The Me and the Other –

the dichotomy of co-existing identities

The other evening, I was watching a widely panned series set in Ireland, produced by a company owned by a former US President and his wife. All criticism of the series aside, I was totally struck by one episode in which the same series of events are portrayed from the vantage point of each of the three protagonists. The situation is tense. The evening has a list of supporting characters that have their own backstories that involve The Troubles, violent gangs, the suicide of a whistleblower, nuns, eel smuggling, Interpol, love and whiskey. The events of the night are shown from the perspective of each of the three main characters, with reasoning and justifications for each. Their ‘truths’. And the three ‘truths’ are of course seas apart.

And of course while each of us stars in our own stories we are supporting characters in the life stories of others, without editing rights or content veto. And so I had the scary realisation that there are hundreds of stories in circulation that carry a depiction of Isobel as viewed and understood by others that will bear little similarity with my truth that I have woven and hold not just as mine, but as the only truth.

And this is linked to another startling insight I had a few months ago, also about identity.

In the realm of Belledom, I am of course the star. I am a kind of Lara Croft avatar, never more than around 27 years old, and each day I am engaged in enormously taxing battles that almost overwhelm me, but I always manage to crawl, exhausted but alive and whole, into bed, ready to live another day. But I am also a mother, a partner, a daughter, a boss, a friend, a peer, an inspiration and statistically I must also be an enemy - or at least an irritant- to a few people.

Throughout my day, I am concentrating on overcoming my epic battles that include making money out of nothing, learning how to fix car headlamps from YouTube videos, battling for social justice, working out how my medical aid can actually give me some value, trying to understand how present I should be in my 17 year old’s navigation of university applications, worrying over my Sponsor’s concern about my lack of service in my 12- step programme, replaying if I had been unfair in my sharpish retort to my partner about holiday plans, and understanding my purpose in life.

All pretty me- focussed.

So, it was quite a shock to hear my daughter explain one Friday afternoon on the school run how I should be spending my coming weekend. Starting with said school run, (squeezed between two on line meetings) until dropping her at school for early English at 6.45 am the coming Monday, my time was mapped out as Mom’s taxi and generous benefactor. With the quid pro quo being the right to watch Netflix Anime movies of her choice eating the supper I had cooked for us on Saturday evening, before dropping her at her main Saturday night event.

When I protested about my lack of fun in this schema, she looked with extreme concern at me and said, “But you are the mother”. And with that, Laura Croft and the realm of Belledom melted away in the sweltering heat of the afternoon fetch.

And I realised for the first time that my mom is more to herself than my mom, or the vicar’s wife, or the organiser of events, and my dad actually has his life too. That my partner is the lead character in his life, and my daughter will always see me as the mom.

And all of these are our truths that co-exist. And as long as I remember that proximate is always tangential, it is all good. And we can all have fun.