Developing a Better You

Category: Spirit (Page 14 of 51)

The Three Lies of Identity

As a blogger, I often have no idea of the impact of something I write. While that can be emotionally challenging at times, putting thoughts I hope may be helpful to someone out into the universe and letting them have a life of their own is just part of this endeavor. Every so often, I get a glimpse of a post’s reach. Earlier this week, a post I published six months ago (July 9, 2022) suddenly took off. Someone apparently found it, shared it, and a lot of people (for me) read it. I decided to take that as a sign and share it again here in hopes that it helps you take another step toward Becoming Yourself.

I’m a sucker for a good lie.

I fall for them more often than I should. Not for phishing scams trying to get my money, but for deeper, more subtle, more devious lies. Lies about who I am, about my True Self, about my identity.

The late author and Harvard professor Henri Nouwen defined Three Identity Lies that most of us fall for:

1. I am what I have 

Billions of marketing dollars are spent every year to reinforce this lie. If you have more, bigger, and better stuff, that means you’re successful, important, and worthwhile. If we’re honest and live long enough, most of us will concede that no amount of material things will be enough to truly define us in a lasting, fulfilling way.

2.  I am what I do 

This is perhaps the most accepted of the identity lies. When asked who we are, we often refer to a job, career, or position—I am a doctor / parent / sanitation worker / author / athlete / factory worker / homemaker / fill in the blank. But what happens when you loose your job? Get injured? Retire? Your children move out? Who are you then? This applies to hobbies and volunteer activities as well. When the role we use to define ourselves is no longer there, the reality of this lie comes crashing down on us.

3.  I am what others think of me 

If I’m praised and respected, I’m a good person. If I’m chastised and mocked, I’m a bad person. When put so blatantly, most of us would reject this lie intellectually, but that doesn’t stop us from buying into it emotionally and subconsciously. From a young age, we learn to change how we present ourselves in order to gain affirmation from others. It becomes so ingrained that we’re hardly aware that we’re placing our identity in others’ hands, allowing them to define who we think we are.

What then is an appropriate basis of our identity, a solid foundation for our True Self? Something deep. Something unshakeable. Something lasting. For me, it is this: I am God’s child. No matter what happens in my life, that identity is secure. Relationships can come and go, my career can change, money can be lost, my health can plummet, people can cheer me or jeer me, tragedy can strike, but none of that can disrupt my foundational identity.

My particular choice of identity may not work for you. You may have different spiritual beliefs or no spiritual beliefs at all. I completely respect that. My encouragement to you is to find the deepest anchor point you can for your identity, one that is not subject to the Three Lies.

What beliefs truly define you? Which of the Three Identity Lies trip you up? Remind yourself of them often. See yourself with clear eyes. Choose an unshakeable identity worthy of the incredible person you are. If you do, you’ll find peace and security, and you’ll take a giant leap toward Becoming Yourself.

The Best Birthday Gift You Can Give Yourself

I like to read things by people smarter than me. My friend Susan Rau Stocker is one of those people. A gifted therapist, author, and blogger, she has a way of communicating her hard-won wisdom with warmth, grace, and humor. This week, I’m sharing a recent post from her excellent blog (I highly recommend subscribing here). I hope it helps you take another step toward Becoming Yourself.

I’m 77 today. My birthday hasn’t landed on a blog day before — at least not that I remember. I am 77 and my memory, which was never wonderful, is getting downright iffy. Which I think is probably a blessing. (I have a theory that one of the reasons some elderly folks are so serene and pleasant is because they’ve forgotten all the bad stuff and can’t remember their grudges.)

Actually, I think almost everything is a blessing. The view from 77 is fairly high on a hill. I turn and look back; things which, while they were happening, seemed divergent, seem from here to be connected and sensible. Detours were actually necessary. Some abrupt endings kept me from falling over a cliff or two. Funny how things look in the rear view mirror — and they’re even more clear when one has the opportunity to sit down on a warm rock on the top of a long, winding road and look around.

A birthday is our own personal re-boot, re-start, reconfigure, restructure New Year’s Eve. What shall we do differently this year? What can I leave by the side of the road? What can I give away? What do I want more of in my life? What has propelled me this far? What will keep me going? What am I willing to invest in? What no longer serves me, or the planet, or my family, or my friends?

How can I forgive myself for the mistakes I’ve made? The unforgiveness, either of myself or others, is harmful to my health and well-being. Holding a grudge against myself is as toxic as holding one against someone else. If I realize they were mistakes and am determined never to do such things again, isn’t that the best I can hope — learn from my mistakes? Whether others learn from their mistakes is none of my business. I’ve got my hands full keeping, as they say in AA, “my own side of the street clean.”

They brought me home from the hospital in a blizzard. My dad had to stop (on a hill, my mom told me) and put chains around the tires. I was little — 5lbs. — they must have worried about getting me home to a warm house. On my sixteenth birthday my mother made lobster tails for us for supper — the first ever lobster she prepared. On my 49th birthday my husband bought me a Firebird convertible. Not too many years later, he decided to divorce me, and, in the process, he sold my birthday present. Memories from birthdays are encapsulations of the good, the bad, and the ugly from our lifelong learning. 

In the last twenty years I’ve begun celebrating my birthday by spending it alone, remembering, often writing, enjoying the solitude of self-care, maybe reading. This year the five family members nearby are coming to my house for supper. I dearly love people coming to my home, I dearly love to cook, and I dearly love my family. They asked me what I wanted. When I told them, they listened.

It’s going to be cold and sunny today — perfect. A snow flake would be divine, but I think is unlikely. I do believe there’s some lettuce in the garden I can bring in for supper. My head is full of memories, and my heart is flooded with gratitude. Two friends each died when we were all around fifty. I have had these twenty-seven extra years. It’s inexplicable. Unbelievable but true. All I can do is whisper, “Thank you.”

When your birthday rolls around, get out the good china. This is our “Once-A-Year-Day.” 

Love, Susan

Susan Rau Stocker is a blogger, novelist, and Marriage and Family Therapist with Masters degrees in Communication and Counseling. She served as a mental health ambassador to China in 1998 and has volunteered with the Alzheimer’s Association, American Cancer Society, and many other organizations. Her published works include Only Her Naked Courage (2013), Heart 1.5 (2013), The Many Faces of Anxiety (2013), The Many Faces of PTSD (2010), and Heart (1981), as well as her blog The Many Faces of PTSD (manyfacesofptsd.wordpress.com). She is on a lifelong journey toward Becoming Herself. You can contact her at sraustocker@yahoo.com.

How a Surprise Question Gave Me a Great Gift

“Would you read this story to me?”

I was walking through the cafe in a Barnes and Noble bookstore during one of my wife Lisa McMann‘s recent book signings. An adult young woman sat at a table with whom I assume was her mother. When I smiled at them, the young woman pointed to the picture book in front of her and asked, “Would you read this story to me?” 

I was tempted to laugh awkwardly, nod to the woman’s mother, and continue walking. I mean, who reads a picture book to an adult stranger in the middle of a busy cafe? Not to mention that I’m normally too caught up in my busy schedule to even consider such a request, subconsciously absorbed in my own exaggerated self-importance.

But for some reason, I paused and leaned down to look at the book. I pointed to the first word, “For,” and asked the young woman if she could read it. She said no, and given her child-like manner of speaking, I guessed she was neurodivergent. Her mother murmured something in Spanish that I didn’t understand. 

I began to read. It was the story of the birth of Jesus set to T’was the Night Before Christmas. The young woman listened with rapt attention, eagerly turning the beautifully illustrated pages. 

As I read, I wondered what her mother’s life was like. Raising a dependent neurodivergent adult must bring challenges and joys that I can only imagine. When we reached the moment in the story where the angels appeared to the shepherds, I felt that the two women beside me were closer to angels than I’ll ever be. 

As the familiar words of hope, belonging, and ultimate love fell from my lips, I felt our perceived differences of gender, age, race, and neurological functioning fade away. For one sacred moment, I saw the truth—we were simply three wonderful, needy people, deeply loved by God and longing to be accepted.

When I finished the story, we exchanged farewells, and I walked away feeling like those women had given given me a far greater gift than I’d given them. 

Chance opportunities to deeply connect with others are all around us. How many have I missed, too caught up in my own fears, hopes, desires, and plans? God, help me walk through life with open eyes and an open heart. 

As you go through this holiday season, lift your head. Really see those around you. Pause. Be kind. Smile. Encourage. Remember and celebrate our shared humanity. If you do, you’ll find you receive more than you give, and you’ll take another step toward Becoming Yourself.

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