Not Me: My Identity Isn't Tied To My Job
- Betsy Breitenbach
- May 12
- 4 min read
There is one quote about writers that stuck with me through the decades:
When I'm on a plane and the person sitting next to me asks what I do, I give one of three answers:
I'm a farmer
I breed horses
I'm a grandmother. Would you like to see photos of my grandkids?
The writer's point was that people respond differently to writers and writing than to most other professions and passions. Something about storytelling seems to attract curiosity and suppress social norms against prying, so this author had found a way to deflect the question and, particularly in the case of offering photos of grandchildren, discourage additional questions.
(I've tried to track down the source of this quote a few times over the years, but I've not been able to identify it. I think it was Anne McCaffery in a forward to one of her books, but I could very well be mistaken, and I may be badly paraphrasing.)
Unintentionally, I took this message to heart, and over time, I became very skilled at not talking about writing. My writing has always been core to who I am, and it's the most intimate thing I can share about myself, so it's not surprising that I shied away from sharing it at my workplace.
However, it went deeper than just not sharing. It was like I built up a protective shell around myself, and that shell hid who I really am. I have no grandchildren, but I quickly learned that cats deflect attention just as well as kids, and I carefully cultivated a crazy cat lady persona without realizing it.
Once I did realize it, I just went with it. My plans for my time off? Well, I'll be throwing a party for my cats. Did I tell you the latest cute thing my cat did? It was a way to discourage personal questions and deflect to a safe topic.
When I finally left my job to pursue writing full time, I didn't expect it to have an impact on my identity. After all, by that time, I had recognized that shell and done what I could to dismantle it. Besides, I was always a writer at my core, and this was just being true to that core identity.
In hindsight, I should have known better. Nothing's that simple. Even though I didn't need that protective shell anymore, it lingered more than I realized.
As the weeks went on, I found myself staring in my closet, feeling that nothing quite fit right. The clothes I had worn for years felt like they belonged to a different person. I hadn't realized that those clothes were part of that shell, and what was once comfortable had become stifling.
I didn't know what I wanted to wear, but I knew whatever it was wasn't in my closet.
I've never been much into fashion, and I tend to think about clothes in terms of costume design. What do I want to say about this person? What image do I want to project to other people? What do these clothes imply? Clothes are more than a mere covering to keep warm, they're a means of communication. Clothes say something about a person.
I realized that my clothes didn't say author, they said corporate professional.
It might have been my core identity, but I never put myself out there as an author. It wasn't how I dressed, and it wasn't how I presented myself publicly.
So, I began to consider what it meant to toss away that professional shell for good. What did this new author wear? What did those clothes say about me, and what did I want them to say?
If the right clothes weren't in my closet, I had to go looking for them. At best, I had a vague idea of what I was looking for. I didn't start so much with an idea of what I wanted, but an idea of what I didn't want: business casual. Corporate America's dress code. The clothes I had worn for years. Business-y blouses and jeans or, if absolutely required, slacks.
It's very difficult to find what you're looking for if you don't know what you're looking for.
I began to voraciously window shop online. I didn't expect to immediately find what I was looking for, but I started to eliminate things. I could look at something and know right away "no, that's not right," but every once in a while, I got an indication of "that's not right, but it's warmer."
It's a technique I use occasionally when developing a tricky character. I go looking for what the character would like. I end up saying things like "I like that, but this character would hate it." It helps me narrow down the character and get a handle on them, and I suppose that's what I was doing for my concept of myself.
The exercise helped me to not only clean out my closet but also develop confidence in this new phase in my life. Not only have I embraced who I am, but I've also embraced sharing that person with the world.
Have you reconsidered how you present yourself to the world? Share your experiences below.
I’ve always had a simple wardrobe, mostly due to how I wanted to spend my money.
In one situation, I made a conscious decision to wear jeans and a polo shirt, in a time and situation where most would have worn a suit. I was the pianist for a local church in the 1990s. Many in the congregation were very well dressed. I decided to “dress down” by comparison. I didn’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable attending because of what they were wearing.
Similarly, at work, my “simple wardrobe” hopefully conveyed my “I’m more interested in getting the job done, than looking good to management” attitude.