Whether you are on LinkedIn, or not, you and I, we have something in common. We are statistics and we experience crises in our lives. What I did with my LinkedIn profile tells how I dealt with a crisis and my identity – then and now. Here is how.
There was a time when I was ok with being a statistic. Because overall, I was doing well. Most statistics I identified with, no problem. Others I could shrug off easily, no problem. That all changed when life presented me with one particularly big challenge.
If you think about it, how many of the statistics you belong to are you comfortable with? How many are loaded with ignorance and prejudice?
There are times in our lives, when things change, suddenly or slowly – unemployment, illness, relationship breakdowns, burnout, midlife crisis etcetcetc.
A crisis affects how we feel about ourselves, the person we think we are and what others make of us.
In late 2017 I re-joined LinkedIn after a pause of several years.
With ‘0’ connections I started building up a new network, and a new “Experience” that made me leave LinkedIn in the first place.
Whatever your own crisis or life-challenging event, similar dilemmas and questions will arise:
- Who am I?
- How will others look at me?
- What can I do about it?
The day I found a lump in my right breast, my life started to change very quickly.
I became another statistic:
A woman with cancer, a patient, unemployed and according to my local authority: disabled.
These were statistics I was not prepared for and did not want to belong to.
I was very rapidly losing layers of my identity and started to become financially and physically dependant on others. I felt I was losing my independence and with that my value.
Nothing of what I had achieved or knew mattered. The perception of others towards me changed. I was left with a gaping hole of meaning. Who am I?
Sudden life-changing moments can throw us in at the deep end, with no-one to catch us or to teach us.
You will have your own experience with difficult change, the sense of isolation and loss of voice.
Many people don’t want to hear us, don’t want to or can’t understand us.
At some point after the diagnosis I turned to my LinkedIn profile.
I added a new “Experience”: Sabbatical, cancer treatment.
It was an immensely meaningful step. While I became frailer and frailer – financially, socially, relationally, physically and mentally, I needed to claim my position and my status, personally and professionally – openly, without shame.
Yes, cancer was a new experience, which would test me, teach me, shape me, make me feel weak and make me feel strong. Yes, and it may kill me.
Did any of my LinkedIn connections notice the change? I don’t know. I did not hear anything.
A year later I started to be well enough and financially weak enough to start thinking seriously about how to earn a living.
I decided in favour of setting up a private counselling / psychotherapy practice. Returning to the NHS, where I had worked previously (like many psychotherapists, counsellors or psychologists on a self-employed contractor basis with no benefits entitlements) was not an option. It would have been too stressful.
No, I need to be self-employed, with all the financial risks that entails. Because I need to be in charge of my own schedule and life.
I decided to close down my LinkedIn account.
I was not interested in LinkedIn or any other professional networking. I did not see the benefit and my energy was still limited. My world needed to remain small.
As I grew in new confidence, self worth and energy I started to find my old voice and a new voice, too. I started writing – about a lot of things, especially about making peace.
But I also need an audience, and so I needed to start networking again, first via Twitter, then eventually via Facebook and then again via LinkedIn – all from scratch, slowly, step by step – minding my identity and integrity.
Who am I?
I asked that question again, when completing the “Experience” section on LinkedIn last week.
Who am I – professionally and personally? For me there is little difference, they are inseparable.
I decided to go back to the beginning, back to 1989 when I finished my first degree. I felt like claiming my history and closing a circle. When it came to 2012 I decided to enter under “Experience”:
Breast Cancer treatment: Patient and first-hand experience of the emotional impact of cancer. This experience, like anyone affected by a life-changing illness knows, is ongoing.
I no longer need the word “sabbatical”.
Then it was an attempt to still fit into the ‘acceptable’ language and career development path set up by others. I bought into it and I am glad I did. Because ‘sabbatical’ gave me meaning and identity, when I was at my weakest.
Sabbatical was an important place holder, without which I would have felt like I had disappeared.
Now, I am in a different place, thankfully. For how long? Who knows!
And there might come a time, sooner or later, when the term sabbatical feels more appropriate and necessary than it feels now.
Now I call the “Experience” exactly what it was, nothing more and nothing less, and with unapologetic and proud ownership.
I wonder what would happen …
What if we all included periods of illness or other crises in our LinkedIn or other professional profiles, CVs etc?
Probably a lot of discrimination, I hear you say.
Not everyone wants to or needs to do what I did. We all have choices, whatever happens, whether you are in employment or not. We might not have all the choices we would like to have. But exercising our choices is important when our world gets turned upside down.
We need to try and keep playing an active part, and even if this means we choose silence and privacy.
As long as our choice is not fuelled by fear, then our sense of identity and self worth stands a better chance of seeing us through, whatever life may throw at us.
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Karin Sieger is a UK-based psychotherapist and writer. All rights reserved © Copyright Karin Sieger. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from the author is strictly prohibited. Article do not substitute medical advice.