Who is Rebekah Freedom?

Many of us have been reduced to a LinkedIn bio. We show up at conventions, are introduced on stage by an MC, or have repeated our elevator pitch so many times that it has become our identity. I think a lot about identity and how it relates to our relationships. As I write this, I am guided by a singular yet profound value: trustworthiness. In question form, how can you trust me if you don’t know who I am?

When I was in fourth grade, I wanted to be a fashion designer, but my parents didn’t encourage that dream. Instead, I was absorbed into the family business and worked various odd jobs on the path to becoming a Relationship Coach. Now, well into my 40s, my life has followed the template my parents instilled in me from a very young age: in all things, put family first unless it makes sense to be selfish.

My father contributed to this template through gambling, clandestine affairs, hypocritically smoking while being a chiropractor and professed wellness guru. My mother contributed by being a martyr who prioritized the family above herself. In simple terms, my parents had good intentions but were both liars. I don’t fault them; rather, I understand that, in some ways, the world demands we lie and con ourselves and others to gain access to things we think will make us happy. Optimism is delusion.

I’ve written this line more times than I can recall: my parents died in my 20s. I’ve never been able to quantify the impact their deaths have had on me. All I know is that in lieu of having my family, I’ve had to be selfish.

Instead of designing clothes, I design lifestyles. I’m consumed by examining existence; mine has been marked by a persistent existential dread. I think about death daily—my own death, the possibility of humans going extinct. I’m soothed by the guarantee that I will go extinct, while simultaneously threatened by the notion that I won’t have lived up to my full potential in my lifetime.

Ghosts are not just apparitions; they are the shrapnel of regret. I’ve never been married, yet in a cruel twist of fate, I help people preserve their marriages. I balk at those on their third marriage, given that educated people like myself struggle to even have one. But then I’m reminded that the dating pool often favors con artists, liars, cheats, and morally corrupt individuals. Furthermore, the origin of disordered behavior can often be traced to how much it was rewarded.

If we praise the psychopath with attention, we affirm such traits and weave them into the fabric of our society. It’s sick, and I’m sick of it. Yet, in another cruel twist of fate, rather than being protected and cared for by a healthy family unit, I scrap and scrape by on my own while also teaching people how to protect their family unit. Furthermore, this is the source of my income.

But in a moment of clarity, I recognized that very few people belong in my chosen family. I’ve learned through experience that I couldn’t have come to clarity without experience.

When you are lonely, most attempts at survival are desperate. I’ve been vulnerable and naive, which primed me to take bad advice. I was searching for mentors and ended up online, listening to motivational clips from men I’ll never meet.

I don’t want that for the people in my life. I don’t want them to “know of me.” Historically, we relate to others through the stories they tell about their lives. There is a theme that can be extracted from their narratives. It becomes like a cinema that reflects our lives back to us through witnessing how others perform. But I don’t want my life to be a performance. Nonetheless, the digital format in which I express my thoughts turns me into a performer. The line between education and entertainment has been recklessly blurred as the world moved classrooms and boardroom meetings online. I’m not powerful enough to eradicate this current zeitgeist.

However, I can assert my awareness. I am candid about the many mistakes I’ve made in my life, and a friend pointed out how dangerously close I’ve come to defining myself through those mistakes. Her perspective shifted mine. I recognize that I’m responsible for how I articulate myself. If I believe I am a failure, then I will spend my life proving I’m not. That stance has hindered me from engaging with the life I purport to want. It has also brought to light that I have not forgiven myself for the mistakes I’ve made.

That lack of forgiveness acts as a burden that requires me to wear emotional armor, project a façade, and cling to what is familiar. I’m not just a relationship coach—that’s the title of my occupation. What I really am is a leader who has slogged through the trenches of loneliness, despair, catastrophic disappointments, and deceptive, sometimes abusive, men. Rather than kowtow to the crushing pressures of life, I’ve constructed a way to thrive.

I tell the truth.  
The truth will set you free.  
Hence, I am Rebekah Freedom.