When You Don’t Recognise Yourself Anymore
I think it was my search for answers — for renewed purpose and identity — that really fuelled my return to journalling.
That search looks different for everyone. For me, my transplant was the catalyst. But I’d used writing before, even if I wouldn’t have called it journalling at the time. During seasons of heartbreak and loss, when life felt chaotic and senseless, putting words on paper was my attempt to bring some kind of order to what felt completely unmanageable.
This time was different.
What I’d been through had shaken me to the core. I had faced death. And because of that, who I was was suddenly in question.
People would say, “You’ll get back to what you were doing before.”
But I wasn’t who I was before.
I was fundamentally different.
Everything had been brought into question — how I saw myself, how I related to other people, the roles I played, the things I valued. Some relationships deepened. Others quietly disappeared. People I thought would be there weren’t. And that loss came with its own grief.
I had to grieve who I had been.
I had to grieve people I’d lost.
I had to grieve ideas, plans, and versions of the future that no longer fit.
And then — somehow — I had to learn how to live as the person I was now.
The Disorientation No One Prepares You For
There’s a strange disorientation that comes after illness, trauma, burnout, or prolonged caregiving.
The world carries on, but you don’t quite recognise yourself within it.
You look the same on the outside, but inside everything feels unfamiliar. Things that once mattered don’t in the same way. Things you once handled easily suddenly feel heavy. And yet, there’s often an unspoken expectation that you should be “back to normal”.
The problem is — normal no longer exists.
You’re not broken.
You’re changed.
And that’s not something you can rush.
Sitting With Who I Was, Who I Am, and Who I’m Becoming
Journalling gave me a place to sit with that tension.
Not to fix it.
Not to rush through it.
But to name it.
Through writing, I began to gently reflect on who I had been, who I was now, and who I might want to become. Not all at once. Not neatly. Often in fragments.
Sometimes I’d only manage to accept one small truth. But even that was enough.
Because when I could make sense of — or even just accept — one area, I could move forward a little. That mattered more than I realised at the time.
Each small shift gave me a quiet sense of achievement. I had faced something hard. I had stayed with it. I had moved — even slightly — despite everything that had been thrown at me.
That built confidence.
And with that confidence, I could begin to explore more.
This Process Doesn’t End — and That’s Okay
I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: this process is ongoing.
I don’t think it ever truly stops.
Life has a way of continuing to challenge us. Just when you think you’ve settled, something happens — a memory surfaces, a loss reappears, an old wound is brushed against.
And when that happens, journalling becomes a place to return to.
As the pen moves across the page, I don’t have to justify how I feel. I don’t have to explain it. I can simply say what is true — and let it be enough.
Learning to Recognise Myself Again
Little by little, journalling helped me let go of who I no longer wanted to be — and begin to recognise who I was becoming.
Not in a dramatic way.
Not with clarity or certainty.
But slowly. Gently.
I began to see that I was on a journey — and that was okay.
I wasn’t where I wanted to be.
But I was no longer where I had been.
And that mattered.
As I flicked back through pages I’d written weeks or months before, I realised I had something I hadn’t noticed I was building: a record of progress.
It wasn’t linear.
There were plenty of ups and downs.
But the overall movement was forward.
My identity was forming again — not based on who I used to be, or who others expected me to be — but on what I was learning, choosing, and becoming.
It was mine.
And I was allowed to own it.
Gentle Journalling Prompts for Identity
If you’re in that in-between place — not who you were, not yet sure who you’re becoming — these gentle prompts might help:
I no longer feel like the person who…
Since everything changed, I’ve noticed that I…
Parts of me that feel unfamiliar right now are…
What I’m grieving — even if I don’t talk about it — is…
The version of myself I’m slowly letting go of is…
The version of myself I’m beginning to meet is…
You don’t have to answer all of them. One is enough.
If This Resonates
If you’re reading this and thinking “This is me — and I don’t quite know who I am anymore”, you’re not alone.
Journalling won’t give you instant clarity.
But it can give you space.
And sometimes, that’s where recognition begins.
If you’d like somewhere gentle to start, you can download the free First 7 Days of Journalling Prompts, created for moments like this — when words are hard, and identity feels uncertain.
And if you want deeper support, the journalling course is there to walk alongside you as you explore who you are now — without pressure to become anything other than yourself.
You’re not behind.
You’re becoming.
