About two years ago, I asked a question that profoundly changed what I believe about God. I found myself at a place where I was very frustrated spiritually. Having grown up in church, I had this idea of who I thought God was and what he was like and, more importantly, what he expected of me. But, over time, and through a specific set of events and circumstances, my belief system began to unravel and the things I once believed didn’t work for me anymore.

One day, I was lying across my bed feeling particularly discouraged. I had just come from a session with my therapist and we were talking about God and spirituality. I remember him saying to me that I seemed “untethered.” That was exactly how I felt. I had lost my anchor, so to speak. As I was lying across my bed praying, I remember having this epiphany that everything I knew about God was based entirely on my experience. And that my experience was lived out based on the filter through which I had come to see God and life and myself and others. And that filter had been constructed and shaped through years of being taught a certain way. But what about people who weren’t taught the same way I was? Was their experience of God any less “real” than mine? Who’s to say mine was right and theirs was wrong? This was the tip of the iceberg of what was going on in my mind at that point, and as I struggled with these thoughts, I asked God the question that changed everything … “Who are you, really?” I asked that question very soberly, leaving room for any possibility. As I look back now, I tend to believe that whoever or whatever God is was just waiting for me to ask, because the things I have learned and the answers that have come since that day have been … overwhelming … unexpected … shocking … comforting … profound … unsettling.

The past few weeks, I’ve been experiencing the same kind of frustration that led me to ask that question. This time, however, it’s a different question that’s nagging at me. It’s a question I wrestle with more than I care to admit.

“Who am I, really?”

At a young age, having grown up in the Christian tradition, I became very judgmental. I don’t mean against other people necessarily, although it did often express itself that way. What I mean is that I became very judgmental against myself. I was taught rules. I was taught about sin and about how sin separates you from God. I was taught that when you sin, not only does it make God angry, it breaks his heart. So, if you really love God, you will be good. And there were very clear guidelines about what was good and what was bad. So I became very judgmental about what went on inside of me. If I got angry … if I didn’t like someone … if I had a selfish thought … if I had a sexual thought … I judged them as being bad and, in turn, judged myself as being bad. My whole interior life became about judging what was going on in my head and trying to subdue the thoughts and feelings that were bad or sinful. I continually found myself striving to be good on the inside, and I continually found myself failing. I was a walking guilt complex.

If even thinking these things was bad, then expressing or acting on them was worse, so I repressed them. But, inevitably, the feelings and emotions I was stuffing down came out in other ways. I would get insanely angry over the smallest things. I would do things and act out in ways that were not at all in line with my character and who I really was.

But what I didn’t realize then is that everyone struggles with these things. None of us is immune. And, more importantly, even though we all have negative thoughts and emotions and we all think and say and do things that we look at as “bad,” we all also have “good” in us! The same mind who thinks one person is a waste of space, also thinks another is a beautiful creation. With the same heart, we resent one person while we are thankful for another. This is our shared humanity. This is what makes us deep and complex and imperfect and beautiful. And what I have begun to realize is that stuffing down and repressing all those feelings and emotions that I have judged as being “bad” did not make them go away. What it did was dull other feelings and emotions; the ones I want to feel. Repressing feelings of anger has dulled my ability to feel passion. Not allowing myself to think about and fully experience sadness has numbed my ability to feel joy. I can’t close off half of myself and expect the other half to rise to the surface. It’s all me.

I remember when I was a teenager telling a friend of mine that I felt things more deeply than most people. And often those feelings and emotions would express themselves in immature ways because I was young. I hadn’t yet learned a great deal of self-control. But years of beating myself up for being human and not allowing myself to be that thinking, feeling person has left me a little detached. I’ve repressed and ignored the real me for so long that I am not sure who that is anymore. I’m not entirely sure that I ever knew.

But here’s what I do know. The fact that I am asking the question means that I am on the path that will lead me to the answer. I have experience with asking sincere questions and getting more answers than I know what to do with.

Why am I here? Do I have a purpose beyond just getting through each day until there are no more days? What are my dreams? What do I love? What lights me up and brings me joy?

Who am I, really?