The Death of a Past Self

Throughout our entire lives, we’re taught that death is negative, that it’s something to fear, that the demise of past selves, life chapters, relationships, or entire lives, is somehow wrong. For a society that speaks of moving forward, emphasizes the need for closing chapters, and constantly plans for the end of our lives, we are a people entirely fearful and intimidated by the concept of death. And when an entire society subscribes to the dichotomous notion that we must both move forward and do everything in our power to avoid any type of death, it’s easy to get swept up in that same ideology. As a gay realist who narrowly escaped the life predetermined for me by the religious extremists by whom I was raised, I’m all too familiar with the persistent existential crisis and inherent fear of mortality that pervades the very essence of so many people. Religiosity has always maintained such an allure and subscription because there simply must be an explanation, right? A higher being explains the universe and the different variations of the afterlife provide a certain peace of mind that there is more to look toward than existing…until you don’t. It provides an abdication from the belief in the permanence of death in the absence of science, instead thriving in the blind faith of those too petrified of the prospect of death that they accept the threats of eternal damnation from mysterious figures as a worthy risk if it provides even a semblance of enlightenment. We write our wills and fund our life insurance policies and pray to our respective deities and ensure our loved ones are taken care of once death takes us, but we don’t really think about it. Whether through religion or keeping our minds so busy that we never allow it to stray in that direction, we hide from this fear. We hide from difficult choices, we hide from change, and we hide from even the demises that have the chance to change our lives entirely. Because even through the religiosity and the planning and all of the other distractions, that fear of what comes next strikes our hearts and plants terror in our minds, and so we talk and talk and talk, we plan some more, and we do everything in our power to avoid thinking about the thing that scares us more than anything else: death.

When I finally took the necessary steps to accept my gay identity and come out, I soon realized that the unease with mortality was not the extent of that fear as I previously thought; I discovered that the fear of death reaches into every aspect of our lives — in my case, the death of a false life as I created one anew. Exactly one year ago, I ceased contact with an incredibly toxic birth family and came out to the world. Texts and emails and notifications streamed in from friends and colleagues congratulating me on taking the reins and determining my own future, free of the restraints of bigotry, prejudice, and intimidation. As is often the case when people make life altering decisions, however, another type of message altogether began filtering in. I heard from mothers who wished me congratulations just before telling me to give my abusive family a second chance — because they couldn’t understand why their own children cut contact with them and they empathized with my abusers. Individuals far older than me asserted that young people like myself needed to respect our elders and accept whatever form of manufactured love our families disperse. And I heard from people so familiar with their own abuse and the toxicity of their circumstances, who longed for me to extend an olive branch and forgive the discriminatory perspectives of those who harmed me — because they legitimately believed that the nuclear family, the product of an exploitative society, was the only true family I could hope to have. I was, of course, taken aback and befuddled at the seemingly blatant advocacy for self-sabotage and tolerance of abuse that these individuals were expressing, but I soon realized that a trepidation of a different type of death was actually what unnerved them. I tossed the harmful messages around in my mind with a desperation to understand how someone could think in such a way, and I began to notice that none of these individuals had ever made an influential life decision to improve their circumstances, none of them had questioned the necessity of the relationships that so often caused them harm, and nearly all of them had tolerated their own torment for far too long. These people, I soon realized, were petrified of the death that comes with transformational change, the demise that I was beginning to allow to take its course in my own life. The death of relationships, the death of mindsets, the death of a past self.

The association of death as an inherently negative phenomenon is a learned perspective, a taught idea passed down from frightful person to frightful person because people are so excessively afraid of change. But here’s the thing: this perception that the process of death is bad — the death of an idea, the death of one chapter of a life, the death of a person — is the narrative perpetrated by those versed in inflicting harm and by those too naïve to put an end to it. Ideas and perspectives with such a grasp on society are usually taught for one of two reasons: for the betterment of people and social systems, or for control of those people. As I delved deeper into this revelation and continued the process of allowing the demise of my past self, I didn’t resent these people for their comments — I pitied them. Manipulative people learn their twisted craft from their own traumatic experiences, and they thrive in consistency and the bondage of one’s circumstances. And whether the abuser or the abused, freeing oneself from confining circumstances and allowing that chapter’s demise is incredibly intimidating. What I learned after coming out and making transformative choices, however, is that allowing that natural process of the death of a past self to unfold is an exhilarating process to be celebrated — because along the way, you’re trading a shadow of yourself that no longer thrives in your circumstances for a stronger, better, wiser version. The idea that allowing a past version of yourself and a relationship to wither and die is somehow bad is a story told by those fearful of the personal empowerment of others — because if these people become dependent on no one but themselves and they learn to recognize and put an end to harmful behaviors in their lives, they will have grown too strong and too independent to allow that past, vulnerable self to continue to live as a shell of their potential, susceptible to the manipulation of others. I’m reminded of a quote by Oprah Winfrey, who once said, “The great courageous act that we must all do, is to have the courage to step out of our history and past so that we can live our dreams.” Allowing a past self or a chapter of one’s life to die does not mean forgetting the memories or lessons learned during that period, but rather freeing oneself from the trauma and pain of one’s past to move forward unencumbered and live the dreams of which that past self never thought possible.

As much as I now wholeheartedly accept death as a natural, neutral process of life, I surely fought back at the beginning. When I made a great deal of life-altering choices to reclaim control of my happiness and my destiny, I found it quite difficult to relinquish certain aspects of my former self, parts of that now-closed chapter of my life. Between what I was led to believe about myself and what I filled in on my own, I thought I had it all figured out for quite some time. I knew I wasn’t the conservative kid that my family tried to raise, but I was so desperate to hold onto some facet of my identity. I grew up with this image in my head as a man with a successful professional life, a picture-perfect heterosexual relationship, with the picket fence and family dog as the cherry on top. And over time, I realized that most of that wasn’t in the cards for me because it just wasn’t who I was or who I was meant to be — but permitting the demise of a version of myself that I didn’t even recognize meant relinquishing the familiarity of my circumstances and the only identity I’d ever held. I desperately grasped for the toxic relationships, the self-deprecating mindsets, the feeling of living another’s life, because no matter how foreign I felt in that version of myself, the thought of allowing the full death of that past life to undergo the metamorphosis into the person I was to become was simply too intimidating to fathom. Along the journey unto this point, someone told me of a sentiment that had helped them close certain chapters — that people are in your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime, and those relationships should only be permitted to exist so long as they bring fulfillment and value to your life. Over time, I’ve realized that this sentiment applies not only to relationships, but perspectives, circumstances, and entire segments of one’s life. Too many of us give up and give in to the chains that bind us, the miserable and toxic situations that we often experience — either because we’re too afraid to allow that traumatic chapter’s demise, or we’re so accustomed to our own torment that we’re afraid to find out what alternative existences are possible. Other people sometimes come into our lives with the express desire to control or harm, but it is our active decision to refuse to allow that relationship and those circumstances to die that leaves us in a cycle of feeling fearful, unfulfilled, and in agony. The more I explored what I was holding onto and why I was latching onto aspects of my past self so resolutely, the more I discovered the possibilities of life ahead if only I let that old life die. I had to be willing to accept the demise of the only circumstances, the only life, the only identity I’d ever known in order to be metaphorically reborn into the person I was supposed to be. Just as those memories and lessons stay with us through our personal experiences with death, our strength does as well. Because the concept of death is actually neutral, we’re not losing anything from the deaths of ideas, past selves, or relationships — rather, we’re gaining infinite potential for happiness, fulfillment, and further growth. At long last, I allowed that past version of myself to die, and I’m all the better for it.