Who Are You Now?
Change is part of life. We know that. But what nobody tells you is that change almost always comes with loss, and loss needs to be grieved. Even when the change is something you wanted.
When my daughter was born last December, I expected to feel overwhelming love. I did. But I also felt something I didn't have a word for yet. There was this low hum of impending doom, partly from the postpartum preeclampsia I was navigating on top of everything else. And underneath all of it, I kept looking for the version of me who had a routine, who knew what she was doing, who slept. She wasn't there. And nobody had warned me she was going to go.
It's not the first time I've felt this. I was diagnosed with ADHD as a child. At 22, my endometriosis diagnosis. At 27, my PMOS diagnosis. Each one felt like the ground shifting. Every time something big happens, there's a loss in the middle of it. And we don't really talk about that.
Identity shifts aren't a sign something went wrong. They're proof that something real happened. Something big enough to actually change the shape of you.
But we treat them like malfunctions. Partially because change is uncomfortable, and somewhere along the way we learned that discomfort equals bad. It doesn't. Discomfort is often exactly where growth lives. The problem isn't the shift. It's that we were never taught how to move through it.
Whether it's a new diagnosis, becoming a parent, leaving a relationship, starting recovery, or finally getting answers you waited years for: every major life shift comes with the same quiet loss. The person you were before it.
That version of you had routines. Certainties. They had a sense of what was coming. They knew who they were. And now you're someone new and it's uncomfortable and strange and your brain keeps reaching for them like a missing tooth.
Here's something that might help frame it. The stages of change and the stages of grief run almost parallel. Awareness, denial, resistance, exploration, commitment, integration. You're not going backward when you hit denial or resistance. You're moving through something. (I made a visual breaking this down if you want to save it.)
My husband and I actively wanted our daughter. We went through fertility treatments, ovulation medication, a trigger shot. She is so wanted. We love her without condition. And still. We had been together for 10 years, married for eight, and we had lived the DINK life fully. Double income, travel, flexibility, spontaneity. That chapter was real and it was good. Choosing a new one, even a beautiful one, still meant closing that door. Wanted doesn't cancel grief. Chosen doesn't cancel loss.
The work, I've found, is staying curious about who you're becoming. Not having it figured out. Not performing okayness. Showing up consistently for yourself and for your people. And consistent doesn't mean doing the same thing over and over. It means you keep trying. That distinction matters.
You're in the middle of something. Who are you becoming? And how do you embrace them?
Going through significant changes in life—such as becoming a parent or receiving a health diagnosis—can be a profound emotional journey. From my own experience, I’ve found that recognizing the hidden grief that accompanies these transformations is essential for healing. When my daughter was born, despite the overwhelming love, I felt an unexpected sense of loss for the version of myself I once knew. This grief isn’t unusual but often unspoken. Understanding that change and grief often parallel each other helped me navigate these feelings. The stages—awareness, denial, resistance, exploration, commitment, and integration—are not just steps but a fluid process. When you hit moments of denial or resistance, it doesn’t mean you’re stuck; it means you’re working through the change. This perspective can relieve the pressure to “have it all figured out” immediately. I also learned that grief isn’t limited to negative experiences. Even joyful changes come with mourning what you leave behind. For instance, moving from a spontaneous lifestyle to parenthood meant closing the door on a chapter filled with freedom, travel, and flexibility. Acknowledging this loss allowed me to be kinder to myself and more present in my new role. Staying curious about who you’re becoming rather than striving for an immediate sense of stability has been a turning point for me. Consistency in showing up for yourself doesn’t mean repetition but persistence in the face of uncertainty. This mindset nurtures growth and self-compassion during transitions. If you’re in the midst of a major life shift, remember: you’re not broken or doing something wrong. You’re in a natural process of becoming different—and that’s okay. Embracing discomfort as part of growth and viewing grief as a companion to change can transform your journey into one of self-discovery and resilience. Take time, be gentle, and allow yourself to move forward at your own pace.