I Published a Book and Lost My Identity

Those who follow my journey on social media know that I started working on a devotional in January. This devotional was the second book I started inside of 12 months; I abandoned work on the first book (a memoir) in favor of the devotional.

It was an impulse. It was an incredible experience to write this book. Once I had the concept nailed, it practically wrote itself. The hardest parts, honestly, were making sure that I invited God wholeheartedly into the process.

Even though the entire devotional is in the neighborhood of 12,000 words (the equivalent of eight articles for me), writing something with such a tightly-targeted audience required me to slow down and be more vigilant.

It helped that I had a publisher working by my side. The accountability of turning in the manuscript pushed me to keep the book in focus.

How could achieving a longed-for dream of publishing a book push me into this emotional state?

Turning in the completed manuscript was exciting. Seeing my cover art for the first time gave me chills. Holding the proof copy of the book in my hands brought me to tears.

Publishing the book caused me to fall apart.

I suddenly had an incredible lack of motivation. I became irritable. I wasn’t sleeping as well and lived in a general state of apathy.

I didn’t recognize any of these symptoms or their start initially. Finally, I realized what I was experiencing and immediately started looking for an explanation.

It took me a couple of days before I connected the emotions with the release of my book. From there, I got curious: How could achieving a longed-for dream of publishing a book push me into this emotional state?

Self-examination finally helped me reveal the source: I’d unknowingly violated a part of my identity. I have always been the one who never completes personal projects.

I’m always the one who starts strong and peters out mid-project. Distracted by the latest shiny object, I developed this part of my identity strongly.

In fairness, this is an area where my bipolar disorder played an active role. One of the challenges of bipolar disorder is the manic/hypomanic phase when bursts of energy hit, ideas flow, and everything feels right and good. When I’m hypomanic, I feel like my real self.

Publishing the book caused me to fall apart.

And then the crash comes, and I look at the project and wonder what I could possibly have been thinking. Usually, it was the core idea that was the deep flaw.

When the idea was solid, however, the infrastructure I’d constructed while manic was wrong — and course-correction was overly daunting.

I never appreciated how deeply this part of my identity was ingrained in me until that book went live.

For the first time, I could hold a finished project in my hands. A physical example that my identity was partially built upon a false construct.

The cognitive dissonance was unbearable.

The good news, at least for me, was that the identification of the issue went a long way toward reducing the pressure I felt. Knowing the problem, I could find a resolution, although I know most identity issues are the most challenging to face.

Honestly, I’ve battled this identity piece before. I’ve done all kinds of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy around it. I know its source, and I know how to combat it now.

I never appreciated how deeply this part of my identity was ingrained in me until that book went live.

What amazes me is that it’s still a game of whack-a-mole: I can resolve the false paradigm in one area, and, frustratingly, see it pop up in a seemingly-unrelated part of my life later.

Each time I identify and battle this false part of my identity, my confidence grows. The fight gets easier every time as evidence mounts in my favor.

I can point to the finished book, sure, but also my consistency in posting to my website and Medium. The breaks I take in managing my social media accounts grow smaller. My newsletter and my Facebook group are growing: I haven’t quit on them. My daughter continues to thrive, and I become a better mother with each passing day. I haven’t quit on her. I completed college against strong odds. I paid off my debt.

My brain will always whisper this lie into my ear, sneaking behind my defenses and perimeter patrol in an attempt to sabotage me and convince me to surrender.

Better yet, I’ve gone through complete bipolar cycles and still achieved the above. My disorder is not my tripping stone; I’ve proven that now.

I accept that this is an unwinnable war. My brain will always whisper this lie into my ear, sneaking behind my defenses and perimeter patrol in an attempt to sabotage me and convince me to surrender.

I have no choice but to remain vigilant. I have no choice but to continually reinforce my walls and keep a careful watch for those lies.

But with every battle I win, I become wiser. I reinforce my fortifications.

Try again, brain. You have to do better than that.

I have a book now.

Have you had an identity crisis? What helped you make your way through it?