Me, Myself, & I: Discovering your new identity after becoming widowed
We define ourselves through a series of choices. These choices and how we present ourselves helps us find like minded people and better navigate the world around us. Things like hair color, body modifications, style choices, even the labels and pronouns we chose to use are an integral part of our self identity.
One of the most obvious identifiers we chose is our name. As we grow up , our nickname evolves, we maybe change our signature and most commonly, we get married. We adopt a new prefix and become linked to another person by assuming their last name.
Even in the instances where you don’t take your spouse’s last name, especially if you’ve been together for a while, other components of your identity becomes directly tied to the other person. I certainly don’t mean to imply that you lose yourself after getting married (although that can happen), but I’m referring to the natural assimilation that both parties undergo as a completely normal and healthy part of a long term relationship. Your routines change, your friend circle broadens, even your food preferences and shopping patterns are all likely connected to your spouse in some way. There is an outward projection and perception of partnership & unity; two become one.
So what happens to all of that identity when one half of that partnership dies?
I commonly get asked about this and most people want to know what to do with their name. How am I addressed? Am I still a “Mr./Mrs.”? Do I keep my spouse’s last name? The answer to these questions is unique to you and is based on preference. If you are keeping your spouse’s last name, than you remain a “Mr./Mrs.” Although legally, your marriage ended upon their death so you are a “Ms.” by default, but you can still request to be addressed as “Mrs.” if you prefer. You could go a whole new route and adopt the less commonly known but gender inclusive title of “Mx.” pronounced (“MIX”). Legally changing your last name follows the same protocol as when you took your spouses name, you’ll start with social security, then the DMV, then notify any financial institutions (banks, credit card companies, utility providers, etc).
While I knew that I’d keep his last name, I struggled with the question of self identity a great deal. This is a common struggle and a lot of widows/widowers have trouble with this because you’re not just losing your spouse, but your losing a multifaceted component of your life. This person was your lover, your friend, your financial advisor, & your co-parent. They were someone you (ideally) shared 50% of the household workload with. Your emotional support person, shopping companion, spider killer, and much more. After your person is gone, there comes the harsh reality that there is no one there to handle filing the taxes or rebooting the router, or giving you a 20 minute break from the toddler tantrum that’s lasted 4 hours. So as exhausted as you are, you reach a point where part of your new identity becomes contingent on the understanding that no one is going to rescue you and you have to do it for yourself. Part of finding this post loss version of yourself is accepting there is a forced independence that becomes necessary. It sucks and it’s unfair and it’s excruciating, especially after all those people at the funeral gave you the empty platitude of “Let me know if there’s anything I can do”. This philosophy of self reliance is hard, but with time and practice you begin to learn things about yourself that you never thought possible before. You start fostering a new sense of self fortitude and you begin to ask yourself,
“who am I outside of being their spouse?”.
The question of self identity may come up in days following their death, or may not come up for years. It may come in small fits and spats or maybe it comes in large waves, but however it happens is completely normal for you. For me it came about 2,maybe 3 months after Craig died.
I remember doing grocery shopping, and went down the cracker aisle, robotically placing his favorite snacks in the cart. It wasn’t until I made it almost to the check out that it dawned on me that I hated those stupid crackers and he was the only one who ate them! My then 20 month old would occasionally gnaw and suck on one but would eventually discard it where it was either eaten by the dog, or found under the couch several days later (yuck). I hadn’t done proper shopping since before he went into the hospital, so this was my big trip and I was methodically following the list I had created several weeks back. Once this reality hit me, I withdrew the crackers from the cart and abandoned them on an end cap. On my way home, I was reeling, going through other pieces of my life and questioning, am I doing things or buying specific stuff because I want to or out of habit? The next several nights had me down a rabbit hole, questioning choices I had made. Nothing super big, but one piece was my haircut. I had dreams of having short hair, even joked with my stylist several times about how I didn’t have the face for a pixie cut. Majority of my life I lived with long hair. Craig didn’t care, but years of habit and conditioning left me being afraid to take risks or make drastic changes. Immediately following his death, my self care wasn’t great, and the stress of everything caused me to experience some significant hair loss. So by February, I had mustered enough strength to make a hair appointment and had this cracker crisis. I decided to take the plunge as an experiment in self discovery. My stylist was thrilled to help with the evolution. I walked out of the salon feeling completely liberated. I had shed a person I no longer was and was so empowered by the success of this decision, I started looking at other things. To be clear, I didn’t overhaul my whole identity overnight. Some pieces evolved overtime; I got several new tattoos since Craig passed, but tattoos weren’t new to me. I added piercings, changed hair colors, and some of the clothing choices that I make now are different than how I used to dress.
There was a brief period of mourning for my own identity after I lost Craig. I was saddened by the profound notion that I was so different from the person he knew and loved and that somehow meant I was further away from him. This feeling is normal, and doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve made a poor choice on the path of self discovery. It is not indicative of regret and shouldn’t be a sign to recede.
The best advice I can give to the grieving in regards to self identity is to understand you’re going to have some sort of identity crisis, but that’s OK. Go! Do all the things! Ride the motorcycle, cut your hair, buy the sparkly shoes, take dance lessons… whatever it is, that makes you feel like you, do it, go on and live.
I often joke that Craig planned this in some way, not his death but my growth. I often say he “Jack Dawson’d” me! It’s like in the movie Titanic, Rose & Jack talk about all these amazing adventures they’re going to have while they’re waiting for the life boats before Jack meets his unfortunate demise (Sorry, spoiler alert). At the end of the movie, a slew of old time photos pan across the screen, depicting Rose still having all those incredible experiences. She didn’t let his death stop her from having those grand experiences. (PS, he totally could have fit on the door!).
The fact of the matter is I’m not done evolving, self identity is ever changing and continuously fluid, so who I am now is not necessarily who I will be in 5 years. It took several months to come out of the initial fog and start making these changes, but the more I’ve allowed myself to live authentically, the more healing I experience.
Craig loved me, and that meant all of me, unconditionally. He told me often that as long as I was happy, he was happy. I try to remember that on the days where I question my identity in relation to our distance. He would not want his death to be the reason I stopped living. Just one more gift he’s given me.
What are some ways that your identity has evolved following the death of your spouse? comment below and let me know!
#jackdawson