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 did not 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 was not a suitable 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 achieving.

I cared for others tirelessly, and I thought deeply about the impact of my actions. I was a model citizen to everyone but myself. Because in the eleventh hour, my well-hidden insecurities would creep out from the dark corners of my mind. Just before the finish line of a long race, the belief that I was not good enough to truly achieve the thing I had worked so hard for, for so long—and had genuinely done well at—would seem to grab me at the ankle and stop me from reaching the end. Even when 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 I accomplished. It was a given that I should contribute, and really, was I not falling short of what I could achieve? Was I truly doing enough?

Was I enough?

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

There is a risk in searching to fit in amongst crowds of people while abandoning your responsibility to respect your own needs, wants, dreams and possibilities. The longer you move through the darkness searching for yourself, the further the journey back home becomes. The more time you spend abandoning yourself, the more effort it takes to become reacquainted. All of those versions of you that you tried on leave their mark. The ill-fitting roles clutter your mind like old clothes lining a 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 long and endless when we are looking in the wrong place.

I realised, thanks to the caring and 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 seeking permission to be myself from those who benefited from me remaining a shell of who I was, moulding 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 the times when I knew my answer was no, and I said yes because I felt it was expected of me. This was true, in part: it was expected of me. That expectation existed because I had taught people to expect it. I had shown them that I would sacrifice myself for whatever they asked. Through my behaviour, I had revealed that my self-esteem was so low that their approval mattered more than my own needs. Because I was so focused on the constant effort to earn my worthiness from external sources—through service, titles, success, endlessly—I was distracted from what truly mattered. I was wasting my energy, investing in everything and everyone but myself. And it showed.

One friend recognising that I had wilted, that I had become almost completely drained of the liveliness that once emanated from me, was enough to bring me back to an awareness of myself. An awareness that as much as everyone else mattered, so did I. That if I abandoned myself completely, I would no longer be there to care for those I loved. That if I only focused on meeting the goals and desires of others, my own dreams would remain unrealised.

That my life would go unlived.

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

Once I shed external expectations and released my need to earn approval, I began, bit by bit, to find my way back to myself. Along that journey, I found peace. In that peace, I found purpose. I found a determination to pursue my goals and to live a life of intention, connection and growth through storytelling.

I had handed over the pen of my life for far too long. The consequences of that choice could have been the bitter end of my story, or they could become the circumstances that led me to become the hero of my own life.

I chose to start writing my own story. I chose to bear 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 with someone else in their sorrow. Not to add to it or take away from it, but to acknowledge their struggle and love them through it. There is no greater gift than being present with someone in their authenticity as they turn life’s pages, allowing you to witness their victories and their losses, both small and large.

Because one person can save a life simply by loving you—without any labels.