Shafer Stedronova, MD on Living Without Labels

The first part of my life, or at least the conscious portion of it, was spent seeking out labels that could give me a sense of belonging.

What could I become? What place in the world was mine? I tried all sorts of things to find out. I tried to fit in with people who didn’t make me feel worthy, reinforcing limiting beliefs that had been instilled in me at a young age. I worked hard to become a well-trained musician, and was accepted into a prestigious music business programme, but then gave it all up when a man told me he wanted to marry me and that it wasn’t a good career if I wished to be a good wife. Over and over, I found myself almost finishing what I had so intentionally and thoughtfully started. I knew I was capable and a hard worker.

Sometimes, I even admitted to myself that I was smart. I showed up every day and every night for anything I set my sights on to achieve.

I cared for others tirelessly, and I thought of the impact of my actions. I was a model citizen to everyone but myself. Because in the eleventh hour, my well-hidden insecurities would often creep out of the dark corners of my mind. Just before the finish line of a long race, the belief that I was not good enough to really achieve the thing that I had worked so hard for, for so long, and had truly done well at, seemed to grab me at the ankle and stop me from getting to the end. Even if I did make it to the end of the race, I was a non-celebrator. Ever unceremonious, I never felt I deserved a reward for anything that I accomplished. It was a given that I should contribute, and really, wasn’t I falling short of what I could achieve? Was I really doing enough?

Was I enough?

This is the hazard of focusing our energy outward on labels. On becoming something you aren’t, rather than on accepting who you are.

The risk in searching for fitting in amongst crowds of people, while abandoning your responsibilities of respecting your own needs, wants, dreams and possibilities. The longer you go into the darkness that surrounds you, searching for yourself, the further the journey back home. The more time you spend abandoning yourself, the more effort it takes to become reacquainted. You see, all of those versions of you that you tried on, left their mark. The ill-fitting roles clutter your mind, like old clothes lining your wardrobe, taking up space until there is no room for what truly reflects and fits you. The person in the mirror becomes a stranger, no matter what they wrap around their shoulders or paint on their cheeks.

The search for oneself can feel so long and endless, when we are looking in the wrong place.

I realised, thanks to the caring, loving words of a friend years ago, that I was looking for approval from people who did not want to approve of me. I was looking for permission to be myself from those who benefitted from me being the shell of a person that I had become, to mould myself around their goals, wants, and desires.

I needed to stop apologising for falling short in the eyes of those who were committed to me falling short, so they could appear taller.

I needed to finally apologise to myself.

To apologise to myself for all of the times when I knew that my answer was no, and I said yes, because I felt that was what was expected of me. This is true, in part: it was expected of me. But that was only true because they had come to learn that they could expect it of me. They had learnt that I would sacrifice myself for whatever they asked of me. They had learnt through observing my behaviour that my self-esteem was so low that their approval mattered more than my needs. And because I was so focused on the constant efforts to try to earn my worthiness from external sources—through service, titles, success, on and on endlessly—I was distracted from what really mattered. I was wasting my energy, and investing in everything and everyone but myself. And it showed.

Just one friend recognising that I had wilted to the extent that I was almost completely desiccated of the liveliness that once emanated from me was enough to shock me back into awareness of myself. Awareness that as much as everyone else mattered, so did I. And that if I abandoned myself completely, then I would no longer be there to take care of those that I loved. That if I only focused on meeting the goals and desires of others, that my dreams and goals would never be realised.

That my life would go unlived.

That one person truly saved my life, simply by loving me. Without any labels. I think I had never been truly seen before that day as simply me. I had never understood that being me was not only enough, but extraordinary. That we were all just desperately searching for ourselves everywhere but within ourselves. That being me was everything.

Once I finally shed the external expectations and released my eagerness to earn others’ approval, I finally found, bit by bit, my way back to myself. On my long journey back to myself, I finally found peace along the way. In finding peace, I found my purpose. I found a determination to strive towards my goals, to live a life of intention, connection and growth through storytelling.

I had handed over the pen to my own life for far too long, and the consequences of that choice could either be the bitter end of my story, or could serve as the circumstances that led me to become the hero of my own adventure.

I chose to start writing my own story, and to stand witness to the beautiful and at times achingly painful stories of others, as well. To be brave. To face my own pain, and to learn how to sit in someone else’s sorrow with them. Not adding to it, not taking away from it, but acknowledging their struggle and loving them through it. There is no greater gift than sitting in someone’s authentic presence while they turn life’s pages as you bear witness to their victories and losses, small and large.

Because one person can save a life, simply by loving you. Without any labels.