Which flavour cheesecake are you?

I’ve always been a fan of quizzes. Not the kind that test what you know, but the ones who tell you who you are.

It started when I was a little girl and my granny would let me pick a magazine from the bottom shelf. I’d curl up on my bed with my pink gel pen and circle the As, Bs or Cs, counting them up to see who I was. Only the bright printed pages could tell me.

I liked the feeling of being seen as a child who felt overlooked. Even if I did do the mental maths to get my desired outcome, the validation of being told I was just like my favourite tv character meant more than asking myself if that was really my favourite colour of nail polish.

As I got older, the magazines lost their appeal, but the quizzes stayed. In my first year of university I sat in the tiny purple kitchen of my flat with my first friend, taking turns doing personality quizzes. Because there’s no better way of getting to know someone than finding out what type of ice cream they would be.

We could sit for hours, hunting the most niche quiz we could find. Unpacking the paragraph of personality written by a stranger, nodding approvingly. Unnerved by the accuracy, or perhaps pretending to be. Trusting someone else to identify me so that I didn’t have to think about who I was or what I liked. Following the rules laid out for me so that I could blame something else if it went wrong.

When I was in school, the MBTI test was popular. Of course, my friends and I took it, reading the results like the Bible. An upgrade from the magazine quizzes and Buzzfeed content. This time, it felt a bit more serious. A true answer to who I was and why I was like it.

I was an ISFJ. I wrote it down in my notes app in case anyone ever asked me. Or for the nights when I felt particularly misunderstood and could type it into Youtube and feel like someone saw me.

The S stands for sensing. Relying on facts and logic. Relying on something more external to tell the truth that you ignore in yourself.Looking back, I find it very fitting. Those initials adorned the box I lived in, refusing to open my world any further than what I knew to be the truth. Not my truth.

Recently I re-took the test. Before my results, I told my friend I thought I had changed. I could feel it. I wear that recognition like a badge of honour.

I’m growing!!

Now, I’m an INFJ-T. I wonder if you can tell. However much I might develop, I think the introversion is here to stay. I’m happy to have her. But since the first time I took the test, some things are different. I welcome the change.

Before, I was always more inclined to rely on structure and planning. Fact over feeling. Now, I rely on the bigger picture. Connection and sensation. At least, this personality test says so.

I’m inclined to agree. No one is surprised. Tell me who I am and I’ll lap it up. After all, There is no greater authority on your identity than an arbitrary online quiz, obviously.

But on a serious note, I do feel the change. The difference. In my case, I feel it most in the sense of trust I have in myself now. The kind that no one has when you’re 16 and sad. Now, my devotional tether to fact is weakened. The threads are coming loose.

Now, I listen to the feelings arisen, the way the choice sits on my ribs and pokes at my heart. The way it tastes on my tongue and sticks in my throat. The weighty fist in my chest is my compass, thrumming with a direction and leading me north.

I am less at war with myself and more at war with the world.

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They say your pre-frontal cortex develops when you’re 25. I wonder when your heart does.

Maybe it’s different for everyone. The bright red of a young fleshy heart turns burgundy with the shadow of a life lived. The moisture dries up and the cracks deepen and now you can say you’re a grownup. When the heartbreak quota has been fulfilled.

You meet yourself at your lowest, your nails full of dirt when you try to crawl your way out. Your cheeks salt stained from the tears you shed in the grief of transformation.

Like a werewolf your shoulder blades pierce through your back and grow big. Your ribs spread outwards and leave you open, making space for your swollen heart.

Your S becomes an N and you re-introduce yourself to the girl in the mirror. You promise her it will be better this time. You’re friends now. This is where your life begins.

I sit at the beginning of the timeline, my life stretching out in front of me, and already so much has changed. I anticipate the future with a heavy chest and moths in my belly.

created using Shuffles, images sourced from Pinterest

If my younger self could see me now I think she’d be equal parts thrilled and disappointed. I’ve done a lot of the things she planned for me and I like to think she’d find me cool the way I found my older cousins cool when I was little.

She’d for sure be baffled by the lack of plan I have now. Even myself from a few years ago would be. But I’m trying to embrace it.

When I was younger, I used to think that by now I would have a place to live. Maybe with my best friends, maybe with a partner. I'd have an important job that required formalwear everyday and a commute across London.

I used to think that by now I’d know a lot more than I do. I’d have figured out my life.

I don’t know all of the things I hoped I would, but I think I’m knowing myself, and maybe that’s what it is to grow up. You don’t have to figure out the world. You don’t have to know it all. You just get a bit more familiar with the girl you’ve been growing with since you started. You listen to her more often. You protect her heart and hold her hand.

I say this as if I’m the authority on what it is to be a woman in your 20s. Everyone is different and I’m sure that in five years I’ll look back on this post and laugh at the wisdom I thought I was spewing. At least then I’ll know I’m growing. Part of the process is a mild distaste for every past version of yourself.

I’m not the authority on growth, that’s for sure. My only qualification is that I am a woman in her 20s. I have no idea what I’m doing and I know I’m not the only one, but I do feel better than I did before this decade.

That tiny letter change in a silly online quiz is a testament to growing up and growing into yourself. I trust my judgement and my instinct. I trust that I act in my own best interests as I develop the self-compassion that comes with growth.

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