“I do not know what my identity is when I am not working.”
Many of us seem to be trapped in a capitalist dichotomy of our work as the measure of our personal value and the need to express ourselves on our own terms and schedule.
Sometimes, that schedule is not so efficient. It runs in a bit of a cycle, too — it’s not like being depressed has ever made anyone a particularly efficient person.
I’m an autobiographical cartoonist, among other things, although my work seems to vary between adventure girl to angry feminist to anxious potato. I often write at the intersection of race and the immigrant experience, although it is essentially inextricable from my identity as a brown immigrant woman.
For this one, I wanted to write about how I’ve somehow managed to root my identity in productivity and the corresponding depression that comes when I do not feel I am being productive.