate, sure, but even more as the girl with mental illnesses. I began to look at myself as I am OCD; I am depressed; I am anxiety; I am a mess. I made these things out to be descriptors of my identity when really there just a part of who I am, and I am constantly learning and evolving.

I have OCD and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I struggle with depression. I feel like a mess some days. I also have 4 tattoos, have struggled with biology my whole life, and feel itchy when mosquitos bite me during the summertime. I'm not accepting tattoos as my identity, I've learned that biology just isn't my strongest subject, and the beauty of feelings (whether inside or outside the body) is that they never last forever. What a difference it makes when we change simple phrases like "I am" to "I have." We finally break down the walls on these aspects we've allowed to incorrectly define us.

My time away from a small app in cyberspace has allowed me to break my own walls down. It's also allowed me the recognition that I tore down old walls and built new ones in its place. They felt safer and somehow better, but they weren't necessarily healthy. Slowly but surely I'm deciding that maybe the walls aren't so safe at all; they're just a trap in the end from understanding who you really are and what you truly want out of this life. I will be working on tearing my walls all the way down and not building new ones in there place.

Here's what I know today: I am a wife, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a dog mom, and a child of God. I like being these things. God made me all of them, and with time, I think He's preparing me to be more that I ever knew I could be.