Well, let’s be honest. You can’t really “meet” me here on the Internet. There are like 50 bajillion bloggers vying for your attention… What could I possibly tell you about myself that would compel you to stick around and read what I have to say? My gripping Twitter bio will probably clinch it for you. It says this: Grace-dweller. Lover of Rick. Momma to 2. Blogger. Writer. Putterer. Tea addict. Consumer of Dark Chocolate.
Sometimes I contemplate tweaking that. But, to say what exactly? Should I add in that I’ve never tired of the Anne of Green Gables movies even though I started watching them in the late ’80s? Or that I’m actually an introvert even though I live a very public life as the wife of a guy who pastors a large church? Perhaps I should just say that I’m a huge nerdo who loves books and research and history and the BBC. Much to the chagrin of my teenagers, the car radio is usually tuned to NPR. Oh, do you need to know that I’m raising teenagers? It would explain a lot about my state of mind. It would also explain why Miranda Sings is in my YouTube feed now. Let’s just pause and reflect on that for a sec: Miranda Sings on the one hand, NPR on the other. A little messed up, I know. Hmmmm… maybe I should just leave the Twitter bio exactly the way it is. The less info, the better.
I mean, really. Come on now. The whole bio thing is sort of absurd. As if those things create my identity.
The truth is, I’ve been wrestling with this issue of identity my whole life. Forty-five years of jockeying and manipulating to project a certain kind of image. Putting my identity and worth in my roles as mom or wife or homemaker. Or in my job titles and positions or my skills as a communicator. Even in my smartitude.
The trouble is, I’m not perfect at any of those things. At some point, I always drop a ball or two… or 20. So, when Rick gets frustrated with me or the kids act out in rebellion or I totally bomb a recipe, my whole identity is shaken. And, don’t even get me started on how I feel about myself if I don’t nail it as a retreat speaker or someone takes a red pen to my writing.
Putting my identity in those kinds of things has led me to a whole list of yucky places: legalism, anxiety, people-pleasing, and fear of failure. Self-loathing when I blow it. Pride when I don’t. Not to mention lying and hiding in an effort to minimize the failures. Truly yucky places.
I’ve decided I don’t want to go to those places anymore.
For 30+ years now, God has been trying to show me that I don’t have to go there. I think I’m finally getting to a place where I believe Him.
Hmmm. Maybe I should tweak the Twitter bio afterall. How about this: Grace-dweller. Period.