About Being True to Myself

Making my 8-year-old self and my 80-year-old self proud

Me, 8 years old

Would my younger and older selves be proud of me?

A few years ago I came across a quote that went something like this:

“You only have to make two people in this world proud: your 8-year-old self and your 80-year-old self.”

That struck a chord with me and I’ve been thinking a lot about this sentence since then. It deeply resonated with me because it raised questions that I pondered when I was recovering from burnout.

Would my 8-year-old self be happy what had become of her when she grew up? (Not so much, I suppose.)

Would my 80-year-old self be proud of the life she had led? (Mixed, I’d say.)

Burnout and the years and events that had led to my breakdown have been life-altering.

What was crystal clear to me during my year off was that I didn’t want to get well again just to re-enter much of the same life again.

I thought about it a lot what kind of life I’d love to live, what would make me happy and what would feel like my life. I so desperately wanted to get rid of any influence of society, of the pressure and expectations. I wanted finally be true to myself again.

I was surprised how similar my past and future selves reacted to my situation and what they tried to teach me, what they wanted me to do, how listening to them was kind of a life-line. I made a choice to trust them.

Me as an 8-year-old

When I was 8 years old, the world was simpler. I had clear values and a clear compass of what was important to me.

I was sensitive and kind, honest and trustful, had a strong sense of fairness and thought a lot about the world and others. I thought I could change something, do something good.

Learning as much as I could was important, reading, there was so much curiosity for the world. School was easy. The class was rather small and we all got along well.

I was creative, always inventing new games I could play alone or with friends, and I was thinking up stories.

I loved animals, was connected to nature, I was outside all the time.

I was close to my loved ones, my small family. Especially my grandfather, my mum, my dad - and my cat, who I had from the age of five until I was eighteen. He was a member of the family, of course he was.

Seasonally living and the rituals that came with the changes of the seasons were natural and wonderful at the same time. My mum had a real knack for making things special.

I was more sensitive than others, but it wasn’t a problem back then. I had time to take breaks, to retreat, to live life at my own pace. I felt happy. I had trust in the world. I felt safe.

It was the last year that I felt good about myself, the last year before everything changed.

Having lost myself over the years

It’s certainly not surprising to try to fit in. There’s your peer group, there’s school, there are certain expectations. Your circle widens, new influences and ideas flow in. You get older, other topics become interesting. The teen years really mix things up. You try to figure out who you want to be and where you want to go from here. You try something, then something else.

I switched cliques more than once at school. I didn’t really feel comfortable or suitable in any group. But instead of staying true to myself, I tried to fit in as best I could with a group that seemed to be reasonably nice, and I tried not to stand out. Of course, the others realised that I didn’t really fit in. Being different shines through, no matter how hard you try. And I kept wondering what was wrong with me. (I still do sometimes, but that’s for another post to explore.)

I followed conventions and expectations, tried to do everything right, not to annoy anyone, to be a good daughter, a good granddaughter, the best friend you can have, to please anyone - and lost myself on the way.

Enter MY SHADOW.

I first met her 26 years ago at a particularly bad time in my life. Depression told me that something was wrong, but I couldn’t work out exactly what it was. Everything seemed wrong at the time.

I went into a goth phase, wore only black clothes, listened to goth music, had black painted fingernails and wore a lot of make-up (in comparison). It was a kind of late rebellion, part depression, part a desire to distance myself as much as possible from my former image.

It lasted a few years, but it never entirely fitted. Of course, it didn’t. Like any other group before.

I’ve reinvented myself along the way. I’ve tried out others paths. Some were closer to the real me than others. But the versions I’ve been along the way were always ever parts. Parts that didn’t fit were suppressed. I tried to fit in again (you might think, I should have learned my lesson by then) and to push away the images others had of me. I’ve stretched my wings, but clipped them at the same time.

The intellectual. The author. The historian. The metropolitan. The small-town person. The extrovert. The manager and leader.

For me, it used to be all about intellect for a long time, about being clever and smart, well educated, reading great literature. And of course I learned a lot from that, it shaped my mind, sharpened my thinking, taught me to analyse. But it became one-sided. I suppressed the creative, playful side of me. That's what you do as an adult, isn't it?

I also put up a facade to hide my vulnerability and sensitivity, my emotions. I’ve learned to be quick-wittend and to deal with attacks (at least on the outside). I’ve learned to appear tough. And that was also hugely important to learn in order to get by in a tough world.

But it also contributed to my breakdown. Both this one-sidedness and this constant wearing of masks, even among family, friends and acquaintances.

I tried so hard to fit in, to be someone who was appreciated by others, who was liked or interesting to others. It was so exhausting. In the end, it didn’t work.

And maybe that’s a good thing. It meant that I could start all over again once more. I could drop all the pretence. There wasn’t any energy left to hold up images. I had to find out who the real me actually was.

Confering with my 80-year-old self

The first sentence my 80-year-old self said when I asked her for advice was:

“Who are you if you don't want to please anyone?”

And she had more to tell.

You just have one life. (Think about it. Really think about it.)

Drop the masks, you don’t need facades any longer.

No running after conventions, people, expectations, friends. Stop caring what others think.

Live according to your own rhythm.

Be yourself with all your heart. Be everything you are. Live every aspect of you.

Dropping the facade was scary at first. I thought it would make me even more vulnerable, but I’ve realised it actually makes me stronger because I’m more authentic, more honest and live more according to my values. It is such a relief!

Writing here on my blog about what moves me and how I see the world, what I feel and what interests me is an important part of it. Dismantling the facade, no longer playing a role, no longer conforming to an image, just being me, that feels good. (And no, I don’t even wear make-up any more.)

I finally want to be able to show myself again without any pretence. I no longer want to write clever and yet dry concepts for organisations, no non-fiction books in which there is little of me, but rather facts behind which I and what makes me who I am disappear. It was so easy for me to write such texts and I did it for a long time precisely because it was so easy. But that just doesn't suit me anymore, I want to become visible as me again, to live every aspect of me.

Realigning my life

I’m turning 50 in July, and I think it’s about time to align with the values and interests I had as a child and focus on living a life my 8-year-old self and my 80-year-old self would be equally happy with.

It's not a nostalgic, romanticised view, it's not a return to childhood, but an understanding of what is strong within me, what really means something to me, what feels true, without distractions and opinions from outside, how I should be and what I should and shouldn't do.

My 80-year-old self has seen a lot and has a lot more life experience - and she doesn’t care about what others think any more. That's why it's so good to listen to them both.

Of course not everything is congruent, of course there are differences, but they agree on the essentials.

We don't need much, just the right thing. Slow, simple, quiet - that’s perfect for me. Authenticity. Honesty. Following passions. Not pushing away my sensitivity. Living a life connected to nature. Living life at my own rhythm. Reading as much and as diverse as I like - and write in the same way. Being happy.

Being true to myself. Being at peace with myself. That’s what it’s all about.

With the life changes I’ve made in the last two years and the path I’m on now, my 8-year-old self and my 80-year-old self both definitely would be happy with me - and maybe even proud.

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P.S.: When Tuğba Avci and I exchanged comments on her interesting piece about adulting: the worst game you ever played I told her about the quote and she replied: ‘I would love to hear what else you had on your list! Have you thought about sharing that too on your Substack?’ Well, I did now. :)

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