He was fifty-two when he sold his company. He had worked in the automotive parts industry for twenty-seven years. His name was tied to that industry: “Bahram Karimi, the man who revolutionized the production line.” In meetings, when he walked in, everyone stood up. Young people shook his hand with respect. Competitors feared him. His colleagues called him “Mr. Karimi,” and that title had become his identity.
After selling the company, he decided to retire. The first six months were great. Travel, rest, gardening. But in the seventh month, he woke up one morning and didn’t know what to do with himself. No meetings, no employees, no rivals, no title. He tried starting a few new things – consulting, micro-investing, even writing – but none of them felt like “him.” His old friend Manouchehr, who had retired the year before, told him: “Don’t worry, it will pass.” But Bahram knew that “passing” wasn’t enough. Something inside him had died, or at least fallen asleep. That something had a name: work identity.
One night, at a family gathering, his niece asked him: “Uncle Bahram, what do you do now?” He was shocked. “What am I?” Until yesterday, he would say “CEO,” but today? Retired? Investor? Unemployed? None of them felt right. He didn’t answer. He just laughed and picked up his teacup. After that night, whenever someone asked “What do you do?” he would break into a sweat. He no longer knew how to introduce himself. And worse, he didn’t know how to define himself to himself.
When we change our place of residence or move to another city, we enter a completely new environment with new people, language, streets, and even new unwritten rules. In such circumstances, we need to build a fresh version of ourselves that fits the new environment. This process is called “identity reconstruction” and can take months to years [7]. During this time, the person lives in a “liminal zone”: they are no longer the old self, but not yet the new self. This condition is called “identity suspension” [8] – where the person is like a traveler who has a one-way ticket, a return ticket too, but the train hasn’t reached its destination yet.
Changing jobs creates a similar situation, especially in today’s world where everything is changing at a dizzying speed. Researchers in the business field, studying a large population of Iranian managers and employees, found that the average number of major job changes in a person’s lifetime has more than doubled compared to their parents’ generation [9]. Suddenly we realize that our previous role no longer holds its former importance and we are required to learn new skills. This sense of uncertainty challenges our work identity. For Bahram, being CEO wasn’t just a job; it was a lens through which he viewed every aspect of life. When they removed that lens, the world became blurry.
But environmental changes are not only external. Sometimes we ourselves change – our tastes, beliefs, values, priorities – yet our surroundings remain the same. In this case, a similar feeling of alienation occurs: “I am no longer the same person who lived in this house, with these friends, in this job.” This mismatch between the current self and the context of life is one of the deepest roots of identity crisis. In psychology texts, this phenomenon is called “identity stunting” [10] – like moving a tree but keeping it in the same old pot. The roots don’t fit, not because the tree is weak, but because the pot is too small.
There is an even deeper layer: sometimes environmental changes happen not in real life, but in our “mental world.” For example, we read a book that changes our worldview, or attend a course that challenges our long-held beliefs, or meet someone who alters our outlook on life. In this case, the external environment hasn’t changed, but our “inner map” has. And again, we feel out of sync with our surroundings. This form of alienation is the most subtle and sometimes the most painful, because it cannot be attributed to an external factor. We cannot say “the new city is to blame” or “the new job is to blame.” The blame lies with ourselves – that part of us that dared to grow and now feels suffocated in the old environment.
**Core exercise of this subchapter: “The 24-Hour Challenge” (extended version)
For 24 consecutive hours, choose one of the following challenges and carry it out carefully:
Option A (Movement challenge):
Perform all your daily tasks with your non-dominant hand. Brushing teeth, eating, writing (even if it becomes crooked), opening doors, answering the phone. Each time you forget and use your dominant hand, repeat that action with the other hand. At the end of 24 hours, write: “Which task with my non-dominant hand was so hard that I wanted to cheat?”
Option B (Auditory challenge):
Throughout the entire period, instead of music, podcasts, or TV, listen only to a recording of a real conversation of your own (e.g., an old phone call you have recorded – if you don’t have one, record a 5-minute conversation with a friend today with their permission). Pay attention to the pitch of your voice, the pauses, the words you repeat, the shifts in tone. After 24 hours, ask: “If someone heard this voice without seeing my face, what would they guess about me?”
Option C (Spatial challenge):
Every time you enter a room, choose a different path to reach your destination. For example, to go from the kitchen to the bedroom, instead of the direct hallway, go through the living room and circle back. Do this consciously and carefully, not carelessly. At the end of the day, write: “Did only my path change, or did my sense of space change as well?”
Sensory exercise: Recording your voice in three emotional states
Do this exercise on three separate days (or three times in one day with at least two-hour intervals):
First time (Fatigue state):
After a long, tiring day, when you truly feel exhausted, record your voice saying the sentence: “My name is … and today when I am tired, I feel that …” Complete the sentence yourself, however you like. Just be honest.
Second time (Happiness state):
On another day, when you are truly feeling good – for example, after seeing an old friend, or after achieving a small goal – say and record the same sentence with the same structure: “My name is … and today when I am happy, I feel that …”
Third time (Calm state):
At a time when you are neither tired nor excited – for example, early morning or late at night – say the sentence: “My name is … and when I am calm, I feel that …”
Then listen to all three recordings one after another (order doesn’t matter). Now ask yourself three questions and write down the answers:
1. Which of these three voices sounded most like “my real self”? Why?
2. Which one sounded most like “the mask I put on every day”?
3. Did you notice any differences in tone, speed, and pauses among the three states? What do those differences reveal?
For those in a hurry:
Environmental changes (migration, job change, even family role changes like becoming a parent) can temporarily disrupt one’s sense of identity. This is a natural reaction of the nervous system, not a character flaw. Three key points:
1. This confusion typically lasts between 3 to 18 months.
2. Trying to “immediately find the new self” usually backfires; it’s better to give yourself time.
3. During this period, instead of focusing on “who I am,” focus on “what gives me energy and what drains me.” A new identity is born from repeated actions, not from endless introspection.
For those who want to go deeper:
– Book: *Identity in Transition* by Hamzeh Ganji. Rushd Publications.
– Article: “Adaptation and Identity Formation in Immigrants” by Fereshteh Motamedi, Sadegh Rezaei. *Quarterly Journal of Developmental Psychology*. 2018, No. 22.
– Thesis: “Investigating Identity Suspension in Immigrant Students.” University of Tehran, Faculty of Psychology and Educational Sciences. 2019.
– Book: *Bandura’s Social Cognitive Theory* by Albert Bandura (Persian translation by Mehdi Ganji). Pandar Publishing.
Open question for this subchapter:
Now you tell me: If you had to permanently change one of your daily habits – for example, how you brush your teeth, or your route to work, or the order in which you eat your food – to a completely different habit (not better, not worse, just different), which habit would you choose, and what unintended shift in your sense of identity do you think this small change would create?
