But very few stop to ask a quieter question:

Who am I, beneath everything I was told to be?

For some people, their identity feels clear and natural. For others, it remains uncertain — something we search for through experience, mistakes, and transformation.

This series, Reflections on Identity, was born from that search. From observation, doubt, and lived experience.

This series does not attempt to answer the question “who am I?” for you. Instead, it offers something else: mirrors.

Each reflection explores a different dimension of identity —
who we think we are,
who the world expects us to be,
and who we may become when we listen to that quieter voice within.

I am not a philosopher or a psychologist. I am simply someone who observes, questions, and searches.

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How to Read This Series

Each reflection in this series can be read on its own.

You can begin anywhere and still find something to reflect on.

However, these texts were written as part of a larger journey. Each reflection grows from the one before it, gradually deepening the exploration of identity.

If you are new to The Mirror Room, I recommend starting from the beginning and reading them in order. It will help you see how the ideas evolve and connect over time.

Below is a good way to begin:

Part 1 : Understanding Identity

1 — Who Am I? - And Why It Matters?
2 — Becoming Ourselves: What Butterflies Teach Us About Identity
3 — How We Become Ourselves
4 — Change Happens. But Can You Choose It?

Part 2 : The Traps of Identity

5 — The Teams We Never Chose: How Identity Shapes Us Before We Speak
6 — The Face They See First
7 — Breaking the Mold: Hidden Identity Traps That Quietly Shape (and Limit) Us
8 — Breaking the Mold: Hidden Identity Traps That Quietly Shape (and Limit) Us - 2
9 — Who Are You When No One’s Looking?

Chapter bonus — How I Broke Free from the Traps of Identity (and How You Can Too)

Part 3 : TOWARD A LIVING AND CONSCIOUS IDENTITY

10 — Seeing yourself clearly — the first step toward becoming who you truly are
11 — The Quiet Strength of Self-Acceptance: Learning to Stand Tall in a Divided World
12 — True change doesn’t come from success or failure—it comes from the foundations you’ve built within
13 — Values Are Not Dogma
14 — When Values Are Put to the Test
15 — Identity is not a label you wear — it’s a practice you live
16 — A Journey for a Free Identity

This series is not an answer.
It is an invitation—
to look honestly at who you are becoming.

Read slowly.
Return when you need to.

The mirrors will still be here.

If you’d like to support the work I share here,
you can upgrade your subscription —
or simply buy me a mirror.

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Buy me a Mirror

With clarity,
The Mirror Room
Odel A.

Conclusion — A Journey for a Free Identity

In the first articles of this journey, we spoke of the journey of the butterfly—from egg to caterpillar, from caterpillar to chrysalis, and finally to that winged creature we gaze upon with wonder.

We also spoke of the tree—how it begins, hidden in a seed dropped there, sometimes by chance, sometimes by purpose, deep within the soil. Then comes the sprout, tender and flexible, pushing its way through the earth in search of light. It becomes a stem, then a trunk. The trunk thickens, deepens its roots, and one day, the tree bears fruit and casts shade—offering refuge and nourishment. It even gives birth to other seeds, other trees, other lives.

So, the question arises: at what point is the tree the best version of itself? Some will answer without hesitation: “When it’s tall, majestic, strong, and fruitful.” But is that really so certain? Does the tree ask itself that question? Does it consider itself incomplete when it is only a sapling? Does it believe it has arrived once it bears fruit?

And the butterfly? At what moment does it live fully? When it is still an egg? A crawling, ravenous caterpillar? A silent chrysalis, tucked away in its cocoon? Or when it finally takes flight—wings wide open, dancing freely in the wind?

We humans tend to place value on the final form—the visible, perfected beauty. But is that truly the pinnacle of life? What if neither the butterfly nor the tree chose a single phase as the most fulfilled? What if, at each stage, they simply lived fully—without trying to become anything other than what they already are, here and now?

I believe that is the essence of their wisdom: at every stage of their transformation, they live true to their nature. The egg doesn’t dream of flying. It focuses on survival. The caterpillar doesn’t worry about appearances. It feeds on what it needs. The larva, in silence, welcomes the slow alchemy of transformation. And the butterfly—light and fleeting—never looks back. It flies, it drinks, it offers itself to the world.

The tree doesn’t hurry. It doesn’t doubt itself. It grows with the rhythm of the seasons, welcomes both rain and sunlight, bends beneath the wind, but always rises again. And maybe, deep within—once it has become an immense tree—it still remembers the warm taste of earth, the first thrill of light brushing its tender stem.

We humans could live the same way. We have the ability. But what makes us strong—our consciousness, our intelligence—is also our trap. Because while we know how to dream, to build, to hope, we also know how to doubt, to judge ourselves, to hold ourselves back.

Our mind can be the cradle of a strong and free identity—or the prison of a self locked in the illusion of who it “should be.”

Does the tree complain about a harsh season? Does it let a past frost stop it from living the present spring? I don’t know what you think, but I firmly believe it doesn’t. The tree doesn’t dwell on it. It accepts, it embraces, it moves forward. If the cold has scorched its leaves or broken its branches, it lets them fall. It doesn’t linger. It regrows. And when one part is too damaged to return, it chooses another spot from which to sprout a new branch. It wears its scars without shame. They are visible marks of its story, but they don’t hinder its growth. On the contrary—they are part of its greatness.

We should live like the tree. In our quest for identity, there are seasons of blossoming and others that strip us bare. Sometimes we rise. Sometimes we fall. That’s life. And there is no path to escape it. But we must not let yesterday’s triumphs or past wounds deprive us of the present. The present is the truest thing we have. It’s not the mature tree or the adult butterfly that lives best—it’s the one who fully inhabits its current stage. The butterfly flies without trying to become a caterpillar again. The tree grows without clinging to its days as a seed.

And if we live like they do, then our transformation will happen on its own. Without force, without even noticing. And it will be others—not us—who see the change. Because in truth, we don’t “change”: we live. We embrace the present moment. And by living it fully, we evolve. Naturally. Authentically.

All we need is to be faithful to ourselves. To make space for silence, so we can hear that voice deep within—the one that never shouts, but always knows. To seek answers where they are born: within. And like the caterpillar, feed on everything life gives us: the world, our loved ones, our work, the glances of strangers, words, silences. Then digest. Sort through. Keep what helps us grow. Reject what poisons us. Because what we take in today will shape the person we become tomorrow.

So yes, I choose to be myself. Even if it bothers others. Even if it doesn’t always make sense. Because being yourself sometimes means being contradictory. And that’s perfectly fine. Absolute consistency is a trap. So is comfort. Both can suffocate your inner drive, freeze the movement of your soul, and delay the birth of who you truly are.

This journey is not an answer. It’s an invitation. An invitation to really look at yourself. To listen to that quiet voice we’ve silenced too often. Because to grow is to revise the idea we have of ourselves—without ever betraying what is deeply true within us.

🪞 Step for Reflection

Ask yourself today:

• What phase am I in — seed, sprout, trunk, or fruit?

• Am I rejecting this phase, or living it fully?

• What can I release today so I can grow more freely tomorrow?

Your identity is not a destination.
It’s a season — constantly shifting, constantly becoming.

A Note of Gratitude

Thank you to everyone who has followed this series from the very beginning — and to those who joined us somewhere along the way. I’ve organized all the chapters on the site by section, so you can revisit the entire journey in order whenever you wish.

The first chapter is also available on Gumroad, where you can download and read the complete version.

To every reader: thank you.
I’m grateful for every comment, every like, every share, and every quiet reading moment on your side of the screen. I truly hope that throughout this journey, these reflections have helped you walk more deeply and more freely toward your own identity.

I’m also happy to share that all the articles from this series will be gathered into a full ebook, set to be released at the beginning of 2026.
And our next adventure together will explore a new theme — reflections on LOVE.

Thank you again, sincerely, for being part of this path.

🤍 If you want to support my work

Consider becoming a free subscriber to The Mirror Room Journal
and share this reflection with someone who might need it today.

Until next time, take care.
Warmly,
Odel A.

Identity as Action, Not a Label

Voltaire said it better than I ever could:

“The goal of the human condition is action.”

Everything we hope to be in this life—respected, just, dignified, free—is not built through words or intentions, but through action.

If you want to be a good person, act with kindness.
If you want to be just, commit acts of justice.
If you want to build a solid identity, embody it in what you do each day—not just in what you say about yourself.

My grandparents had a simple but powerful way of putting this. They often told a story I’ve never forgotten.

A man visits his neighbor to borrow a shovel. When he arrives, he sits down, chats, cracks jokes, looks around—but forgets to ask for what he came for.

Meanwhile, another man arrives, greets everyone, introduces himself, and promptly asks for the shovel. The neighbor, smiling, lends it to him.

Seeing this, the first man quickly speaks up, saying he too had come to borrow the shovel.

The neighbor, a little regretful, shrugs and replies:

“You should’ve asked when you arrived, my friend. But now it’s too late.”

The lesson is clear: if you want to become something, start now. Don’t wait for tomorrow. Don’t wait for perfect conditions. Don’t wait for the world to give you permission. Be the person you want to become the moment that desire awakens in you.

Jim Rohn said:

“Don’t start the day until you’ve finished it in your mind.”

And I believe the same goes for identity. Don’t begin the journey toward yourself without first taking the time to visualize who you want to become. Gather the pieces, fit them together like a puzzle. And once the image becomes clear in your heart, begin to live it—act it out—little by little.

It’s not the label that defines the person, but the quiet sum of their actions.

Don’t say: “I want to be kind like them.”
If you truly want that, then be kind. Don’t waste time doubting or worrying about what others might think. Just act. Be kind. Be fair. Be bold.

And if you want to be all that without being naïve, then train your awareness too. But above all—don’t wait for the world to validate you.

Identity isn’t a word printed on a card. It’s an inner movement. It’s coherence between what you believe and what you do.
It’s a fire you feed every day—even when it’s cold, even when no one’s watching.

Unlike the man who left empty-handed without the shovel, we still have the priceless chance to become what we choose—at every moment. Every day, every action, every decision is a new opportunity to embody the values we believe in.

And of course, it’s not easy. Values come with demands, with discipline. They’re not just ideas pinned to the heart like ornaments. They’re living, breathing forces that call us to integrity.

We must welcome the principles that come with our values, just as we sharpen a blade to make it useful. It’s by embracing their constraints that our values gain clarity, strength, and truth.

I like to say that life is meant to be lived.
Not just breathing, eating, going to work. No. Truly lived. Being present in your actions. Paying attention to who you’re becoming.

Don’t just be a passive observer of your own life’s film. Don’t watch it go by like a show you weren’t invited to perform in. Be the actor. Be the one who steps on stage.

And yes, sometimes you’ll need to step out of character, take a step back, watch yourself perform—but only to better revise the script, adjust your performance, refine the staging.

Be all at once: the architect and the laborer, the actor and the audience, the director and the kind-hearted critic of your own film.

Life doesn’t lock us into a single role; it gives us the vast freedom to write everything, to change everything, to embody everything.

And to reach your destination, you’ll need to change just one word.
Shift from the verb of being—“I want to be”—to the verb of becoming—“I’m going to be.”

And you’ll see just how powerful that shift is.
That small change turns desire into direction, a dream into a process, an idea into reality.

That’s where true identity is born.
Not the one we display.
The one we live.

Being yourself is not an accident. It’s a choice—repeated every day, often in silence. It’s the quiet effort to embody what you believe is right, even when no one is watching.

🪞 Step for Reflection

Ask yourself today:

• What’s one value I can act out more consciously this week?

• What’s one small habit that would bring me closer to the person I want to become?

• Where am I waiting for permission instead of simply beginning?

Because identity is not a label you wear — it’s a practice you live.

🤍 If you want to support my work

Consider becoming a free subscriber to The Mirror Room Journal
and share this post with someone who might need it today.

Until next time, take care.
Warmly,
Odel A.

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When Values Are Put to the Test

Values shape the person we become. They draw the outlines of our identity, guide our decisions, and remind us—at every turning point—who we truly are.

But it would be naïve to believe that just having values is enough for us to shine freely in the world. There are environments, structures, and systems in which even the noblest values seem stifled, tested, or sometimes betrayed by circumstance.

Imagine a man or woman with heart. Someone who is sincere, principled, driven by a deep desire to do good. From childhood, this person dreams of becoming a doctor to heal, a lawyer to defend, a teacher to share knowledge, or an entrepreneur to build with purpose. That dream is fueled by a sense of justice, by a will to help others—to bring light into darkness.

But once the dream is achieved, the doors crossed, the diplomas in hand, this person comes face-to-face with a different reality: that of a system that is sometimes unjust, sometimes corrupt, often ruthless toward the most vulnerable.

And there, a tension is born—a conflict between the role we play and the person we are. Between what we’re asked to do, and what our conscience allows us to accept.

That moment is decisive. It reveals another layer of identity: the ability to resist without giving up, to act without betraying oneself. To continue doing one’s job with dignity, to try to be fair in a framework that is not always just—that’s a quiet, profound form of courage. One that few people notice, but many can feel.

It’s a gentle form of resistance—sometimes invisible, but absolutely essential.

To all those living this daily struggle—whether you are doctors in overcrowded hospitals, lawyers navigating unjust laws, teachers bound by rigid systems, civil servants, artists, employees, or entrepreneurs facing complex moral dilemmas—I offer you my deepest admiration.

You who keep doing good in environments that do not encourage it, you who strive to stay true to yourselves even when everything around you seems to urge you to give in—know this: you are beacons in the fog. Living proof that values are not just words, but forces capable of enduring adversity.

I honor you. You may be quiet, sometimes alone, but you are invaluable. And it is thanks to you—your persistence—that hope remains possible, that systems slowly evolve, and that future generations may one day inherit a world that is a little more just.

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🪞 Step for Reflection

Think of a moment when your values were tested—perhaps at work, in a relationship, or in a moral dilemma.
Ask yourself:

• What did I choose, and why?

• Did that choice bring peace or discomfort?

• How can I act with integrity next time, even in difficult circumstances?

Remember: living by your values doesn’t always mean changing the world—it often means refusing to let the world change who you are.

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and share this post with someone who might need it today.

Until next time, take care.
Warmly,
Odel A.

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Values Are Not Dogma

It’s common—and sometimes even unsettling—to see how two brothers raised in the same household, shaped by the same principles and traditions, can become so different as adults.

This becomes even more striking when it comes to twins—beings who share the same face, who walk parallel paths, and yet possess distinct souls. As if the outer resemblance existed only to better highlight their inner uniqueness.

That teaches us an essential truth: values are not dogmas carved in stone. They are reference points, anchors, silent beacons. They are not meant to confine, but to illuminate. They remind us of where we come from, what we’ve chosen not to forget, what we refuse to sacrifice—even when everything else is falling apart.

We often speak about “becoming someone.” But few dare to ask the prior question:

What will I build that “someone” on?
What will be my foundation?

Because any structure, if it is to last, must be built on solid ground—on values that are chosen, owned, and lived.

And this is where true human diversity begins: not all wealthy people are the same. Neither are all poor people. Not all women, or men, or children of the same country, or followers of the same religion… Each person carries within them a world shaped by the unique evolution of their values. Sometimes similar, sometimes completely opposite, these values grow at their own pace, flourishing in unexpected directions. It’s a silent but constant dance.

I find that fascinating.

All it takes is to observe someone in a moment of success to understand them better. Abraham Lincoln put it well:

“Give a man power, and you’ll know who he really is.”

Because success doesn’t change us. It reveals us. It strips away the masks. It lays us bare. When someone gets everything they desire, they no longer need to pretend. They can finally be—or show who they’ve always been. And what comes through isn’t artifice, but the true foundations of their identity.

The opposite is also true. A person brought low, stripped of context and audience, reveals their deepest values as well. In pain, we see patience, dignity—or sometimes, the lack thereof. Hardship doesn’t necessarily shape a soul; it highlights the contours that were already there.

I remember this phrase from Jim Rohn, passed down from his own mentor:

“Become a millionaire—not for the money, but for the person you’ll have to become to get there.”

Because once the money is gone, what remains is the person. And who you become is worth far more than what you own.

So before we long to be wealthy, to be loved, to be recognized, we should ask a more intimate question:
Who will I be once I have all that?
What kind of man or woman am I building behind my dreams?
What values will walk with me to the top—and hold me up if I fall?

Yes, I want to succeed. Yes, I want to love and be loved. But not at any cost. Not in just any direction. Because without chosen and rooted foundations, my identity would be nothing but a sandcastle. And when the storms of life come—whether in the form of glory or failure—there would be nothing left but a name drained of meaning, a reflection without substance.

That’s why it is vital—almost sacred—to choose your values before choosing your destiny.

🪞 Step for Reflection

Take a moment to write down three values you want to protect—no matter what you gain or lose in life.
Ask yourself:

• Which values define who I am at my core?

• Which ones have I inherited—and which have I truly chosen?

• How can I live them more consciously today?

Because a living identity isn’t about perfection—it’s about coherence between what you believe and how you show up in the world.

🤍 If you want to support my work

Consider becoming a free subscriber to The Mirror Room Journal
and share this post with someone who might need it today.

Until next time, take care.
Warmly,
Odel A.

Choosing Your Foundations: Values

We often hear that success changes people—that money corrupts the heart. But is that really true? I deeply doubt it.

I grew up in a culture where money is spoken of as the root of all evil. Where success is viewed with suspicion, almost with fear. I was taught that the higher you rise, the more you lose yourself. That someone who changes along the way has betrayed their origins. But today, with perspective and experience, I see things differently.

It’s not circumstances that destroy a soul—it’s the absence of solid foundations. It’s not wealth or success that change a person. It’s what they never took the time to build before they got there.

Let’s take a simple, yet heartbreaking example: that of a love that is sincere, deep—but unreciprocated… or perhaps just poorly expressed. There comes a moment when the heart, too wounded, can’t take any more. It protects itself. It withdraws. Leaving, in that case, isn’t abandoning—it’s self-preservation.

But does that mean love dies? Do we truly stop loving just because we’re no longer there? Because we no longer answer the calls? Because we no longer wish to carry someone else’s burdens? I don’t believe so. In many cases, we continue carrying that love—silently, sometimes for life. We simply learn not to let it consume us anymore. We choose to leave in order to find ourselves again, to learn how to breathe again. Not because the love has vanished, but because the situation no longer allows us to honor it without betraying ourselves.

And that, I believe, is where we touch the heart of what values really are. Love, in this example, isn’t just an emotion. It’s a foundation. Even as we change—even as our gestures and words evolve—even if the person is no longer by our side, that value remains within us. It shapes our future choices, our relationships, our way of showing up in the world.

We may seem different in our next relationship—more guarded, more distant, or on the contrary, more open. But that change doesn’t mean the value has disappeared. It’s still there, deeply rooted. It’s what guides us. It’s what saves us from confusion and emptiness.

That’s why choosing our values is an essential step in building a strong and conscious identity. A value doesn’t depend on others. It isn’t up for negotiation with life’s seasons. It doesn’t flee under the spotlight of success, nor does it vanish in the shadows of failure. It endures. It may evolve, yes—but never in a way that betrays what it truly is.

To build your identity is to choose your foundations with care—those that will withstand the storms, the temptations, the losses. And among them, love—when it’s sincere—is often one of the most enduring.

Step for Reflection

Take a quiet moment this week to write down three values that truly guide you—beyond opinions, habits, or emotions.
Ask yourself:

• When everything shakes, what remains unshaken in me?

• Which value do I refuse to betray, even when it costs me something?

• And how can I live that value more consciously today?

A living identity isn’t built overnight—it’s shaped, one choice at a time, upon what you decide will never change.

If you want to support my work

Consider becoming a free subscriber to The Mirror Room Journal and share this post with someone who might need it today.

Until next week, take care !

Warmly,
Odel A.

Today, we move closer to the heart of that system: the art of accepting yourself—even when the world tries to divide you.

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Accepting Yourself and Standing Tall — Even in Contradiction

Still, it’s important to admit: if we spend our lives rejecting certain parts of ourselves, we make personal growth far more difficult than it already is.
The world will never stop trying to categorize us. The traps of identity return again and again—like the relentless waves of a sea that never sleeps.

There will always be someone who only sees our flaws, our contradictions. Someone who looks down on us without ever taking the time to know us.
Sometimes all it takes is a glance to be judged—for our wealth or poverty, our appearance, our skin color, our religion, our nationality, our culture, our habits, our job, our tastes, our preferences.

There are countless reasons why a human being can be rejected, isolated, or condemned—before they’ve even taken a single step.

So what do we do in those moments?
What do we do when it burns, when it hurts, when it overwhelms us?

I smile.
Not out of indifference, but by choice.
I accept what I can’t change—or what I have no desire to change just to please others.

I don’t justify myself.
I move forward at my own pace, sometimes slowly, sometimes in silence.
And I’m learning to welcome pain… just as I sometimes welcome sweetness.

Because yes, there are also moments when people appreciate me for who I am—for my skin color, for my culture, for my difference.
It’s a tender feeling, almost sweet.
But I’m wary of sweetness just as I am of bitterness.

I try not to lose myself—neither in the praise nor in the wounds.
I don’t become someone because of the world.
I become someone for myself.

And yet, I have gotten lost—many times.
Out of fear. Out of impatience. Out of loneliness.
There are still moments when I look at myself and don’t understand everything.
Times when I grow tired of my own choices, my own path.

And for an adult, one of the deepest identity traps is money.
That mirage we keep chasing—pushed by emotion, by how others see us, by the urgency to “succeed.”
Without realizing it, we postpone what we truly want—for a tomorrow that, more often than not, never comes.

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Adulthood is harsh.
It’s a ruthless world where most people are seeking their own gain.
And in that race, we become vulnerable—easily influenced.
Others, consciously or not, try to pull us into their dreams, into their own identity quests.

So I pause.
And I ask myself: Is this really what I want?
Is this path mine?
This person I’m becoming… is it who I want to be?

If I stay quiet, if I listen, if I wait a little—the answer always comes.
It’s there, hidden somewhere deep inside me.

In short, it is vital to learn how to observe yourself, to study yourself without judgment.
To accept your contradictions.
Not to justify.
Not to defend.
Just to be.
To act.

And let your actions speak for themselves.
Because sometimes, simply existing in peace with yourself is already a form of revolution.

Leave a comment

If something here resonated, here are a few questions to carry with you:

When was the last time you made a choice to please others at the expense of your peace—and what would change if you stopped doing that?

Which parts of yourself do you still feel the need to justify—and what might happen if you simply allowed them to exist without defense?

What signals tell you that you’re chasing someone else’s version of success instead of your own—and how can you realign with what truly matters to you?

No pressure.
If you feel like sharing, leave a comment or send me a DM. I’ll be glad to listen and reply.

If you’d like to support my work, consider becoming a subscriber — you’ll receive my reflections and new pieces every week, directly in your inbox.

Until next time, stay gentle with your becoming.

Warmly,
The Mirror Room – First Edition

This marks the beginning of the third and final chapter of my essay on identity.

The first one, Understanding Identity, is available for free on Gumroad — if you’re new here, you can read the full chapter by clicking this link.

The second one, The Traps of Identity, ended last week with a poem. The complete version will also be available soon on Gumroad.

Now comes the last part:
Chapter 3 — TOWARD A LIVING AND CONSCIOUS IDENTITY.

Over the next few weeks, I’ll be sharing each section of this chapter until it’s complete.
This is the first piece.

If it speaks to you, I’d really love to hear your thoughts — feel free to drop a comment or send me a DM.

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TOWARD A LIVING AND CONSCIOUS IDENTITY

When you look at a group of zebras, at first glance, you see beautiful animals that all look the same. Even if you’ve never seen one in real life, you instantly categorize them by their stripes, their color, their build. But if you take the time to observe them carefully, you quickly realize they each have differences—in behavior, in voice, in how they move… And even if you stay focused on the exterior, you’ll discover that each zebra’s stripes are unique. There’s always a nuance, sometimes subtle, but enough to make each one distinct.

Isn’t it the same with each human being?

We are born into an environment, a family, a culture. We inherit principles, beliefs, a language, an accent, a collective history. This baggage matters—it shapes us, guides us. But sooner or later, a desire is born within us: to be more than just a reflection of our surroundings.

What we receive is only the starting point—a foundation, not a cage. Because true identity isn’t defined by who we are at the beginning, but by who we consciously choose to become. It is built as we learn to listen to ourselves, to sort through what fits us, to let go of what suffocates us. A living identity is one that evolves, that isn’t afraid to change, to contradict itself, to start over.

What makes a team strong are the qualities of its players and every one of its members. There are teams that, when you watch them play, give the impression that their athletes move as one. Their coordination is flawless, their style is synchronized, and often the results are impressive. Some players thrive in that structured environment. Others, however, feel the need for freedom—to express themselves in their own way, through their own style.

And that’s when we discover other teams, where each player seems to have a distinct playing style. Their approach is varied, sometimes unpredictable, and yet these teams remain formidable. Their strength comes precisely from that diversity, from the ability to unite different identities in pursuit of a shared goal.

Of course, the team has its demands, its strategies, its standards. But each athlete also has their own goals, their dreams, their vision. Their career becomes a journey—a path of transformation. They may start in a club academy, but their growth takes them through other teams, other coaches, other philosophies. They refine their style, explore new techniques, uncover their strengths. And sometimes, they return to their original team—not as the same person, but as a more complete version of themselves, enriched by experience.

An athletic career, like the construction of identity, is a quest for values and courage. To offer the best of yourself to a team, you sometimes have to let go of old habits, move beyond former teachings, adapt without betraying yourself. Some values remain rooted from the very beginning—respect for the game, ethics, discipline… I may not know all the inner workings of an athlete’s life, but of this I’m certain: some foundations don’t disappear—they evolve with us.

Every pursuit of a solid and conscious identity rests on certain foundations that are essential to recognize.

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Learning to See Yourself

It’s such a seemingly simple thing that we often end up overcomplicating it—or worse, underestimating it. I like to say that life is much simpler than we think, and that most of the time, we’re the ones making it complicated.

How long does it really take to sit with yourself?
What does it really cost to gently dig into your inner world, without fear?

Just imagine for a moment what life could look like if we truly took the time to know ourselves. To recognize our strengths, to admit our flaws, to own our desires without betraying our values… it would change everything.

It’s always easier to say what we don’t want than to clearly express what we do. It’s instinctive, almost automatic: we look at the world, we see other people’s mistakes, their pain, their injustice, and we think, “I don’t want that.”

And yet—how often do we end up falling into those same traps, almost without realizing it?

I believe this happens because knowing what we don’t want doesn’t guarantee we know what we do want. And when that clarity is missing, we follow paths that aren’t ours. We get lost in directions that don’t reflect who we are. We end up living lives that don’t truly belong to us.

That’s why it’s so important to learn to observe ourselves. To imagine our life as a film, and to watch ourselves with kindness—without judging, without correcting, without justifying. Just observe. Learn.

At first, of course, we mostly notice what we reject. That’s natural. It’s the first step. But rejection is not the end—it’s only a beginning. Once we’ve acknowledged what we no longer want, we create space to explore the rest. We begin to seek, to feel, to experiment.

Some things will reveal themselves clearly, as if they were always meant to be there. Others will only emerge over time—after a chance encounter, or a mistake.

And sometimes, in the trial-and-error process, we uncover one of our greatest passions. Only then do we begin to catch a glimpse of the truth of who we are.

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If something here resonated, here are a few questions to carry with you:

1. When was the last time you truly saw yourself—not as others expect you to be, but as you actually are in this moment?

2. What parts of you are waiting to be expressed, yet remain hidden because you fear they might not “fit” with who you’ve been?

3. What would your life look like if you allowed your identity to evolve freely—without apology, without resistance, without clinging to old versions of yourself?

If you feel like sharing, leave a comment or send me a DM.

See you next week for the next piece of this journey.

Warmly,
The Mirror Room – First Edition

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This post wasn’t planned. But sometimes, a truth hits you without warning.
This week, after a deep conversation, I realized something simple:
We grew up inside the traps of identity.

From the start, our lives have been built on approval — from parents, teachers, society.
Without noticing, we learned to live to please, not to be.

Becoming yourself is a lot like a child learning to walk.
At first, you need help to stand, then to take your first steps. In the same way, we inherit beliefs, values, and limits from our families. And little by little, approval becomes a sweet poison.

But just as a child must one day walk alone, there comes a moment when we must stand on our own.
That’s the time to re-evaluate our lives, our values, and decide who we truly want to become.

This week I learned about an old Australian rite of passage: the Walkabout. A personal journey marking the step into adulthood. It could last weeks, even months. A true inner quest — leaving the community to find yourself again.

For us too, becoming authentic, breaking free from the traps of identity, demands that step aside.
A silence.
A pause.
Finally learning to hear your own voice.

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Solitude as a Rite of Passage

If you’re always surrounded, you only hear the voices of others — their doubts, their passions.
To hear your own, solitude is the way.

Take a few minutes of silence each day — even five minutes is enough. And if the day is too full, do it before you sleep.

Watch yourself without judgment. The goal isn’t to condemn, but to see who you are today, compared to who you want to become.
Solitude is that refuge. A mirror.

Questioning Your Foundations

Becoming yourself means examining the very roots of your life: your beliefs, habits, passions.
It means asking: Is this true? Does it align with my vision of life? Is this truth really mine?

The goal isn’t to reject or betray inherited values, but to gain clarity. To understand why you act. To become conscious of your choices.

I don’t do something just because everyone else does. I choose it because I know its value in my life.
I don’t believe in something just because it’s common. I believe it with clarity, with full awareness.

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Finding Your Own Truth

In Mexico, I once lived for a while in a refugee camp. We had to be inside by 5 p.m., and boredom weighed heavy.
But there was a small shop run by a local. Because people couldn’t go out, it was good business. He normally hired passing migrants to help.

One day, I thought it would be interesting to work there. My companions discouraged me: They’ll never hire people like us. That was the common belief.

I refused to accept that imposed truth. So one evening, I walked in with a smile and asked:
— Can I work here?

The clerk told me to wait for the owner. I stayed to help anyway, and that night, I got the job. And by the time I left Mexico, I was managing the shop.

If I had listened to my companions, I would never have earned enough to fund my journey, or lived free in the camp.

Take what others say as a warning, but always seek your own truth.
Don’t live as a copy.
Be yourself — with your own values, your own certainty.

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The Freedom of Being Yourself

Knowing who you are is already tasting freedom.
The more we know ourselves, the more authentic we become — and the less power the gaze of others holds over us.

Of course, it doesn’t erase the pain of being judged for something external.
I will always be a Black man, a Haitian. Some will reject me for that. Others will condemn me for my faith, my lifestyle, my tastes, my passions. Many will never see my whole self — only the labels they stick on me.

But I know who I am.
And I refuse to give others the power to wound me with these traps of identity.

From their stares, from their judgments, I am free. That’s what matters.

Even if misunderstood, the one who truly knows himself lives in peace with himself.
And that — that is real freedom.

So remember: recognize the traps of identity… but never let them rule you.

Core message:

The path to authenticity is about breaking free from identity traps — approval, labels, imposed truths — and choosing consciously who you are.

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Thank you for being here.
If any part of this spoke to something in you, maybe let these gentle questions sit with you for a while:

• Where in your life have you been living more for approval than for truth?

• When someone pulls away or doesn’t see you fully—do you feel like you lose a part of yourself? Why might that be?

• What beliefs or values feel truly yours—not borrowed, not expected, just deeply real?

And if you ever feel like sharing, I’d love to hear from you. You can leave a comment or drop me a message.

See you next time for the next step in the journey.
With warmth,
Odel Asseille
The Mirror Room – First Edition

To Conclude The Traps of Identity:

There are so many traps woven into the question of identity. Society—often without even realizing it—knows exactly where to strike: where it hurts, where we’re most vulnerable. We can be rewarded, judged, or condemned before we’ve even said a single word. And most of these traps are entirely beyond our control.

So, what do we do in those moments? I don’t really know. I don’t have a ready-made answer or a universal solution.

When it happens to me, I smile. Maybe it’s a form of simple wisdom—or a survival reflex. I tell myself it’s better to accept what we can’t stop. That thought brings me peace. It brings me back to myself.

If someone judges me because of the color of my skin, my ideas, my tastes, my religion, or my nationality—of course it’s hard. Injustice always is. But I choose to smile, to stay at peace with who I am. Because explaining doesn’t always work. Words can’t do everything. So I settle for being myself, and I leave others the freedom—or the burden—of judging me and, if they can, understanding me.

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I try to be like a liquid. I don’t trap myself in quick judgments. I observe. I listen to cultures, traditions, trends, and family values—not to blindly adopt them all, but to look for the fragments of truth that resonate with me.

Jim Rohn, in one of his teachings, said:
“Be a student, not a follower.”
That means we must learn, study, listen to those we admire—but never dissolve into them. Learn, yes—but filter. Transform, yes—but in our own way.

What we choose to become should be a choice made for ourselves—not to please, not out of anger, not out of fear, and not from admiration alone.

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In the end, this is what it means to build your identity: to filter what comes from the outside and patiently build on what truly resonates inside—not on the values of others.

Our peace cannot be built on shifting foundations.

The Bible offers a powerful image to help us understand the importance of the foundations of identity. Jesus said that if a house is built on sand, it will collapse when the storm comes. But if it’s built on rock, it will stand firm—even in the face of the fiercest winds.

What a beautiful lesson.
And it makes me wonder: is there any rock more solid than our own selves?

Others—just like us—are evolving. They, too, are searching for meaning in their lives. And sometimes, their values change. What we used to bring to them may no longer be enough. So they pull away, they choose a different path… and sometimes, they leave us. Without direction. Without grounding.

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If our identity is built entirely on them—if our self-worth depends on their gaze, their love, or their validation—then it can collapse overnight.

That’s why it’s vital to learn to search within, to find ourselves, and to build who we are—on ourselves.

People can grow tired of us. Failure can strike. Life’s setbacks can pile up… And when the traps of identity fall away, when the masks fade, only one thing remains—that silent, intimate, unwavering core: the true self.

And it’s in that place we draw the strength to keep going, to rebuild, to love again. Because it never leaves us.

The world may shake around me. But as long as I stay true to that silent core, I remain standing.

***

Core Message:

We live in a world eager to define us—by race, background, beliefs, or behavior—often before we even speak. Identity traps us when we start living to meet those expectations. But peace and resilience come when we stop building ourselves around others' validation, and instead root our identity in something deeper: the unshakable core of who we are, when everything else fades away.

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***

This article closes the second part of the series, “The Traps of Identity” — the outside factors that shape us but should never control us.

In the first part, “Understanding Identity,” we explored how identity is a continuous process that never ends — we are always evolving. The full chapter is available on Gumroad, and you can download it for FREE here: https://themirrorroom.gumroad.com/l/understandingidentity

Next, we begin the third and final part: “Toward a Living and Conscious Identity.” Coming soon.

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***

If something here resonated, here are a few questions to carry with you:

• Which parts of your identity have been shaped more by others’ expectations than by your own truth?

• Do you feel like you lose a part of yourself when someone walks away or stops approving of you? If so, why?

• What beliefs or values truly resonate with you—not because they’re popular or expected, but because they feel deeply right in your soul?

If you feel like sharing, leave a comment or send me a DM. I’ll be glad to listen and reply.

See you next week!

Warmly,
The Mirror Room – First Edition

Welcome back !

Having explored two identity traps in the previous article—internalizing imposed labels and clinging to outdated notions of consistency—there are still more subtle forces shaping the way we see ourselves. In the continuation of this reflection, I delve into three additional traps that often go unnoticed, yet deeply influence our sense of identity and potential.

***

3. The Instrumentalization of Identity

It happens to me often that people expect me to defend a point of view—not because it’s fair or reasonable, but simply because I share certain characteristics with the person involved. I’m asked, for example, to side with a Black man over a white man, or a colleague over a supervisor, just because I’m closer to the first in terms of background, language, or skin color.

You often hear things like:
“The suffering of one Black person is the suffering of all Black people,”
“A woman’s pain is the pain of all women,”
“The burden of one man is the burden of all men,”
“An injustice against one poor person is an injustice against all poor people.”

And, conversely, sometimes people imply that the wrongdoing of one person should spill over onto everyone who resembles them.

I’m not against solidarity. Quite the opposite. I believe in solidarity. I reach out, I stand up for those who need help. Sometimes, I even accept certain mistakes—when they’re not too serious—just to ease tensions or protect a relationship. But I never do it automatically, and never just because someone looks like me. I don’t defend a man simply because he’s Black—I defend him if his cause is just. I don’t condemn someone based on their origin, religion, or status—I judge based on their actions.

And yet, in the world around us, in our societies, it still happens far too often that we are judged, praised, or punished not for what we do, but for the label we wear. Once again, the uniform overshadows the individual. It creates a world where alliances are no longer built on truth or justice, but on shared—or assumed—identity.

I understand the intention behind this expectation: it’s the desire to form bonds, to protect each other, to not stand alone in the face of injustice. But I believe it’s possible—and even necessary—to stay true to one’s integrity while being in solidarity. We can belong to a team without betraying our conscience. We can stand for a cause without abandoning our sense of what is right.
That, at least, is the choice I’ve made—and continue to make.

4. The Conflict of Multiple Identities

As we grow up, we’re taught a set of values—family values, cultural values, sometimes national values—that take root deep within us, like silent pillars in the structure of our inner world. These principles become, consciously or not, points of reference: they tell us what to honor, what to avoid, what to desire, to love, to respect.

For some, these reference points remain perfectly aligned with the direction their life takes. They grow up, flourish in an environment that reflects them, embrace the lessons passed down to them with gratitude, and find in that continuity a genuine happiness. And that’s admirable. After all, isn’t that one of the noblest goals in life—to live in harmony with what we’ve been given?

But for others—for me, for example—things are a little more complex. By exploring the world—its possibilities, its trials—and facing situations that uproot us or expose us to unfamiliar realities, we begin to seek out our own truth, our own coherence. And that quest often leads us to painful crossroads. Between the values of childhood and the convictions of adulthood. Between the expectations of those who shaped us and the inner drive of the person we are becoming.

We then find ourselves torn between two worlds that no longer speak the same language: the world of our origins, and the world of our future.
So what do we do in those moments?

As for me, I’ve learned not to run from conflict. I make an effort to listen to myself—to question what I feel, what I want, what I’m willing to carry. I try to carve out a path that feels like mine, a trail where these contradictory worlds could coexist without cancelling each other out. And sometimes, when no reconciliation is possible, I choose. Not lightly, nor in rejection, but with the awareness that every choice carries weight—and that this, too, is what becoming oneself means: accepting the consequences of one’s decisions, moving forward despite the inner pulls, and carrying within—with courage—the echo of all the identities we’ve passed through.

5. The Need for Validation from the Group

We all seek approval. Sometimes from one person, sometimes from an entire group. To be seen, accepted, validated—this gives us the feeling of truly existing, as if, through someone else’s gaze, our life finally gains meaning. This need isn’t new. It’s ancient, instinctive, almost primal. You see it in the child trying to catch a parent’s attention, in the adult hoping their boss will notice their work and offer a word of praise, in the partner who goes to great lengths to earn a smile or a tender gesture.

And the desire to be accepted doesn’t stop there. It sometimes drives us to disguise ourselves—to shape our appearance, our language, our passions to fit the norms of a group, a community, an environment. We mute our tastes, we hide what makes us unique for fear of being seen as odd, out of place, or socially unfit. For many, being called “weird” is a wound far deeper than it seems—especially when our identity is still fragile, still seeking roots.

And so, little by little, we start wearing borrowed identities. We become copies, reflections, compromises. And in that masquerade, something precious is lost: ourselves. The true “me”—the one who seeks not to please but to be, the one who doesn’t conform but expresses—slowly drifts away.

This need for validation acts like a silent poison in our society. It eats away at our schools, our universities, our workplaces, our romantic relationships, our spiritual circles, even our families. And the result is often the same: a feeling of inner emptiness. We may smile outwardly, receive compliments, be surrounded by people… but deep down, we feel invisible to ourselves.

And yet, one truth remains—simple but essential:
we can only be truly happy by being truly ourselves.

As long as that inner voice isn’t heard, as long as we live to satisfy others while betraying our own truth, a void will remain.

But the day we finally dare to choose ourselves—despite the stares, despite the judgment—something is reborn. It’s not arrogance—it’s loyalty. To oneself.
And it’s the beginning of real peace.

***

Core Message:

We often think identity is something we choose—but more often, it's shaped for us by our environment, our upbringing, and our need for belonging. This text uncovers three subtle yet powerful identity traps: being used as a symbol for others' causes, navigating the tension between who we were and who we are becoming, and the need for external validation that slowly erodes authenticity.

True freedom begins when we stop living by others’ expectations and start reclaiming the right to define ourselves, for ourselves.

***

If something here resonated, here are a few questions to carry with you:

• When was the last time you supported or rejected something simply because of the group you belong to—without truly checking if you believed in it?

• Are there values you grew up with that no longer feel aligned with who you are today? What would it mean to let them go or redefine them?

• In what areas of my life do you still seek validation more than authenticity—and what part of me is being silenced in the process?

If you feel like sharing, leave a comment or send me a DM. I’ll be glad to listen and reply.

See you next week for the next shape of this journey.

Warmly,
The Mirror Room – First Edition

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There are so many other identity traps that a single essay couldn’t name them all. But if I had to mention a few, here are the ones I believe matter most.

1. Identity as a mental prison

This is the moment when we start to become what others think of us. There was a time in my life when I thought: if someone is going to judge me or doubt me without a valid reason, then I might as well give them one.

A bitter thought, but I know I’m not the only one who’s had it. Today, though, I realize it’s not the solution. I don’t have a definitive answer to this situation, but I’ve come to understand one thing:
nothing obliges me to wear the labels the world sticks on me.

I prefer to ask questions, to try to understand, before jumping to conclusions—and that’s helped me a lot. Because often, this mental prison leads us to repeat the same internal script: “That’s not for us,” “We’ll never be given that.”

And yet, all it takes is for one of us to dare to ask, to challenge that shared belief, and reality begins to take on an entirely different shape.

That attitude is what allowed me to find work where I was told it was impossible. And to this day, it continues to open doors for me. I now enjoy privileges I was once told were out of reach for people ‘like me’—all because I refused to accept the sentence handed down by the team, and instead chose to ask a simple question.

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2. The Obsession with Consistency

I often hear people complain constantly about how much things change in their lives. Yet we live in a world of perpetual change. And while some may find that sad in certain ways, we have to accept that values change too: respect isn’t exactly what it used to be, nor is love, or human rights, working conditions, our artists, or even our beliefs.

Wanting to stay true to oneself is admirable—it requires solid principles and a strong inner foundation—but I also believe it’s crucial to recognize when it’s time to adapt, when a belief or a value has become more of a burden than a support.

There was a time when society conditioned women to stay at home, raise children, and serve their husbands. In some countries, women couldn’t work or even own anything without their husband's permission—not even a bank account. But today, things have changed. Women enjoy more freedom now, and in my view, that’s a fair, necessary, and legitimate step forward.
Well… for the most part.

Still, some men continue to complain about that freedom. Some even go so far as to reduce a woman’s worth to that of a housekeeper, as if the world hadn’t moved forward in a hundred years.

I’m not here to judge anyone—that’s not the point. All I want to say is this: to live peacefully with oneself, you sometimes have to be like a liquid—flexible, adaptable—able to take the shape of your container without losing your nature.

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***

Core message:

We’re often shaped by the labels others place on us, but we don’t have to accept them as truth. Identity becomes a trap when it’s built on other people’s expectations or our own fear of inconsistency.
True growth comes from questioning those labels, staying flexible, and allowing ourselves to evolve beyond the roles we’ve been given—or once chose for survival.

****

Let’s keep walking this path—this time through The Traps of Identity.

If something here resonated, here are a few questions to carry with you:

• Have you ever caught yourself living according to someone else’s judgment—wearing a label you didn’t choose? What would it feel like to quietly set that label down?

• Is there a belief or value you’ve held onto that no longer serves the person you’re becoming? What might change if you let it evolve?

• In what area of your life are you still trying to “stay consistent” when maybe you’ve already outgrown the version of yourself who made that rule?

If you feel like sharing, leave a comment, someone may need to read it, or send me a DM. I’ll be glad to listen and reply.

See you next week for some other traps of identity.

Warmly,
Odel Asseille
The Mirror Room – First Edition

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When You’re Not the One They See

I remember, when I lived in Colombia—I spent more than seven years there—a scene I experienced far too often. A scene whose absurdity was matched only by the silent violence it carried. At the time, I was a student, and I also taught languages. My classes usually ended around 10 p.m. My apartment wasn’t far—about a twenty-minute walk from the university, a bit less if I walked quickly.

So it would happen that, on my way home, I’d see someone ahead of me start to run. Not walk briskly—run. Or more precisely: flee. Man or woman, it didn’t matter. Sometimes the person would pretend to be crossing a busy highway, even though there were pedestrian bridges just a few steps away—built, in fact, to avoid such reckless decisions. Other times, they’d pretend to rush into a building, as if returning home—though often these were clearly office buildings, closed for the night, places they obviously had no reason to be entering.

Why the sudden panic? Why the urge to escape? Did I walk suspiciously? Was I wearing something threatening? None of that. I was simply a Black man walking alone at night.

The first time, I felt frustrated—disoriented. Then I understood. And what struck me most was that even Black Colombians, born and raised there, were subjected to the same prejudices.

I’ve also had people stop speaking to me or avoid me altogether, simply because of my nationality. It still happens today. Not because I acted wrongly or spoke inappropriately, but because I carry, whether I like it or not, certain characteristics of my identity—skin color, origin, language, accent—that trigger automatic judgments.

Judgments that precede me, that confine me, and that I never chose.

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We Are All Misjudged, Sometimes

Yes, I am a man of color. But this text is not a cry of complaint, nor a catalog of pain linked to history or the condition of my people. What I’m trying to express goes beyond color. Because whether we’re Black or white, rich or poor, beautiful or ordinary—we all, at some point, suffer the weight of other people’s prejudices about aspects of our lives we never chose. Sometimes all it takes is one visible trait, one detail, for us to be boxed into an image, a story that isn’t ours.

How many beautiful women suffer in love, constantly suspected of arrogance or frivolity, simply because their beauty comes before their intentions?

How many times does a handsome man, claiming to be single, face mocking disbelief from those who refuse to believe him?

How many wealthy people, who built their fortunes through sweat and sacrifice, are slandered as if being both prosperous and honest were mutually exclusive?

And how many poor people are accused, despised, silently condemned—simply because their social condition evokes more suspicion than compassion?

In my country, there’s a common saying: all wrongdoing wears the face of the poor. And as sad as that is, the phrase contains a grain of truth. Because identity, in its social dimension, functions like a uniform you can’t take off—it draws expectations, judgments, suspicion, and sometimes even danger.

Just like an athlete can bask in their team’s victories even without having performed well individually, they also suffer the losses and criticism—even if they gave their all.

Sometimes, an average player finds themselves on an exceptional team—not because they’re mediocre, but simply because the team’s level, at that moment, exceeds what they can contribute. And the truth is, many who feel entitled to judge them wouldn’t have made it a quarter of the way that player had to travel to get there.

Conversely, we sometimes see a brilliant, talented, committed player lost in a dull, disorganized team too weak to showcase their abilities.

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The Real Trap of Identity

I remember a stay in Mexico, where a friend of mine was threatened in the street. It wasn’t because of the color of his skin, nor because of anything he said. It was simply because he was wearing a small American flag sewn onto his sleeve. And the most ironic part of the story is that this friend, just like me... wasn’t even American.

That, I believe, is where one of the greatest traps of identity lies: being judged—sometimes even condemned—for the characteristics of a group you’re associated with, whether willingly or not. For your origin, your accent, your culture, your tastes, your religion... and for all the suspicions or projections these traits might trigger in someone else’s mind. It’s not the individual being seen, but the team they seem to represent.

And that’s often where true injustice begins.

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***

Core message:

We are often judged not for who we are, but for the group others assume we represent—and that misrecognition can shape how we are treated, seen, or even feared, before we’ve had a chance to show anything of ourselves

***
If something here resonated, here are a few questions to carry with you:

• Have you ever felt misjudged because of something you didn’t choose—like your appearance, background, accent, or culture? How did that moment shape you?

• What group or “team” do others associate you with—fairly or unfairly—and how does that influence how you're treated or perceived?

• When meeting someone new, what judgments do you tend to make automatically? Can you slow down and see the person before the “label”?

If you feel like sharing, leave a comment or send me a DM. I’ll be glad to listen and reply.

Leave a comment

See you next week for the next shape of this journey.

Warmly,
The Mirror Room – First Edition

Welcome back.

In the previous articles, we shared reflections on Understanding Identity as something that grows, shifts, and evolves. This new article marks the beginning of the second chapter in my essay: “The Traps of Identity.”

It’s about the ways we’re often seen before we’re truly known—the assumptions, labels, and masks that precede our voice.

I want to say this gently: if some reflections in this chapter feel heavy, I understand. This isn’t about complaining, judging, or condemning. It’s about trying to understand—together.

My hope is that by naming these traps, we can all become a little more aware... and maybe, just maybe, create a world that sees people more clearly.

Thank you for being here.

***

More Than Just a Game

I’m not much of a sports fan—by which I mean I don’t spend my evenings watching games, I don’t know the schedules or the rankings, and I’ve never attended a live sporting event. At least, not yet. Still, I know that in this world—whose rules may seem obscure to the uninitiated—there are individual sports, but also—and it’s the latter that I want to focus on—team sports, where the stakes often go far beyond personal performance.

I said I’m not passionate about it, but that doesn’t stop me from appreciating the joy sports bring to others: that spark in the eyes at the final whistle, that collective thrill that only a hard-fought victory can trigger. And what fascinates me, maybe even more than the game itself, is this almost magical ability a team has to influence a person’s mood—and sometimes even the mood of an entire nation.

For outsiders like me, this fervor might seem exaggerated, almost strange; but when you take a closer look, it becomes hard not to admire the sincerity of these emotions—or, at the very least, not to smile at such a display of shared passion.

There’s nothing wrong, after all, with letting yourself be moved by the passions of others, as long as you know how to savor them without losing yourself in them.

What seems most beautiful to me in all this is perhaps everything that surrounds a team: the community it brings together, the culture it shapes, the colors it flies, the chants it inspires, and even the everyday gestures that, through repetition, become rituals.

A genuine identity emerges—sometimes spontaneously, sometimes deliberately constructed—with its own codes, values, pillars, heroes, and even myths. What’s fascinating is that this identity, although external to the individual, ends up defining them, turning them into a visible fragment of something larger than themselves, inviting them to disappear just enough to exist through it.

In the first part, we explored the idea that identity is a system we build for ourselves—a framework we inhabit and continue to shape as we grow. But isn’t that exactly what happens within a sports team? A structure we commit to, that we feed with our efforts, that we strengthen through loyalty, and that, in return, shapes us.

The individual then becomes recognizable not for who they are, but for what they represent—or rather, for what they belong to. They’re no longer just “themselves,” but “one of them,” and that’s often enough to form, in the eyes of the world, a complete identity.

The Teams We Belong To—And the Ones That Claim Us

As I see it, we are all part of a team—or rather, a category, a group, a collective by which we can be identified, and through which the rest of the world defines us, often without knowing us at all.

What’s striking is that these labels—whether flattering or unfair—are not always assigned based on what we’ve done or who we truly are, but simply because we belong to a particular team, recognized by one or more visible aspects of our identity.

And there are so many of these teams. Groups, classes, overlapping affiliations that shape us—and sometimes confine us. Some we choose, others are imposed. They’re fragments of who we are, layers of identity through which we’re categorized—sometimes fairly, but more often without nuance, without giving us the chance to exist beyond the label.

The hardest part in all of this is that some of these affiliations are not a matter of choice. They were handed to us before we were even aware of our own existence.

We don’t choose the color of our skin, or the place and time of our birth. We don’t choose our natural appearance, our native accent, our first language, our cultural background, or our ethnic identity.

That doesn’t mean everything is fixed—growing up, we may find ways to reshape certain aspects of who we are: our values, beliefs, political stance, lifestyle. And just like some athletes switch teams to align better with their goals, we too can walk away from some affiliations and embrace new ones—sometimes by conviction, sometimes out of necessity.

Yes, we change.
We change religions, ways of thinking, ideals, passions, careers, relationships, and causes. But there is always a part of us—an origin, a core—that cannot be erased.

We can adopt a new nationality, change our accent, immerse ourselves in another culture—but nothing fully wipes away where we come from. That place, like certain invisible marks of our personal history, stays with us—whether we like it or not.

Even when we manage to hide these aspects from the outside world, they remain visible in the gaze of the one watching us silently from the mirror. And that gaze is never fooled.

What They See Before They See Us

Each of us, at some point in our life, has experienced the effects of that part of our identity we didn’t choose. Sometimes it benefits us—it opens doors, shields us, grants us a form of respect or privilege. Sometimes, it holds us back.

And this holds true regardless of our individual situation: whether rich or poor, attractive or not, educated or uneducated, citizen of a powerful country or of a forgotten nation—we all carry the marks of the team we’re associated with, and we all draw from it—consciously or not—certain advantages. But many of us also carry the weight of disadvantages—heavier than we admit, more insidious than we imagine.

What others see first is not always the person we are, but the image of the team we’re presumed to belong to. That image comes before our name, our gestures, our intentions. It acts like a mask—imposed, glued to our face before we’ve even had the chance to speak.

***

Core message:

We are all shaped by the teams we belong to—some chosen, others inherited—and these group identities profoundly influence how we see ourselves and how the world sees us, often before we’ve had a chance to show who we really are.

***

If this reflection stirred something in you, here are a few questions you might want to sit with—not to solve anything, but simply to notice what’s already moving inside:

• Which parts of your identity do you feel you chose—and which were chosen for you?

• Have you ever been seen or judged through a “team” you didn’t consciously choose? How did that shape your sense of self?

• What group or community has helped shape you the most—and do you still feel like you belong there?

If you feel like sharing, leave a comment or send me a DM. I’ll be glad to listen, talk, and answer you.

See you next week, for the next shape of this journey through The Traps of Identity.

Warmly,
Odel Asseille
The Mirror Room – First Edition

Rimbaud said:
“I is another.”
I would say, for my part, that “I” is plural.
And maybe identity isn’t about choosing between all these versions—but welcoming them, each as a simultaneous truth.

And that’s where Jim Rohn’s words take on a new meaning:
“If you want things to change, you have to change.”

He was talking about deliberate, conscious change—almost strategic. But in my case, change has often happened to me. It came uninvited, unplanned.

I changed when I wanted to be liked, when I wanted to succeed, when I wanted to live up to my family’s expectations.

At every stage, I unconsciously adjusted something within myself—a way of being, a way of thinking, a posture—to become the person the situation seemed to require.

It wasn’t a plan. It was a reaction. And maybe that’s the most unsettling part: we often become who we need to be without even realizing it.

It’s a constant process—subtle, but deeply active.

And yet, becoming aware of that mechanism can change everything. Not to control it entirely, but at least to guide the next version of ourselves with more clarity.

And maybe that’s the paradox of how we evolve: it’s intimate, silent, sometimes involuntary, but always visible—to others, in their own way.

The Many Reflections We Leave Behind

People often have different opinions about us. The same person, but seen in many different, sometimes even contradictory ways.

It usually depends on the context, the environment, the moment.

Personally, I never reject what people say about me. If someone says I’m arrogant, I say they’re probably right. Whether they call me respectful or rude, patient or impulsive, intelligent or naïve, generous or distant—it doesn’t matter.

I accept all of these perceptions as truths, even if deep down, I don’t always feel like the person they’re describing.

Why? Because I figure maybe they met me at a time when I really was just as they saw me.

Even if it was just a fleeting moment, just one fragment of me—it was still real.

That’s why I always try to meet people without preconceived ideas. What interests me is the version of them I perceive myself—through their actions, their silences, their gaze.

It doesn’t matter what others have said about them. And I like to believe I’m offered the same chance: to be seen for who I am here and now, not for who I was yesterday.

Choosing Who We Become

So if the “I” is plural, it’s up to us to decide which version to nourish.

There are days when I still feel like a caterpillar—hungry to learn, clumsy, mid-transformation.
Other times, I feel like a seed growing blindly in soil I don’t fully understand.
And sometimes, I think I might be a butterfly—for a moment—until a gust of wind reminds me just how fragile flight can be.

But today, I know this much:
these versions of me are not mistakes.
They are states.
Fragments of a single path.

And it’s up to me—up to all of us—to choose which ones to nurture and which to let fade. Not to erase the past, but to refine what we’re becoming.

Because identity isn’t a fixed answer.
It’s a living system we build inside ourselves, day by day.
It’s made of values, memories, emotions, instincts, and hesitations.
We feed that system—often without realizing it—and it’s what ends up guiding us: in our decisions, our behaviors, our dreams.

Understanding this might already be the first step in steering the path more consciously.
Toward what? Toward whom? Toward which version of ourselves?

That might be tomorrow’s question.

But today, here and now—who am I, with what I know, what I feel, and what I choose to become?

Thank you for journeying with me through this first part of Understanding Identity.

I don’t know where you are on your own path—but if something in this reflection stirred something in you, here are a few questions you might carry with you:

• Who have you become in response to others—without realizing it?

• Which version of yourself have others seen that felt unfamiliar to you—but might still hold some truth?

• Which part of you, today, feels most alive—and is it a version you’re choosing to nurture?

No pressure to answer.
Just an invitation to pause, and take a moment to notice where you are in your becoming.

See you next week for the first shape of The Traps of Identity.

Warmly,
Odel Asseille
The Mirror Room – First Edition

Welcome back to this ongoing reflection on identity.
In the previous article, we explored what the life cycle of butterflies can teach us about who we are — and how identity, like theirs, is a journey of constant change.

Now, in Part 2 of Understanding Identity, we continue that exploration.
Because identity isn’t fixed — it evolves. It moves, transforms, adapts.
And the more we pay attention to that movement, the more we understand ourselves.

Becoming Takes Time

The birth of the butterfly is only one image among many.
The tree, too, was not always a tree. It was first a seed—tiny, forgotten in the soil—then a fragile shoot a gust of wind could easily have snapped. And only through seasons, through slow growth, through adapting to the wind and rain, does it become what we later call an oak or a fig tree.

In the same way, it would be naïve to believe that our identity is something fixed or given from the beginning. What we call “the self” is not a stable essence, but a continuous construction—a process, a journey made of ruptures, learning, wounds at times, and often, rebirths.

Within each of us exist past versions—sometimes embarrassing, sometimes forgotten—without which the present would lose its meaning. And what we experience today, even in silence, even in the shadows, is already shaping the person we will become tomorrow.

This is the perspective shared by Carl Gustav Jung:
“We are not born as ourselves—we become ourselves.”

So maybe we need to stop for a moment, really pause, and dare to ask the question that seems so simple we tend to avoid it:
What is identity? Who am I, deep down?
Is the person I am today the “butterfly” version of myself? Have I already become what I was meant to be—or am I still somewhere between the caterpillar and the flight, changing without even realizing it?

But above all, does the butterfly know it’s a butterfly?
Does the caterpillar have any idea that one day it will become something else?
Would it already wish to fly before it even has wings?
Or does it live its life as a caterpillar fully—feeding, moving inch by inch, without rushing toward a future it doesn’t yet know, but that will come in its own time?

And the seed—does it dream of becoming a tree? Does it project itself into a majestic future filled with branches and birds, or does it simply grow, absorb light, move through the seasons as they come—knowing, perhaps without knowing, that each day of patience brings it one step closer to what it is meant to become?

The Many Faces of Who We Are

I have only one certainty: the person I am today is no longer the child who used to chase butterflies. The tumults of life, the gentle or violent jolts of everyday experience, have forced me to grow—sometimes even to transform—to adapt, to learn, to move forward differently than I once imagined.

There were moments when change wasn’t a choice but a necessity, almost a matter of inner survival.

But does that mean every trace of that child is gone? No, I don’t believe so.
I can even say with confidence that something remains within me: values, impulses, perhaps a certain lucid naïveté that hasn’t completely left the ship.

Of course, they’re no longer untouched. They’ve been shaken, tested, refined over the years—by mistakes, by grief, by hope. Some have evolved, others have stayed nearly the same—like those objects we keep without thinking, only to find them one day at the back of a drawer, quiet witnesses to who we once were, silently always there.

It’s also obvious that we are not always the same person.
At every stage of life, something in us shifts—sometimes imperceptibly, sometimes abruptly.
I don’t know about you, but I can say it without hesitation: I am far from being the same as I once was.

Even in high school, I was no longer that little boy who used to chase butterflies.
And the day I fell in love for the first time, I changed. My behavior, my gestures, my way of speaking—everything adjusted itself in an effort to charm that girl.

And when that love ended, I changed again. I was no longer that naïve lover; I carried within me the imprint of a heart that had learned to be cautious. And since then, the transformations have never stopped.

We shift, we grow, we adapt—a little more each day—without even realizing it. It’s like growing up: no one sees it happening. It’s only when we look at an old photo or revisit an old memory that we realize just how much we’ve changed.

And yet, in our day-to-day lives, we keep believing we’re still the same as we were yesterday, the same as we were a year ago.

“I” Is Plural

In our cultures, too, there are sometimes communal celebrations that bring us together.
Take Thanksgiving, for instance. Around that time, nearly every household prepares a turkey. It’s the dish of the season—so common it’s almost unremarkable.

But assuming all turkeys are the same would be a rookie mistake. Same basic ingredient, sure—but different recipes, different spices, unique presentations. Every household, every tradition, every hand leaves its mark on the dish.

Identity is exactly the same.
Each “me” is a little different—depending on the life stage, the influences, the wounds, the desires, the expectations.

The child who ran after butterflies. The cocky high schooler convinced he knew it all. The love-struck teen. The rebellious son. The adult riddled with doubt. The cautious man when it comes to money. The one who stopped believing in love, and the one who found it again—all of those faces were me.

They’ve always been me. Same base, same origin. But different shapes, different flavors.

Rimbaud said:
“I is another.”
I would say, for my part, that “I” is plural.
And maybe identity isn’t about choosing between all these versions—but welcoming them, each as a simultaneous truth.

Core message: Identity is not a fixed truth — it’s a process of becoming, shaped by time, experience, and every version of ourselves we’ve ever been.

Thank you for following this next step in the journey of understanding identity.
I don’t know where you are on your own path—but if this reflection touched something in you, here are a few questions you might carry with you:

• Which version of yourself have you left behind—but still quietly carry within you?
• Are you rushing toward a future you haven’t yet grown wings for?
• Can you welcome all the parts of who you’ve been, without needing to choose just one?

No pressure to answer.
Just an invitation to pause—like the seed, like the caterpillar—and take a moment to notice where you are in your becoming.

See you next week for the final shape of Understanding Identity.

Warmly,
Odel Asseille
The Mirror Room – First Edition

1. The Innocence of Discovery

When I was a child, I would sometimes spend long hours alone—or nearly alone—in the fields, watching butterflies. In the stillness—that particular kind of silence only children seem to know how to inhabit—if you stayed perfectly still, truly still, with your mind cleared of the little storms of childhood, sometimes one of them would land on you, mistaking your body for a branch or a piece of bark.

At that age, life seemed simple, radiant, self-evident—as it often does before we learn to be wary of the world.

Sometimes, with friends, we would chase them laughing, trying to catch them—clumsy but fascinated—and what I began to realize then was that these creatures were as fragile as they were beautiful. A mere breath was enough to send them flying. A single curious finger could damage their wings.

2. The Hidden Work of Becoming

It was only much later that I understood: no butterfly is born a butterfly. Behind the lightness of their flight lies a slow and meticulous metamorphosis, a process made up of necessary stages—sometimes invisible, always essential.

It all begins with an egg—tiny, almost invisible—carefully placed on a chosen leaf. Nothing moves, and yet everything begins there, in that imperceptible point of life to come.

Then comes the caterpillar: ravenous, awkward, eating without end, growing so quickly it must shed its skin again and again—each molt both a surpassing and a shedding, a gain and a letting go.

One day, it stops eating, stops moving, clings to a branch, and becomes a chrysalis. Everything seems still. But inside, the world is turning: it’s no longer a body that grows—it’s an identity that’s being rebuilt.

3. From Caterpillar to Flight: A Truth We Forget

And when at last the chrysalis cracks, and the butterfly emerges—trembling, vulnerable, its wings still wrinkled from the wait—it isn’t simply an appearance, but the culmination of a long, silent, almost painful labor.

It must wait still, stretch its wings, let them dry—before it can take flight. That flight we admire, that graceful movement we assume is natural, is in truth the result of a slow becoming—unseen, but vital.

And all of this brings us back to a simple truth we too often forget: the butterfly wasn’t always a butterfly. And it wasn’t always admired. Let’s be honest—who really loves caterpillars? That crawling, awkward, lackluster body rarely inspires awe. Yet without the caterpillar, there is no butterfly. Without that phase, there are no colors, no flight.

It echoes a truth expressed by Amin Maalouf:
“Identity is not given once and for all; it is built up and transformed throughout a person’s life.”

Thank you for reading this first exploration of identity with me.

If this reflection on transformation and growth resonated with you, I’d love to hear from you.
Hit the comment button and share your thoughts—I read them all.

• 🐛 1. Is there a part of you right now that feels like it’s still growing—maybe a little messy, a little unsure—but quietly becoming something more?

• 🦋 2. Is there something inside you that’s changing—something others might not see yet, but you can feel taking shape?

• 🌱 3. Have you ever looked back on a past version of yourself and felt embarrassed… but maybe that version was actually doing its best to get you here?

This was only the beginning.
In the next chapter of Understanding Identity, we’ll continue this journey inward—following the thread of who we are, and who we thought we had to become.

Warmly,
Odel Asseille
The Mirror Room – First Edition

🪞Welcome to the First Edition of The Mirror Room

A Series of Reflections on Identity

Hi again — I’m truly glad you’re here.

This article marks the beginning of the First Edition of The Mirror Room, a collection of reflections centered around one of the most personal and universal questions we face: Who am I?

These writings come from a long-form personal manifesto I wrote — a deep, introspective piece that I’ve decided to share in weekly installments, broken into shorter, digestible reflections.

Instead of presenting it as one single post or publishing it all at once, I’m releasing it piece by piece, so each entry can be read slowly, lived with, and returned to — a space to pause, think, and reflect.

Because platforms like Substack and Medium often separate articles from their larger context, I want to be clear from the beginning:
➡️ What you’re reading here is part of a continuous whole.
Each article in this series is a fragment of a broader journey — a living conversation about identity, self-construction, transformation, and inner truth.

So whether you’re reading this now or stumbling upon it weeks later, I invite you to follow the thread however it comes. You can start here, or jump ahead. Go in order, or go where your curiosity leads.

This is not a story with a fixed beginning, middle, and end.
It’s a mirror you can return to — again and again — as you change, grow, and ask new questions.

Thank you for being here at the start.
Let’s reflect — together.

INTRODUCTION — Why This Manifesto?

Identity: A Universal and Unfinished Question

This is a question that each of us will inevitably ask ourselves — sooner or later. It seeps into our thoughts, sometimes in silence, sometimes like a storm:
“Who am I?”
It’s an ancient, intimate, visceral quest.

It begins in childhood, often without us even noticing. It hides behind our games, our dreams, our naïve ambitions. When we say, “I want to be a firefighter, a doctor, an astronaut…”, what we’re really trying to do is give our identity a face.

For some, that image is clear, almost instinctive. For others, it remains blurry, elusive — like a puzzle with no reference image, or a construction site with no end in sight. At times, we think we’ve found it, only to realize it’s slipped away again.

This quest never truly ends. We move forward, then fall back. We get lost, we stagnate. Then we shift, grow, begin again. Sometimes, we even reinvent ourselves completely.

It is this search that drove people to build empires, write masterpieces, change the world — or simply try to transform themselves.

Men and women, like so many others, have embarked on this journey of identity not through books, but through struggle, disorder, and silence.

Nelson Mandela, South African anti-apartheid revolutionary and political leader who became the country’s first Black president, could have been defined by his chains or the walls of his prison cell. But he chose a different path: to redefine himself. In the shadows of apartheid, he shaped an identity grounded in peace and resistance. It wasn’t an identity imposed on him, but one he embraced — one that had the power to restore hope to an entire people.

Frantz Fanon, psychiatrist, philosopher, and revolutionary writer from Martinique known for his works on colonialism and the psychology of oppression, was torn between cultures, languages, and skin colors. He sought meaning in this inner fracture. By analyzing the invisible wounds of colonialism, he gave voice to those who had been dispossessed. Amid the chaos, he unearthed a powerful narrative built on a liberated, reimagined identity.

How many of us carry these silent fractures, trying to piece together the scattered parts of ourselves?
Each name mentioned here is not a myth — but a mirror.

Frida Kahlo, Mexican painter celebrated for her vivid self-portraits and exploration of identity, postcolonialism, and pain, never hid her scars. She painted them. She built her identity from raw emotion, lived pain, and embodied culture. Her journey shows that it’s possible to turn our wounds into language, and our stories into art.

Malcolm X, African-American Muslim minister and human rights activist known for his powerful advocacy for Black empowerment and self-determination, lived several lives in one. He was lost, then found. Angry, then clear-eyed. His search for identity wasn’t linear — it was a process. Each step, each name, each transformation brought him closer to a truth greater than himself.

Robert Kiyosaki, entrepreneur and author of personal finance books such as Rich Dad Poor Dad, experienced that inner tension. Torn between two father figures — one rich, the other poor — he could have remained trapped in that conflict. Instead, he transformed it into a question. By choosing which lessons to follow, he forged his own financial and educational identity. His work continues to inspire those seeking to think differently — beyond traditional models.

Through each of these journeys, one truth becomes clear: identity isn’t a privilege reserved for a select few heroes. It’s a quest that each of us can undertake, in our own way, in our own lives.

And you?
Among all the voices living within you, which ones do you choose to hear?
The voice of the past?
The voice of the world?
Or the quieter one — the one that speaks when everything else falls silent?

Martin Luther King Jr., American civil rights leader and Baptist minister renowned for his role in advancing civil rights through nonviolent activism, drew from his faith, his readings, his wounds, and his dreams to forge a voice, a cause, and a destiny. He didn’t merely exist in a divided America — he rose above it, grounding himself in an identity built on nonviolence, hope, and a broader vision of humanity.

These names aren’t meant to impress. They serve to remind us of something essential: identity doesn’t fall from the sky. It must be sought. It must be challenged. It must be built. And sometimes, it becomes a torch — fragile, yet powerful — that shines far beyond the one who carries it.

A Mirror, Not a Monument

This list could go on. There are so many souls, known and unknown, who have made this quest their battle, their path, their silent work. Builders of the self. Explorers of the inner world. Emblematic figures — and ordinary people with extraordinary journeys.

If we were to name them all, it would take entire lifetimes.
But this manifesto isn’t here to say everything. It exists to open a space. To offer a starting point. To hold up a mirror.

Because the most important thing isn’t found in the names we cite, nor in the stories we tell.
The most important thing lies elsewhere.
This quest is also mine.
And perhaps — it’s yours too.

Where the Real Journey Begins

But beyond the iconic figures and the stories we recount, identity also takes shape in ordinary moments. In silences. In the glance we sometimes avoid in the mirror. In that question that returns, uninvited:
“Am I really myself?”

It’s not always in grand decisions that the change happens, but in the tiniest gestures — moving to a new city, changing jobs, shifting social circles, softening our tone, or even something as small as a haircut. It’s there, in those subtle choices, that we sometimes feel something stirring within us.

Maybe you’ve already felt those tensions — that blurry moment when you’re no longer quite the person you were yesterday, and not yet the one you’re becoming.

It’s to that version of you that this manifesto speaks.
Not to the ideal you’re chasing.
Not to the image you project.
But to you — with your doubts, your intuitions, your fragments of truth.

That’s where the real exploration begins. Not in the noise of the world, but in what stirs within you, when everything quiets down.

This manifesto is not a complaint. I’m not writing to accuse or to judge. I don’t have ready-made answers. And I don’t pretend to have understood what so many are still searching for.

I’m not a philosopher. I’m not a psychologist. I’m an ordinary person. I doubt, I observe, I get lost sometimes — and I search.
Maybe like you.

I write to understand. To clarify what I feel. To put words to this inner journey we share — the search for identity. That complex blend of who we are, who we think we are, and who we hope to become.

And if, through my words, you manage to find your own… if my questions help you uncover some answers — then this manifesto will have fulfilled its purpose.

This is just the introduction in a much larger conversation.

If this spoke to something in you — even quietly — I invite you to follow or subscribe so you don’t miss the next entries. Each one is a step deeper into the journey.

🪞Now I’d love to hear from you:

• When did you first start asking yourself: “Who am I?”

• Was there a moment — a gesture, a decision, a rupture — when you felt something begin to shift inside you?

• If you held up a mirror to who you are today… what would you truly see?

Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments — your voice matters here. It might resonate with someone else too.