Who Even Am I?

If you don’t want a depressing read, then stop here — because this one is.

This life I’m living — my life, our life — is a rollercoaster, and if you follow my blog regularly, you probably already sense that. Some weeks my writing is full of humour and hope. Other times, it’s heavy and full of despair. And that’s exactly how my life feels — small glimmers of light followed by dark, dark days when the weight of it all presses down so hard I can barely breathe.

Sometimes all of that happens within the same week. Sometimes, within a single day. And lately, I’ve realised that somewhere in the middle of it all… I’ve lost who I am.

I was watching a programme on Netflix recently where one of the characters had to draw “the essence of a person.” He didn’t understand what that meant at first, so he did some research and found that the essence of a person is the set of characteristics that stay with them, no matter the situation. I loved that definition — it felt true. And by the time you reach adulthood, you usually know who you are. The essence of you is formed.

For me, that was definitely the case. I was wild from about 18, got myself into some scrapes — some my parents know about, most they don’t — but that’s what being young is, isn’t it? By 30, I knew myself. I knew what I liked, what I didn’t, and I genuinely liked the person I’d become. I still do, or I did anyway. I think I’m a good person — actually, a great one.

I’m not only a great person, I am a great parent too (Sorry for blowing my own trumpet!). For a long time, it was just me and my daughter. And she has grown into an amazing person, and I’m proud to take most of the credit. I believe as parents, our job is to help our children become the best versions of themselves. They all have different traits and characteristics, strengths and weaknesses and we need to work with those strengths and weaknesses to make them be the best they can be. I truly believe I’ve done that with her. Sure, she’s had her moments, and we’ve had our rough patches, but the essence of who she is — that strong, kind, grounded self — is there. My job with her isn’t over, but it’s shifted. She doesn’t need me as much.

My son’s journey has been different. Harder. He’s needed a completely different version of me — and through a lot of trial and error, I’ve had to change everything not just about how I parent but about who I am. Where we are now, I know the way I parent him works for him. He’s kind, funny, loving (in his own way), and can access life more than ever before. And yes, I’m going to take credit for that too. I truly believe that because of how I (and the rest of my family) have treated him over the last 18 months has provided him with the ability to be the best version of himself. It has provided him with the safety he requires to be able to access the things he likes in life. Playing football, going to watch football, days out etc. We still need to continue to monitor the balance of this but overall his life is much better than it ever was and that is down to me.

He’s seven, and by most measures he “should” be more independent. But in reality, he’s more dependent than ever before. I spend every waking moment with him. I sit with him, I follow him from room to room at his request, I bring him food. I anticipate and meet every need. I sit with him for hours on end just me and him in his bedroom together. I lose hours of my life providing him with my nervous system which enables him to be able to do things. I joke to my husband that when my son is here I go into a black hole never to be seen again and its true. Everything else comes second. Everything. The washing. The cleaning. The jobs/errands you need to run day to day. Its really really difficult to organise and get through but it works….for him. You might think that’s wrong, that I am indulging my son, spoiling him — but honestly, I don’t care. Because how he manages in the outside world now — how regulated, how comfortable, how himself he is — that’s because of the way I parent. And I am done with trying to convince anyone otherwise. I get on with it now without the need to justify how I am doing things. Without the need to convince others. Without the need to conform to traditional parenting methods.

But here’s the thing: those changes, the ones that help him thrive, have changed me. And I know with most life experiences you come out of them a changed version of yourself but the essence of yourself, the things that make you you tend to stay the same. And eventually that life experience that changed you ends – that break up you were going through you get over, that house move completes and you get organised, that job you lost you find another one and move on etc etc but I cant see this changing. This is our day to day life and will be for a long long time. He will be very dependent on me for a long long time, if not forever.

And in making my son the best version of himself, I’ve had to become no version of myself. I can’t be happy, or sad, or excited, or exhausted. I have to be neutral. Completely neutral. When I’m with him, my emotions can’t spill out in any direction — because any shift, any change in my energy, throws everything off balance. So I keep myself level, calm, steady… blank almost.

In group situations, I sit quietly. I don’t enjoy myself, but I don’t not enjoy myself either. I’m just there. Present, but not present. And it’s really hard to explain what that does to you over time — how being neutral for so long starts to erase the edges of who you are. The things I loved, stupid things like, answering quiz questions on The Chase, watching Glastonbury and dancing around the living room, singing in the car, chatting to my family, even just doing jobs around the house — all of those have quietly disappeared. And they’re not coming back.

I’ve lost myself somewhere between the bedtime battles and the school runs, in the gap between the old me and version I have had to become for him.

I know that sometimes, to help someone thrive, you have to change everything about yourself. I understand that, I accept it – but what does it leave you with?

Will she ever come back? I genuinely don’t know.

Because right now, it feels like she’s slipped so far into the background that I can’t even remember what it felt like to just….be her.

And that leaves me with the question that keeps echoing, louder than anything else…

If she doesn’t return…..who even am I?