A Crisis of Identity

The age-old question, “what do you want to be when you grow up?” has been on my mind quite a bit of late. I’ve wondered what parts of my identity are tied to what I do for work. I’ve questioned whether or not I can feel at peace with the fact that my identity may in fact have little to do with my job. And then, I’ve found myself questioning whether that’s even true. 

I’m in a season of change. Big changes, small changes, and everything in between. We’ve decided to stay in Beaver Creek and my doctoral dissertation is, thankfully, finally, done. We’re about to welcome a puppy into our family. Autumn is in the air. At work, we’ve ushered in another school year and welcomed new and returning kiddos. The list goes on. 

In the midst of the seasonal changes around me, like the yellowing of green leaves, the red fireweed, and the cooler mornings, I find myself confronting a deeper, internal change; perhaps it signifies the beginning of a new chapter. Or maybe it’s an existential crisis. I feel a bit like what I’d imagine the chrysalis stage might be like. A cocooning of sorts. A process of transformation that, for me, includes internal reflection.

Some part of it certainly must have to do with the recent completion of my doctoral dissertation – the culmination of a hundreds-of-pages-long-document that has been years and years in the making. It’s something I truly wasn’t sure I’d manage to finish. A piece of work that my identity has been so tied up in. 

I’m working at the bakery while I finish my PhD. 

I’m working as a TA while I finish my PhD.

I’m working as a sessional instructor while I finish my PhD. 

I’m working as an educational assistant and a secretary while I finish my PhD. 

The underlying constant throughout each of these ‘phases’ of my life has been my doctorate and its completion. It’s been my identity, albeit one I have felt somewhat detached from. It’s been an excuse. An excuse for jobs that could have been perceived as steppingstones, holding places, labours of love, or simply a way to pay the bills. It’s been a way to justify not quite knowing what I am “going to be when I grow up”.

I’ll defend my dissertation in a few short months and then, if all goes according to plan, my PhD will no longer be an excuse. Instead, I’ll have a PhD and I’ll still be unsure of what I want to do when I grow up. Dr. Messer-Barrow, nature wanderer, strong coffee drinker, hobby baker, wife, dog guardian, sister, daughter, friend. 

When C and I moved north, I faced a similar internal reckoning. I encountered people who told me the move was career suicide. I told myself that it was ok. It would only be temporary. I’d be back and pick up where I’d left off. No problem. Initially I felt the move would provide me with an experience that would enrich my life. Something that would serve to advance my career. Propel my ambition. Seems a selfish perspective, doesn’t it?

I suppose just as I initially framed the north as a steppingstone, I’ve framed ‘entry-level’ jobs as place holders while I finish something objectively better – a doctorate. Something that might be perceived by others as a significant accomplishment. Something deserving of accolades and of praise.

What I’ve forgotten along the way is that there is much more to life than the perception of success. I’m disappointed in myself. I thought, especially since having moved north, I knew better. That I recognized that. Embodied that. This self-described existential crisis is the result of a temporary lapse of judgement. A return to thought-patterns of my past. 

Deep down, I know this, and yet, I’ve faced an internal struggle. One that’s bubbled up inside and wants to call out, “but there is more to me than this!” A few weeks ago, while at a professional development conference for work I noticed something I said. I said it more than once. When asked in what capacity I work at the school, I said, “I’m just the EA.” And then I said it again. 

I’m not sure how to describe exactly how reflecting on that makes me feel. A bit ashamed perhaps. A bit ashamed because an educational assistant is an important job. I work with kids I care deeply about and with colleagues I admire and respect. It’s a job I sought out so that I could be involved in the community I love, and that’s exactly what this job allows me to do. Perhaps it isn’t what I will do forever, but for now, it’s something I have the opportunity to do with love, and care, and connection, and intention.

After all, shouldn’t life be more about who we are and the impact we have than a title or degree or a salary? Shouldn’t life be more about the kind of partner, friend, family member, or co-worker we are? Our authenticity? Our ability to find joy or to be resilient? Or to do good for ourselves and for others? 

I’m not trying to say that a title or degree or salary takes away from or adds to who we are, not at all. I’m talking about our own attachment to these things. That we perhaps use them as a crutch to help us navigate the bumps in the road of life-long insecurity and uncertainty. In my case, the endlessly formidable task of finishing my PhD was a frame I used to explain away other difficulties in my life. And now I’m wondering if I’m doomed to find another frame or if I’m finally looking through clear, frameless glass. 

But it’s not that simple, is it? Because all those years of working on my dissertation are and will remain part of me. The time in Vancouver and my time in Beaver Creek will remain part of me no matter where I arrive next. So maybe my original thought about moving to Beaver Creek was not exactly selfish. Maybe it was realistic. It’s the journey. It’s allowing oneself to feel and appreciate the bumps and the ruts and the peaks. It’s autumn. How beautiful.