Becoming Me
Image courtesy of Micaela Hoo.
We define ourselves by what we do. We are our careers: doctor, lawyer, accountant, graphic designer, zoologist, journalist. We are also our hobbies: photographer, surfer, runner, recipe developer, woodworker, traveler. How we spend our time is where we spend our energy and where we spend our energy becomes the focus of our lives—the focus of our lives shapes our personalities and our personalities are our identities. Young children explore the world through their five senses and discover their likes, dislikes, and interests. They learn what intrigues them and what irritates them. These preferences form the foundation that creates their character and determines what hobbies they pursue, who they associate with, and what type of person they become. Over time, their foundation solidifies into an identity. And a person’s identity influences every facet of their choices: how they dress, where they live, how they speak, what they watch on TV, what they read, what music they listen to, who they spend time with, what they eat, and how they decorate their home. In my opinion, a strong sense of self is one of the most important characteristics a person can have.
What if I told you I don’t know who I am? Sure, I know my name is Micaela Hoo and I was born in Long Island to Gordon and Dawn Hoo. I know I love avocados and don’t like persimmons and love to read and write and don’t like big crowds but love big cities. I love hot, sunny weather, and thrift shopping and photography and math makes my head spin. However, with me, it’s a little tricky to know what’s real and what’s not. Ever since I can remember, I’ve lived with chronic illnesses. I never thought they were illnesses because when you grow up only knowing something a certain way, you accept it as “normal”. I’d experience stomach aches, bloating, and rashes on my hands. My teeth would sometimes throb and I’d get this terrible metallic taste in my mouth. I’d feel dizzy and lightheaded out of nowhere and I’d lose my train of thought mid-sentence. When I was a young girl, I spoke as little as possible in the company of others because I was afraid I’d embarrass myself if I started to say something and lost my train of thought midway through. Better not to speak at all than to start to say something only to forget where I was going with it and have to offer up a sheepish apology while the conversation turns awkwardly silent. The prospect of embarrassing myself like this brought me terrible anxiety. I had trouble following conversations because my mind would run off to another land, worrying about what I’d say if someone asked me a question. Adults called me “shy” and I preferred to journal my thoughts and feelings instead of talking things out. If I could speak more coherently, would I be as much of a writer as I am? Would I still be shy? Would I still have anxiety around small talk? Or would I be more outgoing, not trying to find excuses to get out of every social engagement that came my way?
Since my stomach often hurt, during my formative years, I gravitated towards more sedentary activities like reading and writing and arts and crafts. I loved to read, devouring books like a student downing energy drinks pulling an all-nighter. Did I love to read because I couldn’t run or ride bikes around my neighborhood with the other kids? If I played outside more, would I still have discovered my love of the written word? Would I have had such a strong calling to become a published author? If our circumstances shape our likes and dislikes, would my likes and dislikes have been different if my circumstances were different? What of my personality is true and what of my personality was formed by my illnesses? Or are my illnesses my circumstances and therefore my illness-formed personality is my true identity? I used to think my illnesses were separate from my true personality, something I had to compartmentalize like separating trash from recycling. As I learn more about myself, I believe they’re intrinsically tied to my being and there’s no need to differentiate the two. They’re baked into every fiber of me—like a child who grows up in the country will always associate home with open fields and unobstructed starry night skies.
In my mid-twenties, I was diagnosed with late-stage chronic Lyme disease, mold toxicity, Hashimoto’s disease, Candida, and parasites. My healing protocol demands I be extremely disciplined with the structure of my day: drink this juice first thing in the morning on an empty stomach, take this medication at this time with this food, hold this tincture under my tongue for at least 20 seconds, get at least 15 minutes of sunshine a day, go to bed early, wake up early, keep a food diary, go to acupuncture, sit in the infrared sauna, dry brush, soak in Epsom salt baths, do coffee enemas, and rotate my supplements every 10 days so my body doesn’t become immune to them. Would I be more spontaneous, more adventurous, less rigid if I wasn’t forced to keep such a regimented routine? I do think I’m naturally organized, but I don’t know if I would be this excessively anal if I didn’t have to be.
The “what if” will always be a wonder in all of us. It’s part of the human experience to wonder how our lives would be different if this didn’t happen or if we didn’t do this or chose this and not that. Would we be better off or worse off? There’s always the lingering “what if”. I indulge myself in the “what if” sometimes, letting mind go down the spiral of imagining all the scenarios that could have been. But life is all about the now, and who we are in the present, and I am grateful for being here and for everything that has shaped my identity. Our journey is ours, no matter how tough it can sometimes be. Own it.
