Recovering a Sense of Identity

How do we recover our sense of identity?

For starters, we need to let go of our secret doubts.  You know, the little voice in your head who says:  That's not very good.  You are making a fool of yourself.  Grow up.  You will never have THAT kind of talent.  Who do you think you are?  Why even bother.  You don't have any spare time the way it is and now you want to do more?  Art is a waste of time, you should be doing something productive.  You are too old to be a beginning artist or writer or singer or musician or anything else creative.  What are you thinking?

Wow.  Where does all that negativity come from?

As young children we think we can do anything.  Each new discovery is exciting.  We want to try it all.  Have you ever heard a child say no to finger painting because they might not be good enough?  Or say no to banging on the piano because they can't read music?  Or fail to break into dance or sing along when their favorite song comes on?  To a child, no is the most dreaded word they could imagine.

How did we move from I'll try it all to Oh no, I couldn't?

I was a shy, gawky, little girl with thick glasses and buck teeth.  I was taller than most kids in my class, skinny as a rail, and wore my sister's hand me down clothes.  In the winter I stuffed my feet into bread bags that lined the inside of my boots, wore pants under my dresses to keep my legs warm and hoped I wouldn't outgrow my shoes until the new pair was purchased in the fall.  I walked to school every day.  If I ever ate at school because it was too cold to walk home, I had a bagged lunch.  

My family was somewhat poor, but I was pretty smart.

I was a top reader, good at math, and craved approval.  In my child's mind, when teachers realize you are book smart, you don't think they care about your artistic side.  I vaguely remember music and art classes, but that was not where I was encouraged.  I was encouraged to enter writing and speech contests, which I perceived as intellectual pursuits, not creative ones.  I don't really remember artistic creativity being a priority in grade school.  My school emphasized the three R's (Reading, wRiting, and aRithmatic).  

Move on to junior high school.

In junior high we were encouraged to take choir, band and/or an art class.  I took choir and art.  I got good grades in both, but don't remember anyone ever actively encouraging me in my more artistic endeavors.  I joined the Forensics team at a friends suggestion and enjoyed the one act plays and other presentations we did, but felt it was just another after school program for the "smart kids" instead of realizing how much this program actually nourished creativity. 

And then we enter high school.

I had to choose - art classes or choir.  I could not do both.  (To be fair, I don't think this was a school rule, but a rule I may have placed on myself.)   I was expected to go to college one day so naturally I had to take college prep courses.  So, for my one creative outlet, I chose music.  I enjoyed the class and our concerts, but the music teacher never really encouraged me as a singer.  I wasn't selected to be part of the Chamber Choir, I was relegated to the chorus in our high school musicals, and I enviously watched as my friends seemed to be recognized and encouraged by their art teacher.  

They were part of a secret society I was not invited to join.

So, I continued to sing in the background, virtually ignored my artistic yearnings, and took up writing for the yearbook while continuing to do readings as part of Forensics.  And even then, going to state as part of the Forensics team, I never felt I was as good as the other students I would listen to.  They were the true talents, not me.  I was just there because they needed someone with good grades to fill a spot.  As a senior, I was an editor of the yearbook, but again, thought I was only there because I got good grades.  I did copy and helped with layouts - the creative kids did photography.

After that, I just quit trying to do anything creative.

Those secret doubts have deep roots.  We need to consider people most important to us, both in our past and present.  The ones who helped determine what was expected from us, whether they realized it or not.  The people who frowned when our creativity didn't match their subjective standards.  The loved ones who kindly nudged us into a sensible major in college so we could have a productive career.  The people closest to us who neglect to positively recognize our efforts to live a creative life, maybe because they have their own fears to battle.

Insecurity is a bear to beat.  But, I am trying...