The Decomposition of Self
“It all falls down” — Kanye West & Syleena Johnson
Growing up as a child in Jamaica during the early ’90s, we did not have access to the cascade of technology that children of our modern era now have. Before the times of Roblox, TikTok, and iPads, children found alternative ways to entertain themselves. We played outside, running up hills and rolling down them for hours on end. We rode bicycles barefoot, bruising our soles on the asphalt, ignoring the scolding we’d get from our mothers later. It was a simpler time.
During the summertime, days were filled with the excitement of neighbours coming over to play games such as Snakes & Ladders and Pass Roun’ Donkey. The laughter and joy that filled the air were palpable, creating memories that would last a lifetime. Then, sadly, as sunset approached, my neighbors would depart, leaving me to fend for my own entertainment. Left with board games meant for multiple players and a deck of cards, I learnt to navigate the solitude. Now, those distant memories have become the water in my swimming pool of nostalgia, in which I occasionally swim, immersing myself in the cherished recollections of those simpler times.
I gradually learnt how to use the cards to engage myself when no one else was around. Solitaire and Memory were some of the contenders, but my favorite was making house of cards.
I found myself creating structures of varying sizes. From villages to castles, I used the cards to realize the blueprints that were within my mind. It started out easy while I built small, one-layer houses. But as I added additional layers, I found myself frustrated when a single misstep caused my entire house to tumble down. It was at that age I learned how work that took effort could be lost so simply, and how, without a secure foundation, a structure could be incredibly fragile.
My life and identity these past weeks have been a house of cards.
I’ve previously written about my career causing me anxiety and the impact it had on my marriage. In the post I wrote about the mental breakdown I had and the sabbatical I took to spend time to reflect and recuperate my mental health.
Prior to my breakdown, my identity was layered by the following cards: my intellect, my wit, and my finances. And as each of these layers was compromised, my life came tumbling down.
Layer 1: Intelligence
I was praised for being a gifted child growing up. I consistently ranked high in elementary school and excelled in extracurricular activities; I was the “golden” child. I garnered attention primarily from the adults in my life, especially my teachers and parents. I believed I was naturally gifted, and any task I did not pick up quickly was either beneath me or not an important skill.
This egotistical facade stayed with me from childhood into adolescence. My natural gifts landed me at one of the most prestigious secondary schools in Jamaica, Campion College, where I found myself surrounded by other “golden children.” For the first time in my life, I realized how much bigger the world was, and that I was no longer the center of it.
The pressures of being at Campion warrant an entire post by themselves. It was a battle royale of egos, classism, and psychological abuse, which became normalized for us contestants, many of whom are now suffering the effects as adults. However, despite the negative effects while being there, there were positives that came from it: my foundational education and my second family, my lifelong friends.
At the time in Jamaica, and as I’ve learnt over the years, in other developing countries too, there were only three professions deemed acceptable for us as children: Medicine, Engineering, or Law. Anything outside of those fields was considered a failure. “Oh, you’re not smart enough to do this? Better you go do business,” were sentiments echoed by some of the teaching staff. Another toxic seed implanted into the budding minds of us Campionites.
I was an above-average student for the majority of my high school experience, excelling in STEM subjects and performing well enough in others. When it came time to decide on which subjects to focus on for the Caribbean Secondary Education Certificate (CSEC) examinations, I chose the smart subjects, further cementing ideas about my natural intellect.
The CSEC examinations came and went between May and June, and by August, I received my results. I did exceptionally well, achieving 7 distinctions (all in STEM subjects) and two competencies in Literature and Spanish. The reassurance of the exams inflated my ego and my ideations of my natural genius.
The next phase of my education involved Grades 12 and 13, which represented advanced-level education. At this stage, we focused on fewer subjects due to the depth and intensity of study required. This level culminated in the Caribbean Advanced Proficiency Examination (CAPE), a set of exams that demanded significantly more preparation than their CSEC counterparts. Additionally, there was less guidance compared to lower grades; the onus was on the students to undertake additional reading, work, and study beyond attending lectures. I failed to grasp this concept.
I attended lectures and completed the assigned homework, but I did not see the need to engage in extensive practice and study outside regular school hours. Why would I? After all, I believed myself to be a natural genius. It was at the end of Grade 13 that I encountered a brutal truth: I was not the genius I had thought myself to be. I failed the exams.
My experience with this failure was a trying time in my life, and my first encounter with depression. Shame dwelled deep within me after I received my results. Between my own disappointment, my mother’s repeated reprimands about her son for failing, and seeing my friends progress with their lives to seek tertiary education, I was traumatized. It’s trauma that I battle with till this day.
What I needed was compassion, understanding, and love, not an assault of rebukes.
Therein lay the first crack in my layers.
Layer 2: Wit
Growing up, I never saw myself as an attractive person. I wasn’t a heartthrob and didn’t garner much romantic attention, at least to my knowledge. I realized early on that I had to play the cards I was dealt. If I wasn’t conventionally attractive, then I’d ensure I had other traits to offer.
Comedy has been a love of mine since childhood. My family took me to comedy plays, where I’d grin from cheek to cheek. I found myself engrossed in comedy shows on television, spending many late nights watching the Chappelle Show, absorbing his charisma, his ability to control a crowd, and invoke reactions from an audience. I admired the power he wielded over strangers and yearned for it. I figured if I couldn’t wow them with my looks, I’d win them over with my wit and charm.
There is a significant link between intellect and wit; one cannot exist without the other. Being quick-witted and responding humorously is a cerebral workout. If I were to distill humor to its essence, it would be the ability to ingeniously subvert expectations. In a conversation, you might lead someone to think you share a common train of thought, only to unexpectedly divert onto a different track, leading to a station filled with surprise. Without humor, your journey is mundane and predictably reaches its end. Or worse, it could be derailed by a lack of interest.
The job I started last year proved to be far more challenging than I had expected. I underestimated the difficulties of adapting to new processes, technologies, team dynamics, and all the nuances that accompany a new role. The transition demanded a focused effort to acclimate to the new environment, a grace I failed to extend to myself. My attention was scattered, caught between wedding planning, family issues, and the overall whirlwind of life. Moreover, I found myself tasked with a project for which I was ill-equipped, lacking both the necessary skills and the support I needed at the time. The combined pressures of my personal and professional life subtly undermined my self-esteem and cognitive abilities. Doubts about my capabilities and intelligence began to surface, reawakening the trauma of past failures. This marked the beginning of a downward spiral, with no end in sight, deepening the crisis of confidence I faced.
I felt as though I were losing my mind, and it terrified me. Because without my mind, what value would I possess? No intellect, no wit, no career — these are the pillars of my identity.
Therein lay the second crack in my layers.
Layer 3: Finances
“Cash rules everything around me C.R.E.A.M., get the money” — Wu-Tang Clan
In our current society, having access to money is crucial. Anyone who suggests otherwise is not seeing the full picture. While it’s true that “Money doesn’t buy happiness,” what it does provide is essential: a roof over your head, food on your table, and clothes on your back. Without financial stability and sound financial health, survival becomes a significant challenge.
In a patriarchal society, men face the pressure to provide and protect their families, with provision often equated to financial capability. The cultural value placed on men is frequently tied to their financial assets, as indicated by the number of zeros in their bank accounts. This is not a new phenomenon.
“No, I don’t want no scrub A scrub is a guy that can’t get no love from me” — TLC
“Now, I ain’t sayin’ she a gold digger, But she ain’t messin’ with no broke -” — Kanye West
“Only boys that save their pennies Make my rainy day ’Cause we are living in a material world And I am a material girl” — Madonna
History is replete with examples of this concept.
The fear of diminished intellect and the prospect of failure in my new role intensified the strain on my mental health. This fear sent me further down a depressive spiral, haunted by the worry of losing my job and failing in my career. I agonized over the possibility that, without my career, I would be unable to fulfill my responsibilities as a provider, failing not just professionally but also as a husband. In my eyes, this would render me worthless.
Therein lay the final crack in my layers, and my house of cards collapsed, leading to a mental breakdown.
I was overwhelmed by life, feeling like a shell of my former self. I no longer knew who I was or how to function — I experienced a profound loss of basic competence and cognitive abilities.
Ending the story here might leave things feeling a bit too doom and gloom, right? That’s not really my style. Sharing these bits of my life isn’t about drumming up a pity party but more about shining a light for anyone else stumbling through the dark. Good news is, I’m finding my way back, step by step. And along the way, I’m all about lending a hand (or an ear) to those who are in the thick of it, and sharing a bit of what I’ve learned with anyone ready to listen and help out. Here’s some advice based on what I’ve learnt so far.
Take a break
Sometimes, both your mind and body scream for a break, and it’s crucial to listen. I took a sabbatical to recharge my mental batteries, which turned out to be an enlightening journey back to basics. It was about embracing simpler pleasures and rekindling the joy of learning — just like being a kid again. I ventured into reading for pleasure, not just for work, reconnecting with friends and family, and writing down my journey.
These steps allowed my mind to unwind and showed me that life isn’t all about my job. It was a gentle reminder to stay mindful and appreciate the small things.
Then, I started tackling little projects at home, discovering that these small victories were key to rebuilding my confidence and boosting my morale. It’s incredible how much such simple acts can uplift one’s mental health.
Feel your feelings
In earlier posts, I’ve touched on the topic of masculinity and the traditional expectations of being a man. A challenging lesson I absorbed as a young boy was the notion that I needed to keep my emotions in check, like holding back a dam’s waters. The truth about restraining these emotional currents is that, over time, the dam reaches its capacity and inevitably, the pent-up waters surge forth, unstoppable. My levees burst, and a tsunami of anxiety and fear came rushing down.
I found myself with no other option but to face my emotions head-on. Days were spent navigating through tumultuous waves of feelings. At times, I was submerged in sadness, occasionally surfacing for brief moments of relief, drawing comfort from the understanding that these intense emotions were transient. I clung to the hope that eventually, I would reach the stability of dry land. It became crucial for me to accept that feeling deeply is part of the human experience; to simply feel without judgment or the need to rationalize, just to embrace the emotion in its pure form.
We, as humans, are inherently emotional beings. Our capacity to feel deeply is fundamental to our existence. It’s important to allow ourselves to fully experience these emotions, yet it’s equally important to refrain from making impulsive decisions based on them.
Embrace Support
Previously, I discussed the critical role of money, acknowledging the adage that “Money doesn’t buy happiness” while also noting its undeniable importance. History shows us numerous examples of wealthy individuals who, despite their riches, faced profound unhappiness. This contradiction highlights a vital truth: wealth cannot mend the emptiness bred by a troubled mind. That was a tough lesson for me.
Indeed, money matters, but it doesn’t define our worth. Ultimately, the real wealth in life comes from love — the true currency that enriches our existence. I count myself lucky to be embraced by a circle of love.
I’ve learned to lower my defenses and navigate through my emotions openly. Despite the currents of fear and anxiety, I found that love and acceptance were always there, gently guiding me. Embracing support from loved ones, surrounding myself with positivity, and seeking professional guidance have been crucial steps in reconstructing my self-identity.
These past few weeks have unfolded as one of the most tumultuous yet transformative periods of my life. Despite the myriad challenges, this time has surprisingly served as a catalyst for profound personal change, reminding me that growth often emerges from the most unexpected places.
I am deeply grateful for the journey thus far and for every individual who has stood by me — friends, family, and professionals whose support has been indispensable. As I continue to lay one card at a time, rebuilding with patience and care, I’m reminded of the collective strength and wisdom that have guided me through.
Looking ahead, I’m filled with a sense of hope and determination. The path to reconstructing my life, card by card, might be long and painstaking, but it’s a journey I now embrace with an open heart. I eagerly anticipate the day when I can reflect on this intricate construction with pride, not just for the resilience it symbolizes, but for the person I’ve become in the process — the best version of myself.
To those reading this, who might be navigating their own storms, remember: the beauty of our stories lies not in their perfection but in their complexity and our willingness to rebuild, even from the deepest of falls. What card will you place next in the edifice of your life?
