Who were you before life happened?

Hi lovely,

I had one of those conversations recently that stays with you long after it’s finished.

A beautiful friend and I were having a bathhouse catch-up when she asked me a question no one had ever really asked before.

She said,

“I want to know more about who you were before marriage and before kids. Tell me about the significant relationships in your life. I feel like they’ll tell me a lot about who you are.”

And for the first time in a very long time, I cast my mind back.

Back to the relationships that shaped me.

Back to the young woman I was before I became a wife, before I became a mother, before life sanded down some of my sharper edges and softened others.

What struck me wasn’t just the memories themselves.

It was the experience of having someone genuinely want to know.

Not the polished version of me.

Not the version they met.

Not the version standing in front of them now.

But the foundations.

The roads travelled.

The heartbreaks.

The mistakes.

The lessons.

The women I had been before becoming this one.

There is something deeply humbling about being loved by a friend who wants to understand your story, not just enjoy the chapter they’re currently in.

As I spoke, I realised something else.

Many of my significant romantic relationships were marked by betrayal. Infidelity. Dishonesty. Broken trust.

And as I heard myself telling the stories out loud, I found myself feeling unexpectedly emotional for the younger versions of me.

Not because I judged her.

But because I could see how little she understood her own worth.

How often she stayed when she should have left.

How much she was willing to tolerate in exchange for feeling chosen.

How much of her self-worth had become tangled up in being loved, desired and wanted.

The common denominator in all those stories was me.

Not because I caused the betrayals.

But because I hadn’t yet learned the lesson those experiences were trying to teach me.

And yet, what I also noticed was this:

Even when she was hurting.

Even when she was confused.

Even when she was accepting far less than she deserved.

She remained deeply committed to her values.

She told the truth.

She communicated.

She owned her mistakes.

She kept trying to stand in integrity.

And suddenly, instead of feeling embarrassed by who she was, I felt immense compassion for her.

Gratitude, even.

Because every lesson she fumbled her way through became wisdom I now carry.

Today, I find myself nearly twenty years into a relationship built on trust, honesty and integrity.

Not because life guarantees those things.

But because I finally know I deserve them.

And if life ever rocked me in ways I couldn’t predict, it would no longer alter my sense of worthiness.

That part is settled now.

What a gift it is to have friendships in adulthood that invite you to meet former versions of yourself.

To be witnessed.

To be listened to.

To be reminded of how far you’ve come.

And to realise that sometimes the greatest reward of healing isn’t becoming someone new.

It’s finally being able to look back at who you were and love her, too.

Huge love,

PS: Your next step isn’t more understanding in theory. It’s experiencing it in real time.

In conversation. In reflection. In being held while you meet yourself more honestly than you have before.

If you’re ready for that, I have spaces open right now for exactly this kind of work, where we slow things down enough for you to hear yourself clearly again, and actually meet what’s been living underneath the surface of your relationships, choices, and patterns.

Check out how we can work together here.