Identity Crisis

 

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I feel an identity  crisis coming on.

 

To be fair (and honest), I’ve known in the back of my mind this was coming ever since nine-year-old Cat made her appearance. Once she broke out of her corner, it was just a matter of time before sixteen-year-old silently angry and defiant Cat and twenty-year-old suicidal Cat did the same. All three are a part of me, and the older two feel entitled to the same rights and privileges as 9 year old Cat.

 

Well, let me rephrase that. Sixteen year old Cat feels entitled to better treatment. Twenty year old Cat doesn’t think she deserves anything.

 

Locking them all up hasn’t been much help, though… to be honest. Things happen that I should be really excited for, but it’s sealed tight in a room with nine-year-old Cat dancing around… because it’s stuff for kids.

 

And when things don’t go my way, sixteen-year-old Cat isn’t one to sit still… she likes to stir things up. And knock things around. Lots of books go flying around in her room across from nine-year-old Cat. Books that get are immediately chased down, picked up, and put away… because she’s come to believe the idea that she was meant to be seen and not heard. Thus, the anger builds.

 

That anger, though – it eventually melts away into melancholic apathy, because twenty year old Cat doesn’t really care about anything. She just walks laps around her room for hours on end, wondering about a lot of things that twenty-eight year old Cat (me, myself, and I) would rather not think about.

I guess in all this question of identity that I have trouble reconciling the three. I have yet to make peace with the knowledge that the girl who dances around in excitement becomes the girl consumed by anger, who in turn becomes the girl that just doesn’t care, and (finally) the girl doesn’t care eventually becomes the woman that does care. The middle wasn’t supposed to happen. That wasn’t the dream, and it certainly wasn’t the plan.

 

But it is the reality.

 

I can’t change my teenage defiance. I can’t change my apathy in my early college years. Truthfully, I’m not sure I want to.

 

Rather, as I look in on each of the earlier Cats, I see the unique path God has carved out for me to this point. The valleys felt deep and dark when I was in them, and some were deep and dark, but He was faithful to lead me through – whether I recognized it at the time or not. 

 

As I continue to follow the bright orange hunting tape marking the trail to come, I know steep inclines, stunning vistas, and dark nights of the soul still lie ahead. This road is hard to travel – while I know healing lies in this direction, there are plenty of hazards designed specifically to keep me in the state I am in, and they often cause me to stumble twice (or sometimes three times) before I am willing to let the Lord take my hand and guide me once again.

 

When He does, though… it’s not just my hand He takes. It’s nine-year-old Cat’s hand, and sixteen-year-old Cat’s hand, and twenty-year-old Cat’s hand, too. They all need Him just as much as I do. Thankfully, He knows that. Thankfully, He is willing to dive into the depths with me to reconcile all four of us. And thankfully, He is in it to the glorious end.

 

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P.S. – I might have included a picture of 20-year-old Cat, but those pictures don’t exist on the computer I’m writing this from (though I’m not sure I would have, either way… I never recognize her in those photos).