Who Do You Think You Are?

I've spent a lot of time analyzing the world, human interactions, and believing that the most important thing in existence is loving one another. But I've found it hard to do for myself.

A few days ago I sat with the sacred mushroom medicine. My wonderful mother, Tara Stonemother, held the ceremony for my older sister and I.

As we were sitting in the space, discussing our intentions, I said that I wasn't really expecting much. I sort of acted like it didn't matter to me whether I was there or not. And it didn't, I even had thoughts of not attending the ceremony.

I knew that these thoughts were my monkey mind and that attending the ceremony would be beneficial to me even if it wasn't easy or I didn't feel a 100% yes for it.

That morning I had been attempting to write an article about human connection. I wrote down my basic thoughts as cleanly as they came from my brain and was going through it to deepen my writing. Nothing that I was trying to deepen felt right.

This familiar feeling of being a “poser” kept resurfacing with every word I typed. I closed my laptop with an unfinished article and a heavy feeling in my chest.

I then chose to clean my home, a 1988 travel trailer that is difficult to keep organized. I actually finished with a space that felt open and fresh again. Perhaps cleaning felt easier because it gave me something I could accomplish without having to question myself. I could focus on what was in front of me instead of trying to decode the emotions I'd been carrying.

interior photo of 1988 fleetwood wildnerness — `Interior image of 1988 Fleetwood Wilderness`

After taking the medicine, I settled onto my bed and practiced deep breathing. As I lay there, the first thing that came to me was love, what I believe to be the basis of humanity.

I remembered a boy that I loved deeply and still do hold so much love for. This relationship ended very painfully for me, not dramatically or with a big bang, but slowly, which almost makes it worse.

I laid there and cried. I hugged myself and mourned a love I won't have again. Not because I won’t love again but because I believe that every time you love someone is a little bit different.

Since this, my longing for him has resurfaced. And the inevitable feelings of desire and reasoning that, if I miss him so badly how are we not meant to be together? I know that sometimes it's not that simple but it makes me want to solve the mysteries of love.

Looking back, I wonder whether part of what I was grieving was the way he made me feel accepted. We lived differently, particularly in our relationships with spirituality, yet I felt loved for who I was. There was something incredibly meaningful about being able to share myself with someone without feeling that I needed to be different.

At some point, the ceremony shifted completely. My thoughts moved away from love and toward an overwhelming criticism of myself.

It felt like a dismemberment of myself. I keep saying that everything I saw or heard came simply from myself, from my conscience. But it's painful to realize how deeply I've absorbed beliefs about who I'm supposed to be and what makes someone important.

Do I believe I am a fraud? Maybe the word “Fraud” is too strong. I'm not committing a crime.

Maybe I've just spent so much time hearing what success and worth are supposed to look like that I've started measuring myself against those expectations.

`Identity Fraud image from the internet`

The themes of “who do you think you are?” and “why are you trying to be important?” continued to replay in my head for the rest of the night.

It sort of felt like I was being punched in the face by myself. Tears were flowing from my eyes in a constant stream, never stopping. I began making plans of hiding away from the world again, like I did before. This felt like I was trying to find comfort in being weak.

I'm not formally trained in much of what I do. I never took classes or earned credentials for a career. Most of my experience comes from living, listening, observing, and following what interests me. Which is a beautiful thing, and I'm honoured that my curiosity and passion have led me toward so many wonderful experiences.

But I can't prove my worth through a resume, and that feels like a requirement for being important.

I have struggled with this for many months, and have been pushing myself to be serious, be professional, and act like I know what I'm doing.

Everyone knows who I am, I have not hidden anything. I simply feel like I have because for some reason I believe I must do more to be worthy. Maybe it's all the movies and shows I watch, or “that damn phone” I spend so much time on.

Maybe it was something I was told in school “This might be easy but just wait till you get to the real world.”

I want people to recognize that I have something valuable to offer, but I also want to believe that for myself.

I think I've spent so much time trying to prove that I'm capable of doing meaningful things that I've forgotten I don't have to prove my importance to anyone. I believe that every person has something valuable to offer, regardless of their education, career, or accomplishments. So why do I struggle to believe that about myself?

I was excited for the real world, but a sense of fear got engraved into me. So when I finally felt free, I couldn't step forward. I could've tried harder to move up in the world. I could've pretended that I didn't always have a lingering painful feeling of “this isn't right” but the truth is that I was OK where I was and if I pushed myself to “move forward” I would've been doing it for other people.

I didn't feel like grinding away so I could be approved. Even if I did go to post secondary school I would've taken a program that I likely would’ve never used.

Now, as I sit with these feelings, I have an opportunity to reevaluate what I want and what's important to me. I can pursue education that supports the path I'm choosing, rather than pursuing a path simply because I believe I'm supposed to.