When I was growing up, my mom tried on identities like new wardrobes. Incidentally, the identities also often came with new wardrobes. There was “muffin mom” who wore twinsets and pearls and baked goods from a newly purchased “Muffins and More” cookbook. She only lasted a few weeks, but we all have fond memories of this one. There was a recurring attempt at “hippy-dippy” and the accompanying flowing skirts and kaftans. This identity had high appeal but never stuck around. In keeping with the persona, this identity would drift in and out periodically. There was “granola mom”. The health-obsessed version of muffin mom. Alas, no baked goods with this one. Just a strange notion that we all needed to eat our daily dose of 10 fruits and veggies in a particular order, and a focus on healthy snacks. As an adult, I recognize these phases for what they were, my mom’s inherent restlessness with her suburban identity. 

When the scaffolding that was holding my identity together fell apart, I lost myself. My midlife crisis isn’t a response to overwhelming stability, it’s a response to instability. To the scaffolding that collapsed. I’ve always been a planner. I planned my life in nicely manageable 5-year blocks of achievements and milestones, and my career was the measurement for how well I was doing at life. Was I successful? Was I content? Was I good enough? If I had made it career-wise then yes. Without my career, that framework became very painful. Realistically, it was a damaging framework even when my career was intact – it pushed me to make choices based on this measurement of success at the expense of things which might have brought me greater joy. The framework was based on external sources of validation (even if my comparison point was the “more successful” version of myself). But now the pain is acute, and I can’t ignore its negative influence in my life. As Patanjali says in the Yoga Sutras if something is not bringing peace then “can you let it go?” 

As I stand amongst the rubble of my former life, I am at a crossroads of reinvention and acceptance. I can frantically try on new identities to escape my reality, or I can sit in the discomfort and see what happens. Instead of a new wardrobe, I need to first be naked.