Member-only story
Reflections on Identity
I Lost My Marriage, and Then I Lost My Lineage
How I Stayed Myself Despite It All
For many years, my life was consistent and predictable, and I liked it that way. There were the usual ups and downs: the deaths of my in-laws, broken bones and illnesses and surgeries, renovations and moves. But in my corner I had my husband and our three kids and my parents; my identity was intact. I was a mother and a wife, a daughter and a sister. I knew the names of the ships on which my ancestors had traveled when they set sail from Russia and Belarus, stopping for a government-issued name change at Ellis Island and continuing to the Lower East Side of Manhattan. I understood my role in my family, and that allowed me to understand my role in the world at large.
When you strip away the layers of identity that you believe make you who you are, you need strong legs to propel yourself forward; I have developed muscles I hadn’t previously known existed. The shocker has been that while the roles assigned to me did indeed describe me, they did not actually house the essence of my deepest self.
It’s a shock and a blow not to be my husband’s wife anymore, not to have my father alive, to try to wrap my head around who in actuality was my father anyway, not to currently have a home to call my own…
