I No Longer Ask Other People Who I Am

For years, I wanted other people to tell me who I was.

In my twenties, I remember asking that question: Who am I?

I genuinely did not know.

So I looked to other people for the answer. And everybody had one.

They could tell me what I did wrong. What I should have done differently. Who I should have been. How I should have acted. What I should have tolerated. What I should have forgiven. What I should have kept quiet about.

And for a long time, I listened.

I carried other people’s versions of me as though they were facts.

But I don’t do that anymore.

I no longer allow someone else to tell me who I am or who I am supposed to be.

If you don’t like me, I can live with that.

I’m not going to turn myself into someone I’m not just to make another person comfortable. I’m not going to keep allowing people to run over me because standing up for myself might upset them.

And I’m no longer accepting relationships where someone gets to decide when they want to be in my life and when they don’t.

For much of my life, the focus seemed to be on what I did or didn’t do.

You quit.

You didn’t do this.

You should have done that.

You should have handled it differently.

But somewhere along the way, I learned to ask another question:

What did you do—or not do?

Before bringing me a list of my actions, have you looked at your own?

That doesn’t mean I believe I’m always right. I’m not. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve reacted from hurt. I’ve said things I wish I had said differently. I can take responsibility for those things.

But taking responsibility for myself does not mean taking responsibility for everybody else too.

There is a difference.

I spent too many years questioning myself because someone else had an opinion about who I was.

Today, I know something I didn’t know when I was in my twenties:

I don’t have to ask anymore.

I know who I am.

And I don’t need another person to agree with me for that to be true.

People can have their opinions. They can tell their version of the story. They can remember things differently.

I don’t have to chase every version of me that exists in someone else’s mind and try to correct it.

That is exhausting.

And as of today, I am letting that go.

I care about the person I am. I care about how I treat people. I care when I hurt someone. I care about growing and doing better.

But I no longer care about proving who I am to someone who has already decided who they think I am.

I spent years asking other people, “Who am I?”

I don’t ask anymore.

I’m finally learning that the answer belongs to me.