Lately I’ve been trying to figure out who I am and I’m not sure that I have any answers yet.
I could cop-out and be all existentialist. I could say that I am not yet who I am and I won’t be until I breathe my last breath. And while I appreciate I will be the sum of myself in that moment, I am here, being, existing, now and I have been for the last 33 years.
So who am I?
The more I think of it the more I feel in conflict with who I am and the seemingly impassable distance to who I want to be.
I am a daughter to two people who tried their best to be parents.
I am a step-daughter to two people who probably never wanted to be parents.
I am a step-sister to a man I wish did not share my last name.
I am a niece and cousin to people, some of whom I’ve never met.
I am a best friend to the tiniest group of people who sustain me daily.
I am a diligent co-worker who tries to be proactive, cooperative and supportive.
I am the woman with depression, IBS and arthritis.
I am the woman who loves too hard and falls too fast.
I am stronger than I give myself credit for.
I am more stubborn than the average mule.
I am the shy woman in the corner who just wishes someone would talk to her first.
I am the scared little girl who still doesn’t believe she is worthy.
I am the woman who loves books, foreign films, all things Francophone.
I am the foodie who could eat mangoes, cupcakes, macarons, everyday.
I am so many things but no matter how long I make this list it will only ever show the slightest glimpse into who I really am.
Ultimately, who I am is a work in progress.