Identity Matters

WHO ARE YOU?

Who am I?

This is the single question I have wrestled with the most for my 47 years.

For many years, I did not know, and I hid behind my smile, talents, charisma, achievements, roles, and abilities.

I have hidden, denied, and avoided. I have run from who I am.

Growing up, I didn't like my name; I didn't like my parent's choice.

I hated it! Being called Herman, to me, was an old man's name.

I didn't know anyone else called Herman.

They teased me; they heckled me; they called me Herman the German and Herman Munster. I felt so much shame about my name.

I wanted to be called Peter, Simon, Anthony anything, but Herman.

People talk about racism. Most of the racism I experienced came from black people. It came from my own.

My dark complexion gained nicknames, such as blick, blook, and tar baby. People who were black, but a lighter hue criticised my complexion.

I grew up being Rastafarian, so I had dreadlocks, which I did not want. I know looking at me now, you couldn't tell. Yet it was something I did not like, but I had it because the choice was already made for me.

I was teased; other children said I had worms and snakes, and people gave me the weirdest looks. If I went to church, I had to wear a hat to hide my dreadlocks when staying over somewhere.

I used to wish I could bleach my skin like Michael Jackson and have a curly perm wig just to fit in. To hide my identity. I wanted a different name. All of this happened before I was nine years old.

Growing up, I had no confidence, hated my self-image, had no self-love, despised my race, and hated my religion. I did not want to be me.

My parents broke up when I was 10; I was the eldest and had to be the substitute dad in my teen years. I did not want my life.

In my teens, I used football, music, and popularity to gain the acceptance I lacked, giving me a new dependency. I was not enough.

I discovered mentoring. Things changed. I found faith. I learn't that God accepted me for being me. I could cry writing this line.

I feel the warmth in my eyes.

I started working with young people who felt misunderstood, neglected, judged, from broken homes, who did not feel loved or were hurt by their parent's choices.

I understood them. I got them, and they started to change; they began to realise their worth, that they were not alone.

I embrace them for who they are, and I understand that in life, we have to go through the journey - to love ourselves.

We all experience trauma in one way or another, we must find ways to use what happen to us to encourage us and then others. If my pain can bring solace, healing and peace to others it was not in vain.

This is why I do what I do.

I now love my name; it looks like it should be in lights.

I love my complexion, and so does Donna, my wife, who is dark & lovely too. My daughters have our complexion, and I am proud.

I am not ashamed of my Christian faith. I love my barl head.

My wife now has the locks. It seems we swapped.

I speak, mentor, author, lead businesses, podcast, win awards, rap, parent, and husband, yet none of these are who I am.

I am a child of God.

I am loved.

I am me.

I am free.

I am Herman Stewart.