More Than What You Do: Redefining Identity

Ask questions—don’t assume. How can you truly know another if you don’t even have a full grasp of yourself?

Sometimes, you need distance to see the full picture. When your nose is pressed against the mirror, you miss the spinach in your teeth.

I was going to take these thoughts toward how we treat others and, in turn, ourselves—but that’s for another day. Instead, I found myself relating to a character in a show, struggling with the transition from athlete to civilian. When you’ve always been an athlete, it’s hard to become something else. It feels beyond conception.

The same is true for someone who changes religion or becomes religious. The same applies to career shifts, job changes, new environments. The same applies to marriage and divorce. To dreams and goals. We are known to others by many things—our roles, our pursuits, our identities. But is that truly "us", or just what people "know" us as?

That question is key. Because we all change. And when we do, we don’t want to be judged or asked "why"—because it exposes us. It makes us feel vulnerable. And like Adam and Eve in the garden, we want to be covered.

It’s tough to be one version of yourself in your mind and another in your body. Many experience this as kids, unable to do what they long for, and again as they age, reminiscing about the strength, freedom, and courage they once had. It’s like a slow death—the death of what was. In spiritual terms, it’s "ego death". Whether forced or chosen, that shift leads to the same realization: what is truly "you", and what is not?

I remember the weight of being a college Student-Athlete—the stress of performing, carrying expectations, fulfilling promises to my father who had passed, and meeting my own standards. It was overwhelming. A tough reality to wake up to every day. But I always showed up, and let everything follow.

Then I had a professor who changed my life—honestly, saved it. He did something no one else had done: he helped me "see" a version of myself not as an athlete, not as wildly successful, and still know that I am okay—even contented. He taught me to be neutral about stepping away, to be absent, and about imperfections, because perfection didn’t exist.

Later in my process, I found further solace in this: "Even God can’t do everything. He cannot lie. So who am I to think I can do it all?"

This professor taught me that when you’re tired, you don’t have to quit—just rest. It might feel impossible, but the ones that care, will understand, and be there for you. That stepping away and staying alive is far more valuable than breaking under the weight of who you think you’re "supposed" to be. He showed me that many times we set up ourselves unknowingly for failure, which leads to misrepresentation of our abilities and capabilities. One thing he turned my attention to was the fact that I didn’t have enough hours in the week to accomplish everything I expected of myself—and that feeling of falling behind didn’t mean failure, but a need to better plan and to match expectations. He gave me tools and mindsets that I still use to this day, ones I’ve passed on to others. Those tools grew with me, and perfected with my time with Judith Kovalski (judithkovalski.com).

Years later, I may not recall every word, but I remember what I learned, and how it resonated with me.