Identity is complicated.

 I was going down the YouTube rabbit hole yesterday, thanks to the logarithm that sent me a video about a more effective question to ask yourself when de-cluttering the bathroom. Yes, a video about cleaning clutter from a bathroom sent me into an identity spiral. Funny the way life works, ya know? A YouTuber, The Minimal Mom, really got me thinking. 

I have no real interest in this YouTuber: I don't follow her, I don't know her name, I've never seen her videos, I know nothing about her. But, de-cluttering is always a good thing, right? So, I'm watching her -she's very chipper- and she's talking about asking yourself whether you're using something daily, weekly, blah blah blah, her voice fades away as I'm watching until she mentions that her daughter had given her a product to try but that she, a middle-aged mom, never ended up using it. And I wondered, noticed, tried to figure out if she was my age or younger (or older?) and how old her kids were. Then I noticed. I saw it. I paused the video. She wasn't wearing a wedding ring. Oh. She had *some* kind of ring on, like maybe one of those silicone rings on her right hand, or was the video reversed? But. She didn't have on a wedding ring, or was it? Maybe she is older, still had a partner at home, was confident without a traditional ring. She was talking about her new house. She didn't need space for this and that. And she was a mom, and she had kids at home. 

I jumped into her list of videos and just a few videos earlier in her series was one entitled, 'Tom and I are divorced...this sucks." Oh. I just sat there and sighed. Yes, it sucks. Still, she has a great smile and seems okay on her videos. Of course, why wouldn't she appear okay on her videos, right? Fake it 'til you make it. But the ring caught my eye because the ring, for me, is part of what still stings. Not the gold band, itself, but the identity it's tied to. For decades, my band represented not only my partner, but my role as a mom and caregiver and my job to make our family a whole protective entity. Providing food and clothing, support and love. It was my gang, my unit, my group, my family. Wearing that ring tied me to my family. 

I remember when my ex-husband lost his wedding ring. I wonder now about that. He said he lost it at the gym and that seems a bit far-fetched as I look back at it. More recent history colors the memory, for sure. I have no idea. He bought a new band and it was different than the old one, which was thick smooth rounded gold. The new one was flatter with sharper edges. I didn't like it and looking back, I wondered why he bothered. I'm not sure it meant the same thing to him as mine did to me. I love my wedding rings. The bridge setting on the engagement ring creates a solid gold block with the wedding band. I just love it. Well, I loved it. Obviously I don't wear it any longer, but that brings me to identity. Who am I without those rings? I am partner-less. My rings tied me to my family when I was out in the world. Now, no one knows if I have a family. No one assumes I have someone. No one guesses I have children. No one puts me in a setting with loved ones and purpose and a life of caring for my people. If anyone wants to know, I have to tell them, but I don't want to have to tell them. And then, they wonder like me, because I'm not wearing a ring. Those in wonderment do the same thing to me that I did to that YouTuber. They run down a mental list of signals about who this woman is: how old is she, is she married or have a partner, does she have kids, how old are they? And then the research reveals all. Oh, she is older and no partner, and no people. She's divorced. "I wonder what happened..."

I don't know, but I imagine men have it a little easier in that regard. I'm not sure men are weighed down with the identity tied to all the stuff that (some, many?) women do, whether by 'society' or themselves. I've witnessed plenty of men who can quickly pick themselves up and move on without batting an eye. They're dating, out on the town -and I'm sounding like sour grapes. If the divorced men had their identity as tied up in the family unit, perhaps it wouldn't be as easy for them. Perhaps they would mourn the naked ring finger.

I find myself constantly defining and re-defining myself, adjusting one way or another, one step forward, two steps back. I was the mom in the house with all the stuff for everyone, prepared to pivot or help however I could, with the support of my partner. How can I be the mom I was? Yes, I'm still a mom, but what about a mom? I can't separate empty-nest-ness from different status-ness. I want to be the mom I was. But it is no longer an option when the rules and the contract change. I want to be the steady support I was, but I really struggle with that now as I struggle to support myself, alone. I need to find a way to turn my old rings into something meaningful in the now and I can't re-imagine those rings, though I keep trying. I really want to wear them again, but in some other form -I don't know, I'm hoping for an epiphany. It hasn't shown up yet. 

This is the moment of bitterness.

I've been seeing a therapist for quite a while now. One of my main goals is/was to not become a bitter old woman. I see lots of older people who have that crotchety bitter attitude and I don't want to live that way. But, I am at that moment. I sit here, in the last 15 minutes of 2025, writing this, and alone. 

Loneliness sucks. It's awful, and it's bitter because I don't want to be alone. I want someone or someones to hug and kiss and say 'happy new year!' when the clock strikes midnight. I want that. And I feel totally abandoned, with tears in my eyes as I type this, and that abandon-er is NOT alone. He is with friends, possibly mourning the loss of the Buckeyes, or just having a light evening, or who-knows-what, but he is not alone. Me? I went to work and came home to an empty place to feel the hollowness of the last minutes of 2025. I'm still angry. I'm still bitter. It's moments like this I feel like therapy isn't working for me. Nothing has changed in my heart. I want to be grateful for what I have. My children are making their way in the world. They are likely spending the evening with their people. I have a roof over my head, heat, and food in the cabinets.  I have a job that pays the bills. So why am I crying?? 

Loneliness. My coworkers went home to their people. The guys who came in to relieve my shift had just come from their people. The shift that I relieved went home to their people. I watched the game largely by myself at work, in between tasks and tests. It was lonely with no one to cheer with or at. Cursing at referees alone is simply expending negative energy for no good reason. But here's that moment. The

loneliness that causes the bitter. The way I don't want to be. The spite and anger take over and I try to let it go because I know it doesn't help anything. But then, if I let it go, the tears still flow and for no "good" reason. Why am I crying if I've let the negativity go? Because it's still there. Still. Older people alone in their homes or apartments, are you bitter? Even those folks that say they want to be alone seem bitter.  When Gabrielle was just around a year old, we used to walk over to an older lady's home across the alley, to occasionally visit and chat. She belonged to the nearby Catholic church and I'd offer to take her over to the church when she couldn't make it herself. I think she was in her 80s back then, and she was alone. Her long time husband had passed and their dry cleaning business gone. She didn't seem bitter but I sensed her loneliness. I felt kind of like we let her down when we moved away. I didn't want her to feel so lonely. I wonder if bitterness crept in after we left. We've been having some weather tonight. Snow and sleet has a way of driving people to safety or into the comfort of the home. For me, it feels more

isolated. Be home. Be safe. Be alone. I'll have plenty to talk to my therapist about. How can I enjoy being alone? Enjoy my own company? (asked with great eye-rolling) It just leads me to think in the silence. Think about my sadness and anger. Mourn, again, my future loss. I think about how I can get past being the graying bitter woman that I don't want to be, but the blessings I try to count feel just out of reach. I chase them but they run too fast. I feel unwanted by all that is important to me. Please, keep the aging people in your lives from feeling like this. Visit or call. Don't send an email because hearing the voices of people you care about fills the void so much better. It feels more intentional.  Don't let them get

lonely, and isolated. Give them hope, and a purpose. And help them chase the bitterness away.