I’m not sure where I lost myself but I do know it happened somewhere between leaving adolescence and arriving at menopause. The bustle of day-to-day routine took up the slack of ambition and made me into a very different person from the one who came into being. Somehow the ‘who’ I should be became the ‘who’ I am.
Now I’m not suggesting it’s a bad thing to lose oneself. Some very great things are achieved by change. But lately I worry about losing the ‘me’ who formed decisions based on what I wanted or liked. The ‘I’ has been diluted to the point it’s impossible to make any deliberate decision unless convinced it parries with the wants of every other member of the family, and that’s a growing list these days.
Of course I have to blame myself.
I think, therefore I am. But I think of others’ first, therefore I am not.
I’m a wife, mother, sister, daughter, gran….my life is full. But the essential person that is me seems to have disappeared. And so I fluster when asked what I want…..not because I don’t know but because it’s somehow lost, or buried. Is it selfish to want to find me? One thing I’ve learned from my grandchildren is that character is stamped at birth. Time waters down the obsessions, disciplines our wildest dreams, but I’ve found growing old has dissipated the expression of self that made me an individual.