The Day I Lost My Identity.

May 5, 2012. This was the day I became a college graduate. Walking across that stage, taking that diploma in hand, I only saw the gain. Months would pass before I'd realize what I had lost.

Our identities are fragmented and malleable. We construct them from a vast scrap-pile of various factors, weighing the importance of each as we see fit: gender, religion, ethnicity, social position, favorite color, and the like. This is how we define who we are.

For the past 17 years, a huge portion of my identity had been allotted to the category of good student. When I walked into a classroom, I knew who I was. I knew what I was fighting for. I knew that I could succeed. I wish I could tell you that all that mattered to me was doing my best, or learning as much as possible simply for the sake of learning. But if I'm being completely honest--I wanted the grade. It was the proof that I mattered, confirmation that I was somebody.

Then, in an instant, that identity was gone. And suddenly, the other pieces of my self seemed so inadequate. I thought the transition from good student to good worker would be a relatively easy one, but months after graduation, I'm still in the pit of jobless. My single relationship status certainly does nothing to boost my self-esteem; without schoolwork to keep me occupied, it suddenly became impossible to block out the fact that everyone else is settling into their role of boyfriend/girlfriend, fiance, husband/wife, or parent, while I am well on my way to becoming the crazy old cat lady (when someone looks you in the face and tells you that's what you're going to be someday, the fear never really leaves you, even years later). And with my friends scattered across the countryside, I don't even have the title of best friend to cling to.

It's only recently that I've begun to truly grasp how this has affected me these past few months. I've always had a lot of insecurities, but the struggle with self-loathing lately has been vicious. Not to mention more than a little ridiculous.

But now, I know. Exactly why I'm going through this. For so long, I have founded my identity on the shifting sand of how well I can perform, on the accolades I get from those accomplishments. This identity I've poured so much time and energy into creating--it's just a mask. It's not me at all. As if an identity I can salvage from the broken bits of this world could ever be greater than the identity I already have; I'm a superhero hiding behind every false identity I can find, afraid I won't have what it takes to fly, when that power is already a part of me.

Because I am a daughter of the King. The One who holds the stars in the palm of His hand. It is the only identity that matters. It is the only identity I need.