Who Do You Think You Are?

Sarah finds the evidence of who she is, wherever she goes. 

IG: @sarahonpurpose

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When it comes to finding your voice, your spark, or yourself, I can't help but wonder if you can do any of that if you don't know who you are or who you're looking for in the first place. And the crazy thing is, do any of us really know? Or is that the whole point? To just spend a lifetime figuring it out. I wonder, could I attempt to say who I think I am right here on the mic, knowing that it's just another opinion? Well, it is an opinion that matters, so I might as well give it a try. Without further ado, this final episode of Glad Bitch Season 2 is called, Who Do You Think You Are? Let me clear my throat. Ugh, that question, who do you think you are? You. Who do you think you are to use your voice, to try something new, to make a change, to do something different? Look, I know it's meant to be rhetorical or like an effort to put someone in their place. And to be fair, no one asked me this question regarding the making of this podcast. But over the years, it has certainly found a way to lodge itself into my brain. Maybe it's a question you wrestle with sometimes too. So let's reframe it today, shall we? Because I think that question, if we had a good answer, could actually be pretty damn liberating. I thought this would be the easiest episode of the season, not because it's the last one, but because it should be a layup, right? I should probably know the answer to who do you think you are? Well, it turns out it's a little more complicated than that. I spent a lot of my life wanting people to answer that question for me. I've taken every personality test under the sun. I've read every astrological report. I've waited on pins and needles for feedback from the world around me. Tell me, who is Sarah Warman anyway? Enough about me. What do you think of me? Did I pass the test? Sometimes it's hard to see yourself without a mirror. When I first came up with the idea for Glad Bitch, I was thinking a lot about people pleasing and imposter syndrome and all the ways we kind of cockblock ourselves from showing up. Now I didn't use all those words exactly, but when I pitched the idea to my coach, she didn't really like the name. She thought it might rub people the wrong way or they wouldn't like the swearing. Oh no, call the cops. But I liked the idea that I could have a straight shooter in my back pocket. Someone handling the dirty work of being me, even when I didn't know who that was. So Gladbitch was born. Perhaps she, my inner Gladvitch, could just figure it all out with a little tough love. That's the ethos of Gladbich, right? She'll find a way to call you out. She isn't mean, but she's definitely gonna get you to look at yourself in the mirror. She's opinionated for sure. She knows some rules just aren't meant for us. She might ask why, why, why a million times, not to be annoying, but because autopilot isn't always the best way to fly. So with her help, the purpose of this whole podcast exercise, season one and season two, was to look at the stories we tell ourselves about who we are, for better or for worse, and to learn something about myself in the process. Now, I do think I achieved that, but what I learned wasn't something I really expected. So anyway, who do you think you are? Well, I don't think I can answer who do you think you are without first answering who I think I've been. A lot of times I've been a person who's afraid of her own shadow. Because let's be real, shadows are pretty freaking scary. What's clear is that in an effort to dodge the shadowy self, for many, many years I've been trying to sell the elevator pitch version of me. The clear, concise, and compelling one. Which is dumb because I don't even like elevators. I think I'm claustrophobic. Who do you think you are? What is that? Is it like a dare? Like I better prove myself and fast, because I got something to sell here? If you do know the answer, if you really, really do, you don't gotta sell anything. In fact, you don't gotta prove shit. The answer is I don't know. I don't know until I do. And then repeat on a loop for life. Because sometimes I don't know. I don't know until I do. Now there's a lot to untangle here, but trust me when I say I haven't just been around the block. I've been around the sun, okay? Almost 50 times. I've learned some lessons the hard way through a lifelong fuck around and find out endeavor. I've had to fall on my face many times, just so I can turn around and say, oh hey, watch your step, in case someone might be coming around the corner. Just lucky, I guess. And it's frustrated me to no end not knowing exactly what contribution I should be making in this lifetime and exactly how I should be making it. And after every attempt to figure it out, well, here's what I can come up with for now. Like you, I'm hard to pin down. I keep changing and growing, and that can be frustrating, especially for the people who want me to stay the same. I might even be one of those people who want me to stay the same. But when I have beliefs and versions that are outdated, I do choose to evolve. And I think that's a good thing. And when that happens, that means there's space for new parts, but you don't necessarily know what goes where. If you find yourself in that stage, that's when it's time to experiment, to try things on. It's not up to the world to tell me who I am. And you know what? It's not even up to the inner glad bitch. Because guess what? I am the glad bitch. It just took me a while to figure it out. For all the mistakes I've made and all the shit I gave myself for not being able to be just one thing. I was always course correcting. I was digging deep when it was time to try and step into new skin and move toward things that felt more like me or who I was becoming. So yeah, I'm a moving, changing thing. My perspective, my point of view, my priorities change, and I change with them. That isn't always easy, but that's why we need to keep trying and experimenting and doing things differently, because it's data for our most up-to-date selves. You know what's also important? It's important more than ever to notice who I'm not. You gotta know when to hold them and know when to fold them. Letting go of who you wish you were, well, that's kind of like next level spiritual kung fu. Because it helps you see more clearly who's already there. I think what we're trying to find when we go looking for ourselves, though, are the fixed parts, the unchangeable parts, the stuff that just comes with the package. These are the things that make us feel known to ourselves. They're the things we miss when we forget where we put them, like life doesn't feel quite right without these things. When you're at this part in the road, it's a stage I like to call look for the evidence. If you don't know who you are or don't remember, just start looking. And I promise the world will reflect it back to you in so many ways where you're constantly saying, of course, of course, of course I knew that. Now I'm talking about evidence of who you are at the core. Not evidence that you suck, not evidence that you don't matter or that you aren't a big deal. I'm talking about the truth with a capital T. And sometimes I forget to. I don't see myself clearly, or I try to adjust who I am to be more something or less something, and then boom, it's revealed like a rabbit in a hat. Well, I was recently reminded very clearly who I am by a five-year-old in a barn in Wisconsin. I was at a family wedding and I happened to strike up a conversation with the flower girl of all people. How old are you? I say. Five, she says. I said, I'm almost five-oh, so we're kind of the same. Meh. She seemed a little unimpressed by me. So her parents started asking me the obligatory questions about work and what I was up to. And after I said I wasn't working a lot right now and feeling pretty bad about that, and the fact that I didn't have some big grown-up important life, this little girl turned and looked at me with her head on the swivel and said, So you just play? Yes, that is who I am. That was the piece I was missing. I haven't been playing. I've made finding my voice and my spark and myself work, and that's not who I am. I mean, I famously don't like work, and I can take myself seriously without being so freaking serious. I've been making myself a job when play is the whole point, and I knew that. Of course. Of course, but I forgot. Look for the evidence. I'm guilty of being awesome, according to the card my friend Jenny sent me. I'm also the world's best big sister, if you ask the mug in my kitchen, but that's only because I have the world's best little sisters. My grandma says I'm a wildflower, and I can't find the lie in that. I definitely bloom on my own terms. I mentioned that I've taken every personality test, trying to find the words for myself. Do you guys know about human design? I want to share something I learned after reading my human design chart. Now, don't go away because I know it's boring AF to listen to someone talk about their chart. It's like someone telling you their dream. Now, this is a very complicated system, but something in it really stuck out. And all you have to do to get your human design chart is know your birthday, time, and place. Okay? So there's one placement that makes up about 70% of your personality in this chart. And I had to LOL when I saw mine. Mine is called correction. It's basically the hey, you're doing it wrong placement. According to human design, correction or judgment, hey, you're doing it wrong, is my whole personality. Wow, surprise, surprise. This is me. If it ain't broke but it wobbles, why aren't we fixing it? We can make it better. Now, like I said, this can come off as judgment very quickly if I turn this on myself or make suggestions when someone doesn't ask me, and I'm getting better at this, I promise. But this correction placement on a more rare occasion connects directly to another placement. This is called a channel, which means it gives correction a purpose. So on my chart, on the other end of the correction placement is the placement of joy. Excuse me? Are you hearing what I'm hearing? The universe always knew the cards I was holding. It was just waiting for me to play them. Sarah Warman was born a glad bitch. It was actually written in the stars. All the correcting I've been doing on myself was misguided. It was never to be a more perfect version of myself. It's that I'm uniquely skilled at spotting the ways we can all get closer to joy. That makes me a good coach. I'm not afraid to say that. But the key to unlocking it in me is not to try harder, but to play more. To find what feels good. Of course, of course, of course. I knew that. And I thought doing this podcast was pretty hard. Now I'm still learning to navigate this path to understanding joy and all its left turns. I am left-handed after all. I mentioned earlier that my coach didn't like the title, Glad Bitch. Now I trust her opinion, and I do have to confess that there was an alternate title I didn't use. I didn't think I was ready for that yet, not at the time. But maybe she saw something I didn't. For now, it's my little secret. Did I say everything I needed to say this season? Absolutely not. But I believe words are spells, and what was spoken out loud is already weaving a certain kind of magic. But another thing I learned is that your voice is only one way to contribute to the universal choir. Whatever instrument you want to use, that's up to you. All you have to do is know how to play. So I am one glad bitch on a quest for joy. The rest, well, that's to be discovered. Thanks for listening.