A Sense of Identity

At the time of writing this, I am not sure whether I will have the courage to allow this post to go public. I am writing it because, short of writing a note on my laptop, I have no where else to vent my feelings.

I recently broke up with my boyfriend of over 3 years. On a side note, none of my relationships has ever touched the 4 year mark. But that’s tangential to what I want to express right now. Today, I want to talk about identity.

By the dint of breaking up, and desperately seeking every last tenuous connection with my beloved (yes, he is still my beloved), I read his Twitter bio carefully for the first time. And his Whatsapp status message. And then recalled those over a period of time. They talk about him. (I have a point, so bear with me.)

I, on the other hand, have bios talking about my identity, and the people that go into making it. My profession doesn’t form a part of my identity, neither does my age, sex, nationality, or religion. Or any normal categorisation that people fit into. My identity is made up of the people I love. My family: consisting of a nutty father, a small mother, and a slightly crazy aunt; my dog, who I loved beyond all reason; and finally my boyfriend. My intense love for him became a part of my identity, and in more tangible terms, my bio included ‘proud Navy wife’.

He couldn’t publicly proclaim his love for me because of his pending divorce case. It didn’t matter to me, since I knew he loved me. But in places that were practically private to both of us, there was no ‘proud husband of writer’ or anything along those lines. I just didn’t figure in his identity.

I am not upset about this phenomenon, because everyone is different. My family is my life, as everything else got stripped away early on. They are my lodestone and my anchor, and I adore them. Just as I adored him.

However, I only realised this today. It is the reason I am feeling rudderless and lost after losing my relationship. It was such an important part of me that I have to redefine myself in the aftermath.

The only problem is that I have absolutely no inclination to do so. I decided long ago that, if things didn’t work out with him, I would never give love another chance. It was this, or nothing. I am comfortable right now to contemplate my life alone, since it cannot be with him. That is how much of myself I poured into my relationship – I have become indistinguishable¬†from it.

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