I have yet to reconcile my identity in my 31 years. But today, perhaps I will walk one step closer to accepting my fluctuating narrative of “I” and “me”. But a word on why it has taken me so long:
About 9 years ago, I was dating my college boyfriend. Inspired by his musicianship and artistry, I began to delve deep into a bit of my own self-expression through writing. I had always loved writing, actually. Since my mother bought me my first bright blue journal with wide lines and black spirals, I loved writing my thoughts and musings as a 6 year old. I began sharing my writings with my college boyfriend and unfortunately the danger of being so in love with someone is that you begin to treat them as your higher power. He criticized my work because all I did was “write about what I knew”. Today, I realize that what we know is all people do write. We write our own stories or create characters that tell our stories for us. Perhaps he was more so implying that I knew a lot about nothing. This was the general impression I left people in Egypt at times since I had been raised as an American. I knew nothing of Egyptian politics or the influence of the American government on Middle-Eastern corruption. I knew little Arabic and therefore could not know the deep personalities of even my closest friends. It was as if they constantly had to translate their dreams and desires to me, which after a while tends to leave people slightly drained. Having to explain yourself, and who you are to people, leaves you drained.
The criticism from my college boyfriend paralyzed my ability to write for the past 9 years. Even in academic writing, nothing was permitted on paper (or screen) unless it was the perfect word. Today though, I felt somewhat liberated after listening to author, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie at the University of Notre Dame. I suddenly now feel it’s ok to write again, my stories, my 6 year old musings and evaluations.
I have had at least 2–3 blogs over the years where I poured my critiques online predominantly related to mindfulness studies and Middle-Eastern culture and politics. For some reason, I was always left feeling that these writings were dumb and silly, so in a swift moment of insecurity, I’d permanently delete everything. Then later regret it.
I am about half-way through my first year as a PhD student at the University of Notre Dame and this summer I will begin writing either a review of studies or meta-analysis on the topic of cognitive aging, memory and EEG (electroencephalography). If you cannot take criticism as an academic writer, then you will never integrate the feedback you need to become a successful academic (albeit the publish or perish culture should change — a topic for another post).
While I may never reconcile my identity, I can begin documenting how my own narrative changes through either my stories or my academic contributions. And for that I thank Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie for being such an inspiration to women writers globally for her work and for her being.
