Dissecting myself and every memory that interlocks to create “me,” I’m reminded of moments so deep—my cornerstone, the first indicators of Abby.

I’ve always been a passionate person, a word I picked out to replace the former (“bossy,” “stubborn”) given to me.

Although identity is defining and poignant, I’m still learning who I am and taking more time to do so in recent periods more than earlier ones. I find it incredibly interesting that my moments of self-recognition as a child were more real and rawer than the self-discovery I made as a teenager, but neither held the same depth as the accounts I make today. This shift can be attributed to my desire to fit in, which took years to develop and to dementalize.

Revisiting my bank of memories to dredge up a few of my sweetest cornerstone moments, I am mentally transported to times when I was carefree and goofy, and when I did not recognize that people could perceive me. The honest moments of Abby when I’d put on every pair of underwear I owned and strut around the house. Or the time I entered a pageant to perform a self-choreographed and self-taught dance wearing a candy corn costume. Remembering Christmas when I’d shout, “Thank you Santa” and mean it after opening every gift.

These seeds of identity paint my passion and my spirit. Parts of me that I questioned, fought against, and tried to hide for many years due to societal pressures. The sides of me I reaffirmed, fought for, and showcased to welcome them back.

Remembering who I was and who I am, I see how those versions work together to honor the first and latest definitions of my self-identity. I cannot wait to build on these moments, respect my foundations, and see where they continue to take me.