Who am I and what's the point?
I overthink these sorts of questions in the midst of laundry and nature walks with my toddlers and preschool lesson planning and bowtie sales. I think and I read and I so want to learn how to live well. To live whole.
Recently, a book was recommended to me by a friend that focused largely on the idea of false selves. This wasn't a new concept, but one that seemed to require my attention, since it was the fourth or fifth time the topic had been sat upon my lap. The concept of false selves resonates as truth to me: the idea that we learn patterns of coping, ways of fitting in, methods of earning praise and respect, all of which become compulsive, defining, illusory selves. Longing above all else for love and belonging, we become whomever we think will get the most love and belonging. Often, that "whomever" is only a mist of our truest self.
Or else, people wouldn't like me. I'd be found out, not enough. Friends wouldn't call back and nobody would show up at the party and God would be disappointed and my life wouldn't have any meaning and I'd be alone, unloved.
Doing defined my being.
And then I see the mist clouding my vision, my own false selves tightening their grips - the voices that demand everything be perfect, that life have a plan and rules to stick by. I see the controlling self trying to formulate and the people-pleasing self looking over one should and then the next. I see fear pointing to a bright red sign "Not Enough".
And I see, again - I know with every breath - that the best way to give my children wholeness, fuller and freer life, is to know wholeness myself. To live wholeness before them. To be full and free.
So I breath and return to being.