Several years ago I was in a literature class and given an assignment of writing a short essay about “who I am.” I immediately began to pound the keyboard as I bragged about being a wife, mother, PTA president, Girl Scout leader and Sunday School teacher. I felt certain I was going to be the star of the class as I shared the vast array of roles that I was experiencing in my life.
When the teacher returned the graded essay, I was aghast when I saw nothing but a giant red X across the front of my written words with one comment. “Those are roles you have, not who you are.” Since that day almost ten years ago, I’ve struggled with how to answer that question. My roles are very different now. I’m divorced, my children are adults, and I’m now living the life of a doting grandmother, and yet I still cannot successfully define “who I am” — and with every day that passes, I become more for desperate for that resolve.