Sure, getting my wallet stolen is a good reason to be upset. I can get that.
I canceled the cards, reported it to the police, sat at the station for over 4 hours hungry and thirsty, then got home after midnight only to toss and turn all night.
I am usually able to shake things off pretty quickly, but that feeling of being emotional and of being upset…it remained. The more I unpack the emotion, the more I feel…violated.
The thief broke through my personal space bubble, reached into my purse, and stole my very identity.
When I went to the social security administration this morning, I had my marriage license, birth certificate, my old passport, current mail with my name and address, a checkbook, everything I could think of to prove I am who I say I am.
And it was not enough.
Because I had nothing in my married, legal name (ID, credit cards, and social security cards are all stolen!), they said I couldn’t get a replacement card.
They said my marriage license no longer counted because it was in my old name. Same for birth certificate, passport, everything.
In one day, I was reduced from bestselling author, on an unmatched high, to someone who cannot prove their own identity.
To my shame at the time, I cried at the social security office. I didn’t mean to, and I felt weak and helpless. Someone out there is walking around with my only means of proving who I am, and they don’t even care.
And I am here, left feeling silly for being so upset. It’s just a wallet. Things can be replaced, and after all, I’m safe and healthy and my Kindle wasn’t taken.
Yet that feeling of violation remains.