Buried Identity
I recently began taking a Sociology course as part of my graduation requirements and admittedly, I wasn’t very excited about it. However, it’s quickly become my favorite class, not just because of the small class size and intimate discussions, but because it has allowed me a great deal of introspection. See, I’ve been struggling—a lot. I often find myself sad for no real reason; to the point of holing up in my bedroom with tears streaming down my face. And I can’t pinpoint any particular reason why these moments of sadness occur but they make me feel so out of control. Of course, I do the weekly talk therapy and take the drugs, and I get enough sleep and try to eat well. It’s maddening, to a point, because I look around at all I am blessed with and essentially say to myself, “What the fuck, Coty? You have nothing to be sad about.”
The first week in my class, we began by talking about values and identity. Now, this was mostly related to the culture we grew up in but as I’ve pondered over the last few weeks, I realized that my identity is…absent. I now believe that this is where most of the sadness comes from. Since May I’ve asked myself, “Who am I, now?” For ten years I lived as Mama Gone Strong. I put my whole heart and soul into my personal training business and made it my ultimate goal to empower women by uncovering their physical and mental strengths. When I closed up shop last year, it was very much by choice. But when I say I miss lifting my ladies up, I mean it wholeheartedly. Even on my worst days, helping others brought a light into my own life. And yes, I help people every day at my new job, but it’s not the same kind of deep, intimate connection I am used to. It’s on a very superficial level. Now I find myself in this vast in-between and it has been a struggle. While I'm on the path to helping in a meaningful way again, I'm not there yet, at least in the capacity I wish to be.
Another issue is my recent health concerns. I wrote last time about my lack of gym-going and how it’s also been a source of stress. The gym, for the longest time now, has been the place where I unload my feelings. I have laughed and cried during various workouts, in the most literal sense. But now, not only does working out the way I like to cause me pain, it gives me pause. During my nerve conduction study, it was found that I have some sort of damage between C6 and C7 so I am awaiting an MRI to get more information. It could be nothing, it could change my entire life. We just don’t know, yet. So now, my outlet has been taken away and the thought of messing something up even more gives me anxiety. Where do I put my energy? Where do I put my stress?
I loathe the stranger I’ve become to myself. A lot of days I feel like I’m lost inside my own body and mind. The negative thoughts invade my headspace and I’m fighting like hell to swat them away. It’s exhausting, and I don’t know what brings me true joy anymore. There continue to be small bright spots in my days, but the majority of the time it is dark as night. I continue to go through the motions, mostly for those around me, but this season of my life has been a difficult one and I look forward to being on the other side and once again giving my best to others.