In my performance piece about brain injury, I begin with the question “Who am I, again?”, alluding to the difficulty and confusion with self-identity that often occurs after the dramatic physical and psychological changes that happen as a result of the condition. While composing and arranging the piece, I saw was focused on the question in TBI, but having worked with the piece over the past decade the universal relevance of this question has become more apparent. By exploring this question, I have seen how the sudden rearranging of one’s life can happen for many reasons - medical reasons such as cancer, loss of a limb, AIDS, or difficult events such as the sudden loss of a child, divorce, being fired from what was though would be a life time position at a company. The question of “Who am I now, after this change?” is a question almost everyone must face at some time in his or her life.
That thought occurred to me this morning as I was teaching an English as a second language class (that’s my current job) this morning. For intermediate to advanced students, I have an exercise I like to do called Back Pocket Biographies. Explained quickly, this exercise begins with the student forming an “I am…” statement, and then telling a short story involving 3 or 4 events (and sentences) that tell how they got to that statement.
For example, what I often share in class with this exercise goes something like:
“My name is Lethan and I am an American storyteller living and teaching English in Korea, but how did a storyteller become an English teacher? Well, it began when I finished my graduate degree work in storytelling, and quickly discovered that it’s hard to make a living as a storyteller. My lack of stable employment and life situations after graduate school soon had me returning to my hometown where I reconnected with my Philosophy professor from undergraduate school, and she told me about how her son, my former classmate, had just returned from a year teaching in Korea. This sounded interesting, so I followed up on some information she gave me and about 18 months later, I found myself aboard a plane headed to Incheon Airport in Seoul, getting ready to experience life in Korea.”
This is merely my example, a simple story where everything relates to the initial “I am…” statement. From that point in the lecture, I explain that if that first statement changes, the rest of the story also changes - one can define his or herself in many ways, and that self-definition changes how a person’s story progresses.
And here is where this exercise relates back to recovery - when asking “Who am I?”, in many ways the answer will dictate what the rest of the story is about. Saying, “I’m a survivor”, has a very different effect than saying “I’m a screwup who should’ve died.” The physical situation may be the same, but by insisting that the definition of that situation is different the results will change - a more positive definition denotes a better situation which will lead to better results.
This is not intended as any sort of cure - things are still difficult and there will be pain - but by viewing the hardship in a more positive light, the events become much more interesting. Some might argue that there is no point - the same shit’s going to happen either way. That may be true, but physically, laughter and smiling feels much better than crying and spitting at the world. I suggest that its a thing to try, and if it helps or lessons the pain even a little, then maybe its worth the work.
All that said, I know it is much easier for someone else to say “Smile” than for someone else to do it. I was enormously fortunate to have a strong community surrounding me that really pushed me to smile at every opportunity, but the urge to acknowledge that urge that makes you want to give up everything hit me often, and still does. My statement can easily become “I’m a failure”, “I’m a dumbass that was supposed to be dead”, “I’m worthless”, or any other demeaning label with one difficult incident. Life never is better when defined like this, and I often find other parts of my life tearing apart much quicker when these statements are in my mind. It’s important to acknowledge that these emotional extremes often happen quicker after brain injury, and while a person can learn to temper these emotions, there is often a lasting tendency for extremes, but that is not an excuse.
I begin my story by answering the initial question of “Who am I, again?” with “I am Lethan.” That is all of me, and no matter what happens, I must take responsibility for any emotional extremes, for I am a survivor of brain injury, thus having more difficulty controlling these extremes than some, but I am also an adult and therefore responsible for my actions, regardless of the cause.
This topic is getting heavier than I expected, but my point is that you define yourself. There’s no right or wrong way to do this, but be aware that the story that accompanies you will arise from that self-definition. Wallowing in pain and sorrow can be an important part of healing - it seems foolish not to acknowledge that this has inalterably changed your life and the fates seem to have singled you out for some damning sort of devastation. That is true. But is that all of you? Are you a simple puppet pulled about by cursed strings or are you just going through some rough shit? I don’t mean to over simplify anyone’s hardships, but I want set the extremes so that any point in-between can be picked.
The statement I fall back on is rather neutral, but honest - “I am Lethan.” And I’ll own every statement that comes with that.
What’s your statement?
