While not a formal diagnostic term, identity death draws on psychological theories of identity disruption and transition (Erikson, 1959; Breakwell, 1986), often describing the internal collapse of a once-stable self-concept in response to significant life changes.
Has anyone ever asked you what the meaning of life is? It’s one of those questions we tend to roll our eyes at and deem too philosophical to merit a real response. If you’re especially cynical, you might argue there is no meaning to life—we’re simply here to live and die, to make money and procreate, and to find a few significant moments in a mundane routine to keep us going.
But then, what makes memories special? Why do anything if it all means nothing? Somewhere in the chaos, there has to be some meaning. Personally, I think it’s quite individual and probably not all that profound. Yet, as time passes, we all attach meaning to something. And when life, with all its ups and downs, throws you a curveball, that meaning can become blurry. It forces you to question who you are and what you’re meant to be doing.
In my short twenty years, I’ve been lucky enough to have never experienced a major loss. The people I hold nearest to my heart are healthy and full of life. Still, I’ve seen people grow and change. Some make it seem effortless, moving through life’s phases like tides of the ocean. Others struggle more, needing time and support. Perhaps those who adapt less easily are simply those I know more intimately: the people I see every day, still in their pajamas late into the afternoon or staring blankly into their third cup of coffee, wondering when the busy life they once controlled so stringently began to feel hollow.
Identity death is that sudden, soul-sucking realization that you’ve tied your worth, lifestyle, and sense of self to something temporary and, ultimately, elusively unfulfilling. It’s the feeling of doing everything right and still wondering why you feel so off. But it’s nothing to be ashamed of; it’s more common than we think. In a society that defines people by their success—whatever that may mean—it’s easy to lose your identity to a job, an appearance, or a list of accomplishments. Because without someone constantly affirming that you are good enough, what proof do we have to believe it ourselves?
I’ve attached my identity to many things. Mostly, I am defined by the traits people have praised me for: my discipline, my writing, my appearance, my humor. All the things that make me me. It’s normal to build a sense of self around the pillars we’ve chosen to strengthen, and it is fulfilling when others recognize those things. But when that identity becomes deeply entangled with external validation, it becomes nearly impossible to let go… even when it’s no longer serving us.
I saw it all the time in others: professionals who felt lost during retirement, athletes searching for meaning after they stopped playing their sport, empty nesters trying to rebuild a life that once revolved around their children. It was so easy to notice in others—yet so difficult to admit in myself. When you’re a healthy, happy, and privileged twenty-year-old girl, you don’t realize when you’re dying.
The word dying makes this process sound morbid. I’m not physically dying—my identity is. Luckily, it hasn’t been diagnosed with an illness or taken by a brutal tragedy. It’s fading because I’m choosing to let it go, something not easy to do, but necessary before life forces it upon us.
It’s crucial that we learn how to cultivate curiosity early in life. A few weeks ago, an academic mentor encouraged me to journal about why I want to be a lawyer and to use those realizations as the core anchor for my personal statement. Since then, I’ve been reflecting a lot on the things I do and how they are tied to my identity. Why do we follow routine? Why are we chasing this particular job, in this particular city? Why do we keep going back to the same people, regardless of how they treat us? Sometimes, the answer is: to simply hold on to a comforting label.
Recently, I’ve realized that some of my “passions” are actually compulsions I feel tied to. It doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy them, but I often feel gripped by the anxiety of losing the respect they bring me. At times, lifting heavy weights feels like a chore, yet I cling to a five-day split and the labels it grants me: strong, motivated, and disciplined. Additionally, I sometimes feel slightly threatened when others take on writing as a hobby because, subconsciously, it feels like my label is being ripped to shreds and handed out to others. I feel less special when others do the things I labor over with ease. But a job or hobby that isn’t tied to identity doesn’t provoke dread or jealousy. It only brings joy and the respect we give ourselves for continuing to do something we love, regardless of who is watching. There are other paths to being successful, strong, or resilient—paths less traveled, but no less valid. Now is not the time to get stuck in an identity you didn’t choose. It’s the time to get real with yourself about who you want to be and, more importantly, why.
We are taught, very young, that death is a part of life. It doesn’t make it easier during times of loss, but it gives us some answers and a sense of solace. Identity death, on the other hand, is rarely acknowledged. No one teaches you how to accept and move on from losing yourself.
I don’t have all the answers. I just know that, for nearly everyone, it’s an inevitable process that takes time to heal from. Denying yourself a new, reborn identity is a surefire way to stay lost. For now, I know who I am and I know the parts of myself that are changing. One day, I may no longer be the author of Chocolate and Politics, a pre-law student, or a gym girl—but I will always be a writer. I’ll always be strong. And, I will always know how to grieve, accept, and rebuild an identity that no longer serves me.
Because letting go isn’t giving up, it’s giving yourself room to grow.
Happy Living
“Transformation isn’t a future event, it’s a present day activity” – Jillian Michaels
Erikson, E. H. (1968). Identity: Youth and crisis. New York, NY: W. W. Norton & Company.
Breakwell, G. M. (1986). Coping with threatened identities. London, UK: Methuen
chocolate and politics 