The "Who Am I?" Moment

When I first learned about identity it involved topics like gender, race, ethnicity, religion, and class. I gained confidence knowing that this is who I am, my foundation. There was security knowing that these aspects of my identity could not be taken away from me. Unfortunately, I didn’t think much about the pieces of identity that can be taken away, until it happened. So what happens when the parts of your identity, the ones you worked hard to achieve, are taken away or changed? How do we cope with these changes effectively? I mean, it is never fun when we have a “Who Am I” moment. And let’s not even go into the powerlessness and out of control feelings.

I suppose if I want to know about other peoples’ “Who Am I?” moment, I must first spill mine, so here it goes... Because I found the man who I want to spend the rest of my life with, and he just so happens to be in the Navy, I went from living in San Diego, a social life that started Wednesday and went thru Sunday, driving a Scion TC (I know, it’s not my dream car but, I felt cool in it!), and having a career that seemed like anything was possible. To living in Ocean Springs, Mississippi. Social life, what is that? Does that include working out in the yard and waving to neighbors? Driving a 2000 Ford Ranger pickup truck, and can’t find a job that pays over $15/hr.

Now, don’t get me wrong, great identities have come with this change. I am a wife, a stepmom, and the proud companion of Missi Lou and Diego Jean. I am happy but, the transition has not been easy. And being a military dependent, I mean spouse, this will not be my last identity switcharoo. I know there is a reason for everything. I just haven’t figured out the reason(s) behind the cruel joke of me living in Mississippi.

So here is the conflict…

The radical feminist side of me starts to holler. “This is the reason women are making $.80 to the man’s dollar, they engage in the institution of marriage and the man’s career takes priority and the next thing you know you are confined to the house, knocked up every other year, and driving to soccer games - right where society wants you. AHHHHHHH!”

And then I tell the radical bitch to shut up and let me be happy with where my life is headed, wherever that might be.

So please share. We all know that misery, I mean happiness, loves company!