Finding Identity in Insecurity

Hi, it’s been a while. Despite trying to avoid the cliché of “new year new me,” there’s a lot of things I’m working on changing as of late. One of those is writing more. So here I am, almost a full year since my last blog post, back to share some of the things this year has taught me.

The first of which: a lot can happen in one year. I think it’s easy to forget how much has changed from month to month until you really sit down and reflect. When I look back at January 2021 Morgan, I see a clueless girl struggling to find her footing at her new school, questioning her worth because of some stupid frat boy who couldn’t make up his mind, in the midst of a major change (and quarter-life crisis about said major change), who honestly just had no idea what she was doing. Now I look at myself, a little bit older and wiser, and I barely even recognize the girl I was before. Which I like to think is a good thing, at least in this case.

Over this year I’ve grown professionally, personally, and socially. I joined a business fraternity which changed my entire perspective on life after college. I grew more comfortable with myself, felt what it meant to be loved and appreciated by others, and started feeling proud of my accomplishments. And I found an amazing group of friends in several different facets of life that push me to be better each and every day.

But not everything is sunshine and rainbows. When I look back at this year, I also see a lot of hardship. I experienced my first real heartbreak, got rejected from my dream internship, lost friends, and questioned what all of my hard work was really going towards.

And that’s the thing, both parts are equally true.

Life is always comprised of good and bad. And while some days I feel proud of all that I do, others I question if I am worthy of fitting those roles. I struggle with my perception of self and how others perceive me. I fear that I’m a fraud and the people who support me couldn’t possibly understand how much of a shit show I really am. It’s weird existing in two different states of being, up to the interpretation of whoever I encounter.

Identity has always been something I’ve struggled with, for really as long as I can remember. I look back on days in high school trying to change my image by “rebranding” my Instagram every other month. I bounced between bible verses in my bio to edgy filters, grasping for some sense of identity in the superficial space I designed. I soon realized no matter what I did, people had already made their mind up about me, and there was nothing I could do to change that.

That realization has always killed me. As the control freak I am, I hate that one of the only things I can’t control is my own self-perception. I wish it was something I didn’t care about, but I can never escape the opinions of others floating around in my head. People saying I’m arrogant and full of myself, that I’m a try-hard that likes to brag about myself, whatever they decide upon first glance. I also fear that I’m too basic, and don’t hold enough weight for people to respect me. As a basic blonde girl in an SEC sorority, I’m sure you can see where that comes from. But I hate that others don’t see me to the full extent that I see myself. In my eyes, I couldn’t fit into a damn box if I tried. And trust me, I’ve tried.

My whole life I’ve traveled in different circles, ran with different crowds. Always at the same time, juggling all of my interests to avoid losing a piece of my identity. That was who I was—the girl who does it all. Whether it was music, athletics, theater, student council, I was there and I made my presence known at each. And in my small Pennsylvania hometown, that worked. People knew me as the girl who did it all. What I didn’t realize is that people wouldn’t know that same version of myself when I went to college. And while I was excited to escape some of the know-it-all try hard stereotypes, I didn’t realize the battle to establish my identity that would take place. I was no longer “Morgan—the girl who does it all”, I was just “Morgan”. And that I didn’t know how to deal with.

Another thing about me is I hate bragging about myself. So you can imagine my struggle to highlight all of the different things I do when introducing myself to people without sounding like a Grade A Bitch. So, I slowly conformed into whatever category each person saw fit. I like to think of it from the perspective of someone I’m meeting for the first time putting me into their contacts and trying to think of a way to remember me. To some I was “Morgan Honors”, to others “Morgan U101.” I no longer had the overlap that my identity found its place in.

Now that I’ve established a closer netting of friends at school, I’ve found that people learn more about the different facets of my life and add them onto their already existing perception of me. I evolve from “Morgan sorority girl” to “Morgan sorority girl and business frat girl”, or whatever the like. This made me feel better, to be recognized for the juggling act I so awkwardly do yet again. Now, at least to my close friends, I have my identity back. But I still can’t control my dependence on what others think of me affecting my self-esteem.

Often it feels like I have something to prove to people, that I go deeper than their preconceived notions of who I am. I have to prove myself as more than just a basic pretty blonde girl who does sorority chants for fun (and actually really enjoys it). I think that is my biggest place of contempt, that there is something inherently wrong with being basic. Who cares that my biggest interest is music or that my best friends at school are my sorority sisters? Why should I feel insecure that my music taste won’t be niche enough or my Instagram feed not interesting enough? The bottom line is it doesn’t and shouldn’t matter, but I guess that to me it does.

Something I’m working on realizing is that the problem is not that I’m “too basic”, it’s that others don’t care to take the time to get to know me. Because beyond the surface, I know I am a deeply complex individual worthy of respect. I hold weight and I carry substance. I’ve spent too long worrying about what others think without deciding that they probably aren’t people I would want in my life anyway. And that’s the thing, while we are our biggest critics, we also allow those who don’t matter to feed into our insecurity. Giving power to the irrelevant only detracts from time that could be spent with those who uplift and empower us.

So that’s my goal. This year, I want to stop apologizing for those who cannot see the value within me. I want to stop making excuses for others who are unworthy of my time. And this year, I want to own. my. shit. Because at the end of the day, I really am proud of myself. And no amount of imposter syndrome can take that away from me.