I need to remember who I am. I know my name, my birthdate, my hometown, and all of my 32 aunts and uncles– But who am I?
My identity is a complex interplay of class, masculinities, and the racial contract (Mills, 1997; Thangaraj, 2022). I grew up in a family that experienced poverty and success, witnessing how challenging class mobility can be, especially when societal expectations of masculinity and the racial hierarchies underpinning our world are at play (Mills, 1997; Thangaraj, 2022; Weber, 1946).
On the outskirts of urban Atlanta, teetering on the edge of suburbia, I belong to the disappearing American middle class. My identity is shaped not only by the ways I interact with social groups but also by physiological differences in my body and the way I present myself in varying contexts. These layers of identity are difficult to grasp from up close (Sears & Cairns, 2015). No one exists in isolation.
My mother, by contrast, came from a more stable background. As the eldest of three children, she naturally took on the role of caretaker and eventually became the matriarch of our family. Despite their different upbringings, both of my parents were determined to build a better future for their children. The tension between personal values and social expectations shaped many of their choices and created challenges in their marriage, demonstrating how systemic pressures impact individual identities.
Their love story, filled with youthful idealism, began in college. My father would toss magnolia tree cones at my mother's dorm window, a building that resembled a castle. They married after graduation with dreams of building a good life together, but the economic strain of private education, student loans, and supporting extended family soon took its toll.
Without the financial support needed to invest in better housing, healthcare, and childcare, my father was limited in his ability to move up socially (Weber, 1946). The constant need to prove worth through work and unresolved class differences added pressure to their relationship, turning love into conflict and distrust.
Even though my father completed a Master of Divinity, he realized that his values did not align with the expectations of the evangelical, upper-middle-class, white, patriarchal world he was being groomed to join. He asked to fail his final course to avoid entering a ministry that conflicted with his principles, thus never receiving his diploma. Mills (1997) argues that societal contracts often exclude marginalized identities, denying them access to power and legitimacy. My father’s decision reflects this, as the exclusion he felt pushed him to reject a system that demanded conformity.
Starting our family in economic precarity meant limited access to leisure, childcare, and healthcare, which further reinforced our lower social class. My parents divorced when I was young; their relationship was strained beyond repair by the weight of class pressures. Still, my father’s drive led him to extraordinary success. He climbed from humble beginnings to become a top executive at the world’s largest software engineering firm. This achievement shaped how I understood identity, success, and belonging, forcing me to navigate two conflicting realities.
On the surface, I am light-skinned, often presenting as a woman with laugh lines and a mom haircut. Yet, my story is far more layered. I am part of a service dog team, which sometimes makes people uncomfortable, leading to exclusion and misunderstanding.
While raising two young children during a global pandemic and pursuing my college education, I chose to forgo car ownership. The financial burden and environmental impact didn’t align with my values. Instead, I committed to a 16-mile bicycle commute, balancing work, grocery shopping, and nap schedules for my babies. In a society built around cars, pedestrian and alternative transit options are often undervalued, making this choice both difficult and isolating.
One day, while biking my usual route with my infant in a trailer behind me, a distracted driver hit us, sending me across three lanes of traffic. My son and I both sustained severe injuries, including traumatic brain injuries, torn ligaments, and broken bones. The emotional and physical toll was immense, disrupting our lives in ways I could never have anticipated.
Recovering from traumatic brain injuries brought intense challenges. Our routines were upended, and we faced the daunting task of navigating treatment, therapy, and rehabilitation.
As Weber (1946) notes, access to resources—whether financial, emotional, or communal—can determine whether a family stabilizes or falls further into hardship.
The accident caused us to slide from relative financial security into unexpected economic hardship. The strain forced us to reassess our lives and seek support, confronting the reality that circumstances beyond our control can easily disrupt upward mobility. Still, we endured, driven by resilience and the determination to move forward.
Though I lost the ability to change a diaper, brush my teeth, or wash my hair independently, I found a new sense of purpose by pursuing a Master’s in Sociology. Returning to school ignited my passion and renewed my sense of direction. My academic journey has been a testament to the strength and determination that are hallmarks of the American middle class.
I walk a delicate line of social acceptability. My intersections—disability, queerness, and my experiences as the daughter of divorced once-poor parents—place me in a social location that is often misunderstood or overlooked. In a society dominated by white patriarchal norms, being authentic within my family and community can sometimes lead to backlash for not conforming to conventional expectations.
These personal experiences shape my understanding of systemic inequality. I have had to navigate a world that often does not know what to make of someone whose identity is fluid, intersectional, and constantly evolving. Yet, I remain committed to making space for others, especially those with invisible disabilities.
Surviving three near-fatal injuries once made me feel like I had forgotten who I was. I have had to be resilient, navigating the intersections of my identity with determination. Advocacy, inclusivity, and visibility are central to who I am.
There are still moments when I feel lost. But I remind myself that identity is not static—it grows with each experience and reflection. Even when I feel uncertain, I hold on to my core values, passions, and desire to make the world a more inclusive place. Feeling lost is part of the journey as I continue co-constructing my reality within my family and the broader culture around me.
References:
Mills, C.W. (1997). The Racial Contract. Cornell University Press. https://asu.instructure.com/courses/189695/pages/module-1-learning-materials-3?module_item_id=14526898
Thangaraj, S. (2022), Masculinities. Feminist Anthropology, 3(2): 254-262. https://doi.org/10.1002/fea2.12104
Weber, M. (1946). From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology (pp. 180-195). https://asu.instructure.com/courses/189695/pages/module-1-learning-materials-3?module_item_id=14526898
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