Upon arrival in this world, this particular Awareness was assigned a human body and given a name: Angela. In time, it learned to identify not only with the name, but with all of the traits that had become attached to it as well. It adopted and embodied labels such as People-Pleaser, Overachiever, and Perfectionist. It learned how and who to be, thanks to the influences of family, school, and society. It conformed to norms and continued to shrink itself, more and more, in an attempt to squeeze into its physical body.

Over the years, it took on many identities, sometimes simultaneously: Daughter, Sister, Niece, Cousin, Auntie, Fauntie, Friend, Wife, Codependent, Teacher, Mother, Divorcée, Invalid, Victim, Failure … Eventually, the Awareness lost all awareness of its true self.

For nearly four decades, “Angela” operated mostly on autopilot and was doing reasonably well, all things considered. That is, until a series of car accidents completely derailed her life and fried the automatic settings. She was forced to wake up … oddly, by getting knocked out. Post Concussion Syndrome hit her HARD. The relentless physical, emotional, and cognitive symptoms made it impossible for her to function normally in everyday life. They stripped away her independence, her skills, and her ability to participate in activities that used to bring her joy and purpose. She felt utterly lost, worthless, misunderstood, and so very alone.

A funny thing happens when you don’t really know who you are anymore … you get the chance to reinvent yourself. On your own terms. It took years for Angela to arrive at this place—years of treatments, therapies, medications, setbacks, and eventual plateau before she finally reached a state of acceptance. As hard as she tried, there was no going back to the way she was before. It was time to let go of the constant striving that only led to disappointment, failure, and relapse; it was time to stop fueling the cycle of depression and find a new way to be.

Angela learned to listen to her body and pace herself to help manage relapse episodes. She rediscovered an old creative outlet and found relief in expressing her emotions and frustrations through poetry. She felt strangely compelled to record her poems as spoken word, despite having always loathed her voice. At first, she wrote only to appease herself, but before long, it became evident that her poetry brought comfort to others as well. Words started flowing whenever someone in her life was struggling. Through rhythm and rhymes, she began delivering personalized messages of support and encouragement to those who needed them. Interestingly (and surprisingly), what was personal turned out to be universal. People started asking if they could share her recordings, passing them along to their own circles of friends and family. The healing messages appeared to resonate with them, too. And, there it was—a new purpose … and with it, a much-needed sense of hope.

Like the mythical phoenix reborn from its ashes, Angela reemerged from the ruins of her old life with a renewed perspective. She was still here. Different, but here. Wounded, but not broken. Weakened, but not powerless. Paradoxically, the pain and suffering that weakened her also inspired her to write, which, in turn, gave her strength. She became increasingly mindful of the emotions and physical sensations that passed through her body. She stopped running from them. She started facing them—welcoming them, even. And that’s right about when she woke up.

Mindful awareness sparked many existential questions …

If I am the one who is feeling all of these emotions and sensations, then who is the one noticing that? If I am “me,” changed as I am after my injuries, then who was the person I was before? Which one is the real me? Here’s the Coles Notes version of the inner dialogue that ensued:

Who am I?  

I’m Angela, of course.

So, who would I be if the name on my government IDs was anything other than “Angela”?

Hmmm … Well, I’d still be me, just with a different name. I guess that means I’m still authentic if I adopt the pen name, Angeluna! 

What if I had been born in a different place and raised with different cultural and societal expectations? Who would I be then?

Well, I suppose I’d have different experiences … I might speak a different language or behave differently, but at the core, I’d still just be me.

So, if I’m not my name, my experiences, or even my personality, then who am I? Who am I, really?

Without hesitation and with an unexpected sense of clear knowing, Angela simply responded:

“I am the ever-present awareness of all of these.”

And, just like that, the Awareness reawakened and remembered its true self.