When life changes, sometimes the hardest part isn’t letting go of what was. It’s discovering who we are now.
There’s something about autumn that makes us think about transitions. The leaves change colour, the evenings draw in, and the world seems to be preparing for a different season.
Except this year, it feels as though we’ve gone straight from summer into winter, with barely a chance to experience autumn. One storm after another, and suddenly everything feels different.
Life transitions can feel much the same. Sometimes change arrives gradually, giving us time to prepare. Other times, it happens so quickly that we’re left wondering how on earth we got here.
Perhaps your child has left for university. Perhaps retirement has arrived, a relationship has ended, your health has changed, or the future you imagined looks very different from the one you’re now living.
Perhaps you’ve spent years being the person everyone relies on. The organiser, the problem-solver, the one who keeps everything ticking over. Then something changes, and suddenly you’re wondering where you fit into your own life.
And somewhere amongst all that change, a question begins to emerge.
Who am I now?
When a familiar role or way of living changes, we can find ourselves unsure of who we are without it. We might understand perfectly well what’s happening and still feel completely unprepared for how it feels.
If that sounds familiar, you’re welcome to book a free Calm Conversation. We can talk about what’s changing, how you’re feeling and what support might help. You don’t need to have it all worked out before we speak.
The grief we don’t always recognise
We tend to associate grief with bereavement, but grief can accompany many of life’s transitions.
A parent waving goodbye as their child heads off to university might feel enormous pride and excitement for them. Yet returning to a quieter house can bring an unexpected wave of sadness. For a single parent, particularly one whose life has revolved around raising their children, that change can feel especially significant.
Of course, they’re still a mum or dad. But the everyday role they’ve known for years has changed.
There may be regret too. Why didn’t I take them to the park more? Why didn’t I spend more time with them? Why didn’t I appreciate those little moments while I had them?
The reality is that we were busy living. Working, cooking, cleaning, juggling responsibilities, and raising children who, as teenagers, probably had very little interest in spending every waking moment with us anyway! Yet those feelings of regret can still wash over us.
And they’re not exclusive to parenting. We can grieve our careers, our relationships, our independence, our health, our routines, and even the future we thought we were going to have. Sometimes we’re grieving a version of ourselves.
The NHS information on grief after bereavement or loss also recognises losses beyond bereavement, which may help you make sense of feelings you hadn’t thought of as grief.
When change arrives before we’re ready
I’ve been navigating a significant transition of my own recently. Changes in my health and mobility have meant learning to use equipment and practical support that, if you’d asked me a year ago, I would have imagined needing much further down the road.
A rollator, bed levers, a shower stool, a perching chair for the kitchen, and rails to help me get around safely.
When some of these were first suggested, I cried. Not just a few tears. There was real grief. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand why these things would help. It was what they represented: an acknowledgement that life had changed, that my body couldn’t do everything it once could, and that the person I’d always known myself to be was having to adapt.
Then, gradually, something shifted. I began to see these things differently.
They weren’t symbols of everything I’d lost. They were tools that could help me reclaim some of my independence.
A rollator might mean I can go somewhere without relying so heavily on someone else. A shower stool means I can use my energy for something other than simply getting washed. Mobility assistance when travelling could mean more freedom for me and a more enjoyable holiday for my husband.
The circumstances hadn’t changed, but my relationship with them was beginning to.
And here’s the important bit. Just because I’ve started embracing these changes doesn’t mean the sadness has disappeared. I can be grateful for the support and still wish I didn’t need it. Both feelings can exist together.
The messy middle of transition
When we talk about grief, we often hear about the five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. But grief doesn’t follow a neat, predictable journey, and neither does transition.
We don’t simply move from shock to sadness, then through regret, before arriving at acceptance with a lovely big smile on our faces. If only!
Instead, we might experience all sorts of emotions, sometimes within the same afternoon. There might be:
- Shock or disbelief: Surely this isn’t happening already?
- Resistance or anger: I don’t want things to change. This isn’t fair.
- Sadness and grief: I miss how things used to be.
- Regret and bargaining: If only I’d done things differently.
- Uncertainty and loss of identity: Who am I without that role, relationship or ability?
- Curiosity and possibility: Perhaps there’s another way of doing things.
- Acceptance and adjustment: This is where I am now. What might help me move forward?
These aren’t official stages that everyone must experience, nor do they necessarily happen in that order. You might feel acceptance on Monday, anger on Tuesday, and find yourself crying again on Wednesday. You might even experience relief, excitement and sadness at exactly the same time.
That’s the messy middle: the place where the old version of life no longer quite fits, but the new version hasn’t fully taken shape. And it can be an uncomfortable place to be.
Getting to know yourself differently
One of the things I’ve been reflecting on recently is how much of our identity becomes attached to what we do. I’m a wife, a business owner, a coach, someone who helps others. But what happens when circumstances change and some of those roles no longer look the same?
What happens when you no longer have to work, but you’re not sure what you want life to look like without it? Or when your children no longer need you in the ways they once did? Or when you need assistance with things you’ve always done independently?
There’s a strange space between no longer being who we were and not yet knowing who we’re becoming. We can lose our motivation, our sense of direction, even a little of our sparkle. And sometimes that can feel frightening.
But perhaps the question isn’t simply, How do I get back to being the old me? Perhaps it’s also:
Who am I becoming, and what do I need to support myself along the way?
Because we don’t always return to who we were before a significant life change. And that doesn’t mean we’ve lost ourselves forever. It may mean we’re getting to know ourselves differently.
You don’t have to navigate it alone
Something I’ve learned through my own experience is just how important the right support can be. For me, that has included a conversation with someone assessing my support needs, a nurse who listened, an occupational therapist who recognised practical solutions I hadn’t even considered, and a counsellor who gave me space to process the emotions.
Each played a different part. And the support wasn’t always about fixing something. Sometimes it was about being heard. Sometimes it was about finding practical ways to make life easier. Sometimes it was simply having permission to cry.
For a parent navigating an empty nest, support might look completely different. It might be a friend who understands why the quiet house feels strange, a family member who invites them out for coffee, a new hobby, a community group, or someone to talk to when the sadness catches them unexpectedly.
It might be working with a coach to explore purpose and identity, or a counsellor to process deeper feelings of loss.
Support doesn’t always have to be professional, and it doesn’t always have to be emotional. Sometimes it’s a piece of equipment. Sometimes it’s a conversation. Sometimes it’s someone sitting beside you while you work things out.
And sometimes the bravest thing we can do is acknowledge that we could use a little help.
This too shall pass
One of my favourite sayings is “This too shall pass.” It’s something I’ve returned to many times throughout my life. But I also know that when you’re right in the middle of something difficult, those words can feel a long way from reality.
When you’re grieving what was, uncertain about what’s next, or struggling to recognise yourself, it can feel as though you’ll be stuck there forever.
And there’s no timetable. No magic number of weeks before the sadness lifts. No deadline for finding your confidence again. No rule that says you should have adjusted by now.
Some transitions are relatively gentle. Others take months or years to find your feet. And sometimes, just when you think you’ve found your way forward, another wave of emotion arrives. That doesn’t mean you’ve gone backwards. It means you’re human.
The circumstances themselves may not pass. A disability may remain. A child will continue growing into their own independent life. A retirement or bereavement may permanently change the shape of your days.
But the way we feel about those circumstances can change.
The intensity of the grief may soften. New routines can develop. Confidence can return. Different possibilities can emerge. And we can begin to feel at home in a life that once felt unfamiliar.
Embracing change doesn’t mean pretending it’s wonderful
I think this is perhaps the most important thing I’ve learned. We hear so much about embracing change, staying positive, looking for the silver lining and making the best of things. And there’s a place for all of that.
But embracing change doesn’t mean skipping over the difficult emotions. It doesn’t mean forcing gratitude when you’re angry, or telling yourself to be positive when what you really need is a good cry.
It means allowing yourself to experience what you’re experiencing: the sadness, the frustration, the regret, the relief, the excitement and the uncertainty. All of it.
And recognising that you can feel those emotions while still taking small steps towards a life that works for you.
Maybe that’s learning to use a mobility aid. Maybe it’s reconnecting with an old friendship after your children leave home. Maybe it’s finding a new purpose beyond your career. Or maybe, for now, it’s simply giving yourself permission not to have all the answers.
Finding your way through life transitions
If you’re in a season of transition, perhaps take a little time to reflect on these questions.
1. What am I leaving behind, and what do I miss?
Allow yourself to acknowledge the loss, even if the change is ultimately a positive one.
2. What am I discovering about myself in this new season?
You might be surprised by the strengths, needs, interests or possibilities beginning to emerge.
3. What support or practical tools might make life easier?
Think beyond what you believe you should be able to manage alone.
4. What might a meaningful next chapter look like?
You don’t need a five-year plan. Perhaps you only need to identify one small thing that would bring a little more freedom, connection, joy or purpose into your life.
And if you can’t answer those questions today, that’s okay too. Perhaps you’re still in the messy middle. Perhaps you need to stay there a little longer.
You don’t have to rush through the transition to prove you’re coping.
Autumn doesn’t apologise for letting go of its leaves. And winter isn’t a failure because nothing appears to be growing. Sometimes change is visible. Sometimes the important work is happening beneath the surface.
Wherever you find yourself in life’s changing seasons, remember: this too shall pass. And while you may not emerge as exactly the person you were before, there is still so much of you to discover.
A little support for your next chapter
At Kaleidoscope VCN, I support people navigating emotional wellbeing, life changes and the process of reconnecting with themselves. My 1:1 Emotional Wellbeing Coaching offers space to explore what’s happening for you, while the tools and resources in my shop offer support you can use in your own time.
If you’re finding yourself in the messy middle, book a free Calm Conversation. We can explore where you are now, what you need and whether working together feels right for you. You don’t have to figure out your next chapter alone.
What you might like to read next
- Learning to Receive — if accepting help is part of the change you’re navigating.
- Let the Leaves Fall — if you’re carrying the pressure to do everything perfectly and could use a little self-compassion.