Do Chameleon’s Lack Identity, or Are They Shaping the World Around Them?
When someone told me I had no identity of my own, I believed them—until I realized I wasn’t shapeless, I was becoming a shaper.
I used to care deeply about how people saw me. I valued others’ opinions, and I was the person everyone liked—the one people felt they could confide in. My vulnerability made others feel safe to be vulnerable too, and my energy was infectious. I’m still all of those things. I still believe how I show up in the world matters, and I do value what others have to say. But there was a time when I didn’t just listen—I adopted what others thought of me as truth.
I finished writing this article a week ago, but I didn’t feel ready to share it. Something felt off. In every piece of writing I put out, I explore a psychological behavior or characteristic we share as humans, but I also open a window into myself. I allow readers—whether I know them or not—to see me. This time, the vulnerability was missing, and that’s because what I needed to say felt uncomfortable to admit.
Shame has a way of holding us back—shame about our past, our thoughts, our choices, our growth. Often, that shame stems from fear—fear of how others will perceive us. I have regrets, yes, but they’re rooted in my values, not in someone else’s judgment. Still, shame creeps in when we start to worry about the opinions of others. But that’s a topic for another day (I’m such a tease).
Years ago, someone called me a “chameleon.” They didn’t mean it as a compliment. They said I had no identity of my own—that I adapted too easily to whoever I was around. I remember the way my chest tightened as they said it, like they were holding up a mirror I wasn’t ready to look into. It felt like they saw through me, pointing out parts I thought I had hidden well. Back then, I didn’t know who I was. I blended in. I adopted and absorbed so easily that I became a reflection of others, not of myself.
That conversation came back to me recently—first, over drinks with someone who brought up chameleons in a completely different light. They described how chameleons have the rare ability to make others feel safe, how they naturally lower people’s guards. A few days later, the word came up again at dinner—this time in a conversation about how relationship-building is foundational to everything meaningful in life. Then today, the same person who had once used "chameleon" in a negative way used it to me reminded me again that I used to adopt the likes and dislikes of those around me; they shared this as a desire to make sure I didn’t fall back into old habits.
Let’s pause on the chameleon conversation for a moment—I promise, I’ll come back to it.
Around my birthday, I was venting to someone about how my friends viewed me. After I finished, they simply asked, “But what do you think?” I answered, explaining that I disagreed with some of what was said. Then they said something I’ll never forget: “Don’t take on other people’s perspectives about who you are if it’s something you disagree with.”
I cried after that conversation. That one sentence freed something in me. Each of these conversations over the past few days cracked open something I’ve been trying to shift in myself for years. It reminded me that we don’t grow alone—we grow with the help of others. We need people. We need a village.
I’m someone who deeply values what others think and feel. Curiosity is an essential part of who I am. But I’ve come to understand that there’s a big difference between the curiosity of a mature mind and that of an immature one—not in a judgmental way, but simply in terms of development.
To the best friend who told me I had no self-identity and that I blended into my environment—they were speaking the truth.
To the friend who told me not to adopt other people’s opinions if I didn’t agree—they were right.
To the coworker who said adaptability, like that of a chameleon, is powerful—they were correct.
To the friend who praised the relationship-building strength of chameleons—they were accurate.
And to that same best friend who reminded me not to take on others’ likes and dislikes—they’re still right. They’re reminding me where I’ve come from, and who I’ve become.
Each piece of wisdom I’ve been given holds truth. I am a mature chameleon. And chameleons—these incredible creatures made by God—are so misunderstood. Because in our very human way, we often judge what we don’t understand.
When young, chameleons are in a state of absorption. Like children, they’re highly adaptive, deeply sensitive, fluid in their identity. They try on different hats, blend into different spaces, and often avoid conflict. But as they mature, they still carry these same traits—only now, they wield them with intentionality. A mature chameleon doesn’t just adapt; they choose how and when to shift. They observe, they feel, they mirror—but they stay rooted. They stay anchored to their values. They don’t scream to be heard, but they influence quietly, powerfully—by choosing to belong with care, not by accident. Chameleons are not shapeless. They are shapers.
This has been my personal interpretation of what it means to be a chameleon. But let’s explore the science too.
“Chameleons in early development have unusually high neuroplasticity. Their brains are biologically wired to mirror their surroundings—socially, emotionally, mentally” (Keysers & Perrett, 2004). This isn’t mimicry; it’s deep integration. As a child and young adult, I appeared malleable. And in the wrong hands, I was. But with maturity and reflection, I’ve realized that my ability to absorb has become my greatest source of strength and wisdom. I’m able to take in large amounts of information—emotional, intellectual, sensory—and metabolize it with intention. That’s what curiosity looks like in a mature mind: discernment.
Their most visible trait? Their skin. “Chameleons have chromatophores—pigment cells that let them shift color. But here’s the important part: these changes are linked to their emotions” (Edmonds, 2015). When they’re young, color changes are quick and reflexive. But as they age, the process becomes deliberate. They express with purpose. Just like I’ve learned to do over the years.
Another key piece of their development lies in the prefrontal cortex—the part of the brain responsible for identity, long-term planning, empathy, and emotional regulation (Verywell Health, 2021). For chameleons, this area matures slowly, often not until late adulthood. When I learned this, it felt like a hug. It made me realize that my slow, sometimes painful growth wasn’t a flaw—it was a natural part of who I am. And nothing accelerated my maturation like becoming a mother. In the past year, my transformation has become even more profound.
As chameleons grow, they form identity “signatures”—patterns encoded by powerful emotional and sensory experiences. These experiences shape how they move through the world. For me, it’s been everything: the day I lost my grandmother, the day I dropped out of college (three times), the day I chose to stay in a marriage, and the day I chose to leave. The day I gave birth. The day I found out my dad wasn’t my biological father—but still was my father in every way. The traumas I’ve endured, the joy I’ve felt, the days I started over again and again. These memories live in my body. They are etched into my nervous system and into my story. And they’ve become my compass.
I don’t learn by being told—I learn by living. I used to think that was a flaw. I don’t anymore.
In full maturity, chameleons develop an internal biofeedback loop—a system that keeps them aligned inside and out. “This loop regulates posture, tone, emotional shifts, and how they communicate” (Graziano & Raichle, 2007). For me, this means I now choose how I show up in every room. I no longer perform out of survival. I move with intention. I’ve been praised for being emotionally intuitive, but I know now that this isn’t just instinct—it’s biology. It’s years of reflection. It’s lived experience that lets me balance who I am and how I connect with others.
I no longer adopt the perspectives of others without discernment. I listen. I reflect. I evaluate. And then I decide what I take with me and what I let go. My values are now the filter for everything, and they don’t change depending on who I’m with. They were formed with care, through fire and transformation.
When I adapt now, it’s with purpose. When I’m vulnerable, it’s by choice. When I trust, it’s because I’ve chosen to believe in good—again—even after seeing so much evil. I don’t lose myself anymore, because I know myself now. I no longer stay in places or with people who misalign with my values. I could adapt—but I choose not to. Loving yourself is knowing yourself. And knowing myself means I know what kind of soil I need to grow.
My ex-husband once said, “I’m not the one who changed—you did.” He was right. I changed. I evolved. I grew. Like cells dividing, I became something new. To be in my life is to understand that I will always be growing. Always moving, unfolding, and reshaping.
So yes, I am a chameleon—and no, I don’t take that as an insult. To see it as something negative would be to dismiss everything I’ve grown through, everything I’ve learned, and everything I’ve become. And to deny that would be to suggest that God made a mistake when He created me exactly as I am. I shape and change every environment and space I enter.
30 Lessons of Acquired Wisdom - Lesson 20.
Edmonds, P. (2015, August 7). Chameleon colors reflect their emotions. National Geographic. https://www.nationalgeographic.com/animals/article/chameleon-colors-reflect-their-emotions
Graziano, M. S. A., & Raichle, M. E. (2007). Neurologic origins of social cognition: Implications for understanding individual differences in the self. The Journal of Neuroscience, 27(14), 3585-3592. https://doi.org/10.1523/JNEUROSCI.5307-06.2007
Keysers, C., & Perrett, D. I. (2004). Mirror neurons and the simulation theory of mind-reading. Trends in Cognitive Sciences, 8(11), 493-501. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.tics.2004.08.008
Verywell Health. (2021, September 29). The anatomy of the prefrontal cortex. Verywell Health. https://www.verywellhealth.com/prefrontal-cortex-5220699