You were someone before. You're still her.

There’s a version of me I always knew existed at the back of my head. She’s always been there. Sometimes she’s a light hum like a butterfly flapping her wings - that version of me came out at bedtime, reading stories to my toddlers and stroking their sweet heads. Sometimes the noise is a heavy beat, persistent and loud until I pay it some attention, those were the times I stuck my children in the car and drove across Europe, seeking sun and adventure for my kids. At one point that noise also made me pick up a book to learn and stretch myself across placements and jobs, preparing for a time when my children would grow and I will need another purpose. The noise never went away though.

That true version of me however, got a bit buried over the years. Probably for all the right reasons but buried all the same. Buried under the marriage, buried under the children, buried under the unravelling of my life and then buried under the rebuild even though I knew each step was necessary. The noise of the rebuilding was louder than the noise that told me to be more of me when there were so many other things to do, it’s hard to focus when each thought is cut by a need or request from the people around you. This isn’t a sob story, this is the story of many people I see, not just clients but Mums on the school run, dads on the sidelines. Colleagues. The demands are strong.

I know what it’s like to lose the thread of yourself. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just gradually, the way the tide comes in and takes up the beach and then, before you even realise it, you’re left grabbing the things you can and running to safety. Entirely natural but invasive all the same. My home is my safe space and it’s ok to lose yourself but just like the tide, it goes back again and the beach becomes new and fresh and then there’s space for the new version…

Right now there is a new version of me. The tide has gone out and uncovered a version that isn’t the one always responding, it’s not even the one at the back of my head. It’s the one that’s starting the conversation - the one who actually has something to say and I’m finally prepared say it. And the way I’m choosing to do this is by writing - writing on Substack, writing for me, writing to keep me focussed on my dreams. A reminder to me that I have a voice and also a space where I have the strange, quiet luxury of being able to finish a thought. It’s giving me a sense of peace inside my mind that there is still an opportunity for me to be who I want to be.

Who I dream to be.

Who I am without my story,

Without the noise,

Or (dare I say it) without the children.

Writing is where I’m practising remembering who I am which is exactly why I often encourage my clients to do the same.

Write things down.

Get your notes out, lock them if necessary but get your words down on paper if you can. Not for an algorithm or a ‘like’ but for you, so you can compare where you’ve been with where you are now. Or, where you are now with where you’re going.

If I’m leaning into the divorce angle right now, one of the things I notice, over and over, is that divorce doesn’t just end a marriage. It can temporarily end your sense of who you are outside of it. You’ve spent years - sometimes decades - being someone’s partner, someone’s co-parent, someone’s other half. And then you’re not. And you’re standing there wondering who actually shows up when all of that falls away.

The same can be said for parenting or looking after an elderly loved one. Wh

o are you when all the responsibility falls away. Can you remember?

The answer, in my experience, is: you can. The version of you that existed before all of it. She’s still there, a bit dusty, possibly furiously but almost certainly braver than you remember.

So here’s what I want you to try:

Find somewhere quiet. A notebook, a notes app, the back of an envelope - it doesn’t matter. And answer these three questions as honestly as you can:

1. Who were you before you became part of “we”? Not your job title, not your role. You. What did you love? What made you laugh without having to explain it? What were you moving towards before you redirected yourself around someone else’s life?

2. What parts of that person have you been carrying quietly, all this time? Because I’d bet something survived. An interest you set aside. A way of seeing the world. A sense of humour that got a bit suppressed. Something.

3. What would she want you to do next? Not what’s sensible. Not what’s expected. What would the version of you that predates all of this recognise as true?

What you’ve just done is a coaching exercise called the Before and After Self.

It’s a values-clarification and identity reconnection tool, and the reason it works is simple: it bypasses the story you’ve been telling about yourself either since the marriage ended or since your children shifted from being the ones who held your hand to the ones that shut the door and takes you back to a self that predates all of it. A self that has its own wants, its own shape, its own direction.

This exercise is a reminder that although we navigate many endings in life, inside of this there are also beginnings.

You were someone before. You’re still her.

And she has things to say.

If you’d like support finding your way back to yourself after divorce, I work with clients online and face to face in Cardiff.