What it really means to know yourself

A reflective and introspective series on exploring identity, self-discovery, and the lifelong journey of knowing ourselves.

Chapter I: The Making of a Self

This article is part of the series What It Really Means to Know Yourself, where I explore the experiences, questions, and reflections that shaped my understanding of identity and self-discovery. While this story is deeply personal, my hope is that it encourages you to reflect on your own journey as well.

For as long as I can remember - which is most of my early life and upbringing - I thought I knew myself. Do we truly know ourselves, or do we simply know the version of ourselves shaped by our environment?

I was growing up in a very-well defined environment. Naturally, my day-to-day life was shaped by my surroundings, my immediate community and the institutions that were accessible to me. My habits, my beliefs, my dreams and my ambitions were more influenced by what I was experiencing around me than the decent amount of curiosity that fueled me - and still drives me to this day.

The first soil in which my roots began to grow was my family. When I think family, I think childhood; And when I think childhood, a load of fractured, random, fading and incomplete memories surface. One fact I certainly know about myself when it comes to memories, is that my brain has this perfect way of filtering them: the more painful, uncomfortable and traumatic the memory is, the more I forget about it. Which is absolutely common among people and one of the most widespread forms of coping mechanism/reaction that our brain use to protect us.

The clearest memories I have from my childhood start from around the age of 4/5 years old. And they are barely clear.. I remember living with my siblings, my grandma watching over us while my mom was working hard to put some bread on the table. I remember being a book lover and spending time at the library. I relive the hard times, the period with food stamps line ups, the stories about how everything was different when my dad was still alive.

I recollect the early Sunday mornings, when my mom was rushing us to get ready for church with the infamous “I will leave without you if you’re not ready” or “You’re gonna make me late!!”. I have flashbacks about the Gospel music tapes we were listening to while on our way to church. I remember when I had to finish my plate of Madesu (common Congolese dish made of red beans or white beans, usually eaten with rice) those same Sunday afternoon after church. I also remember when I and my sister were assigned chores. On Sundays, right when we were done with the after church Madesu ritual, I had to clean the floors.

I remember my favorite teachers up until high school, some left an everlasting feeling of peace and reassurance in me, others nourished my appetite for knowledge, my ambitions and my curiosity. I remember my kindergarten best friends’ names, my dolls, my favorite shows, the music I was listening to and singing during recess. I even recall the school trips throughout my childhood and teenage years, which all planted the seed of exploration, travel and cultural curiosity in me.

I remember the pleasure I had when spending hours reading at the library or even when drawing on every piece of paper I could get my hands on. I remember the school activities, my classmates, the laughs, the fears, the tears, my first crushes and my first heartbreaks. I remember my first friendships, the ones that faded away without explanation, leaving a feeling of abandonment in me. I remember the one that lasted and still ended because of poor communication, lingering resentment, or simply outgrowing one another.

I remember my first jobs, the new people I met, some fascinating, some intriguing, some forgettable. Some people passed briefly through my life yet left a permanent mark because of the depth of our conversations and the ways they affected me.

All of this to say that every interaction I had; and much of what I experienced in the world up to a certain age, shaped me deeply. I was making decisions based on what my family had taught me, what church had taught me, on what I had seen and heard among friends and family members and even based on what the big black box was projecting onto me through music, shows and so forth. The little parts of individuality I started developing were still too shy, or too boxed to take up space.

It’s only when I started getting out of the already cracked shell I was in - my social environment at the time - that I began cultivating a stronger sense of self. Remember when I said my early school trips planted seeds of curiosity in me? Well, truth be told, I think my curiosity started off from reading books first, I used to love spending time at the library. It had expanded my imagination and creativity. I vividly remember the elaborate worlds I created in my mind right before sleeping, when I think about it I realized that I have always been on the creative side. No wonder art was always my favorite class throughout my early education.

But I digress. What I am trying to say is that the first step toward fully breaking out of my shell was to move across the ocean. Leaving my city, family, friends behind to search for myself beyond social, religious and cultural pressures. The shell had first begun to crack when I realized that some parts of me were no longer in alignment with the conditioning I had received from early on up until the university. I believe I was around 13/14 years old. I would even say those parts were never aligned in the first place.

My curiosity made me question many aspects of my environment. I had a growing desire to belong but at the same time could not help myself but being a bit different. Different in my taste in music, different in my way of thinking, of behaving and in my interests. At first, up until my last year of high school, I struggled to accept the parts of myself that were different than my peers. I would sometimes feel like a rebel or an alien. I was hiding it by showcasing a hybrid version of myself. The version that conformed, adapted, pleased and listened in public but questionned, confronted, researched and dared to go against the current in private.

Deep down, I knew that I was quite different from my peers - when it comes to conforming to the well established rules of the society I evolved in. In my world, I had to navigate between three spheres of socialization that all impacted me heavily when growing up:

• The Family - roots, first values and principles, first dramas, shadow areas of family dynamics, happy memories, first traumas, first spiritual anchors etc.

• The Church - first community, dramas, traumas, moral conditioning, spiritual conditioning, friendships, intense experiences, high mental and spiritual stimulations, fear inducing experiences.

• The School - community, knowledge, social conditioning, friendships, happy memories, fun, and more.

The truth is, before we discover who we are, we are first shaped by where we come from.

Before you continue to the next chapter, take a moment to reflect.

• What shaped the person you once believed yourself to be?

• Which influences still feel aligned with who you are today ?

• Which ones are ready to be questioned?

Sometimes the first step towards knowing ourselves isn’t finding new answers, it’s equally if not more important to become aware of the questions we never asked.