Who Am I?

Becoming a widow put my identity on a chopping block. Not only did my perception of myself change, but it seems like everyone else’s idea of who I am did too. I lost all concept of who I am. My family and friends defined me over time and placed me in a box and limited the way they recognized me. I was married for almost 37 years and that image of me was confined to seeing me as part of a couple and in relationship with and to my husband. Who I was got sifted through a filter that always took into consideration the impact of our interconnection with each other. The people around me had ideas who they thought I was… they didn’t know the half of it. It feels like they have no desire to help me, let alone let me, find "me" in my rubble of my shattered heart.

I’ve always had a tendency to bury my feelings and just put on a happy face. During my husband’s long debilitating illness, I chose to attend to his needs and ignore mine. I kept telling myself there would be plenty of time for me later… that I wanted to make the most of whatever time we had together. Could I just be too “full” of all those unanswered questions, heartbreak, and confusion? Does it spill out without restraint like the container that held it is broken? How do I safely release the pent up chaos so I can heal?

The pandemic arrived about four months after I became a widow. These last couple years added unprecedented chaos on top of what we are already carrying by adding new layers of isolation and separation, mixed with unlimited uncertainty and constantly changing rules. This was something new to everyone and we all reacted from different mindsets, circumstances and levels of security. One family member told me early on that I just needed to “buck up” because my pain was no different than anyone else’s because everyone was suffering. They told me I was just being selfish to think I deserved attention or understanding, and I just needed to “get over it.”

I learned to say “I’m fine” when someone asked how I was doing. What they didn’t know was “fine” was a safe word my husband and I used to let each other know something was not right when we were around other people and didn’t want to talk about it in front of them. It was our signal to each other to possibly find a graceful way to leave, or be a topic we would explore when we got home. When I became a widow, I was admonished, belittled or ridiculed so many times when I attempted to explore or explain how I really was, I retreated to a safe place. It made me miss him even more, but it also somehow made me feel justified and rationalize I wasn’t lying.

Widows experience so much more trauma than most people can even imagine. I wanted a simple “I’m sorry.” I wanted a shoulder to cry my heart out. I just wanted to feel like someone out there cared enough to just be there and not judge me. Someone willing to spend more than five minutes waiting for me to “get over it.” Someone who will not act like they are my judge and jury and label me selfish and irresponsible. Someone who will not pretend they understand what I’m going through.

I'm still battling with my identity two and half years after my husband went home to heaven. Why do I feel like it’s me against the world? Sometimes I almost see myself... like a shadow peaking at me. Everything I once knew is different now. No relationship is the same. I've moved twice and I still don't feel like I'm "home." I don't eat the same, dress the same, live the same. I don't feel like I'm a part of this world like I did before. I'm trying to find me... define me.

Only by leaning into and building our faith and relationship with God do we stand a chance at getting through this. I know I wouldn't even be here if God wasn't holding me and protecting me. I hold on to His promise in Jeremiah 29: 10-14. God promises,

This is God’s Word on the subject: …I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for. When you call on me, when you come and pray to me, I’ll listen. When you come looking for me, you’ll find me.

I don’t have all the answers. I’m doing the best I can every day to take that next breath, or step. I’ve learned God is faithful. He is teaching me to declare His promises out loud. He encourages me to picture my future and believe it is possible.

If you’re struggling with your identity, I invite you to join me in this prayer.

So then, I must cling in faith to all I know to be true. For I have a magnificent King-Priest, Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who rose into the heavenly realm for me, and now sympathizes with me in my frailty. He understands humanity, for as a man, my magnificent King-Priest was tempted in every way just as I am, and conquered sin. So now I draw near freely and boldly where grace is enthroned, to receive mercy’s kiss and discover the grace I urgently need to strengthen me in my time of weakness.

Hebrews 4: 14-16

Father, I will decree Your promises and stand in expectant hope as You reach down and heal my broken heart. My heart is purged of apathy, defeat, failure, shame and hope deferred. The worst situations and bleakest circumstances are no match for King Jesus. The sound of YAH in my lungs is the sound of intercession and personal revival. It's the deep, pent-up cry of God’s beloved seeing Him face to face. Deep heart change is mine as stones become flesh and bones come back to life. I worship my victorious King making Himself known to His beloved. The King is here. The fresh cry is the sound of life replacing emptiness and unending sorrow. Morning is here. Mourning is done. I feel the shift. Father, You make me new. You bring new life to spring up within me and bloom with promise. My future unfolds with joy and purpose, as I fulfill the plans You place before me to use my gifts and graces to serve You and glorify You. Thank You for surrounding me with fellow widows and Spirit-filled believers I can trust and count on in good times and bad. Thank You for Your faithfulness. In Jesus’ name. Amen.