Starting Over… Again and Again

I’ve started over more times than I can count.

In this episode, I’m sharing the moments that forced me to rebuild my life from the ground up—moving countries as a child, navigating my identity, losing relationships I thought would last forever, closing chapters I wasn’t ready to let go of, and finding myself asking the same question over and over again:

“Now what?”

For a long time, I thought starting over meant I had failed. But the older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve realised that some of life’s biggest transformations begin when everything falls apart.

If you’re currently rebuilding, feeling lost, questioning your next step, or struggling to let go of a version of yourself that no longer fits, this conversation is for you.

Welcome to Simspace—a space for becoming.

Real talk. No filter.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:00

Welcome back to episode four of Sim Space. Today we are talking about starting over. And I don't just mean starting over once in a blue moon. I mean again and again and again. You know those moments where you just clock your life and you just think, fuck, why does it feel like I've restarted more times than I've actually moved forward? Not in a dramatic, crazy way, just in one of those very quiet, motherfucking irritating ways, right? And every time things start to make sense, at least in my life, something resets. And I'm basically back at square one again. For the longest time, I've always thought it was me. Maybe I just didn't know how to keep things, right? Maybe I just can't simply keep stability. I can't keep relationships romantically or friends or even family, right? I can't keep the same version of myself for too long. Everything simply just expires. And it's not even chaos every time. That's the fucking annoying part. It's not loud, it's not crazy. Sometimes things are actually super good. They're actually very, very good. Everything's calm, everything's stable, everything is predictable. And then out of nowhere, it's like, cool. That version of your life sim, done. And for a long time I used to take that personally. I thought I was doing something wrong. I thought that everyone else had simply got the manual on how to maintain a life. And I just simply missed that class. But the other day, I really sat and thought about it. I didn't know what to talk about in this episode. I've just been really drained lately. I've got so many things happening all at once, professionally, personally, you know, everything's just quite chaotic right now. And like I said, I've got a lot of things going on. And you know when you're just super drained and you just don't know what to talk about. Like, I just wanted silence, but I knew I had to get this episode out. So I called my best friend and I said, Lizzie, I've got no clue what to talk about in this episode. Help me. Help me. Like, just help me. And she turned around and she said, Why don't you talk about starting over? You've started over so many times in your life. Maybe that can resonate with people. Talk about that. And that's when I really sat with myself and thought about it. And I had to be honest with myself about how many times in my life I've had to start over again and again and again. And I realized that starting over didn't start in my 20s. Didn't start in my 30s either. This isn't one of those adultness hard faces. I have been restarting my life since I was eight years old. And when I realized that, kind of sat back and I thought, oh, so it's not that I can't maintain a life. It's not that I've never actually had one that stayed the same long enough to learn how. You know, when I was eight years old, I moved from Somalia to the UK. And let me just say this from the start: people tend to romanticize that experience way too fucking much. Because when people hear that and they start to think, oh wow, new opportunities, fresh life, fresh start. Fresh start for what? For whom? Because as a child, when you are eight years old, migrating from another country, not just another country, another continent, a new place, it doesn't feel like a fresh start. It feels like confusion, like being dropped into a completely different world with no instructions. I didn't understand what people were saying. Not properly. I remember being in school and just sitting there thinking to myself, well, everyone's talking fast, there's different accents, there's different slang, everyone looks different, there's just different everything. And you don't want to be that person that stands out and looks stupid. So you tend to just nod with everything that's happening. You just smile. You just pretend that you get it. And that becomes a survival technique. And that's something I've had for a long time. Nod, smile, figure it out later. And then I would go home, and then I would see that my own mother is going through the same thing. Except she's the adult, she's a single mother, she barely speaks English, she's trying to navigate a whole new country. And now we're both sitting across the dinner table looking at each other like, yeah, we're gonna have to just find a way to figure this shit out. There is no guide, there is no family here explaining things step by step. There's no one sitting you down saying, okay, this is how the system works. It's just life is happening and it's happening so fast and so different to everything we've known. And you just try to catch up as you go along. When I look back, I remember small things like the letters coming through the post, official letters, school stuff, bills, random documents. And my mom would look at me as if I am the adult, you know. She would look at me and say, Can you read it? And I'm eight years old. Reading words I don't fully understand, trying to explain them to an adult, hoping that I'm not completely wrong, because if I get it wrong, then it affects both of us. That's some fucking pressure, especially on an eight-year-old. At eight years old, I had that type of pressure. And it's done something to me. And it's something I've realized that I've grown up and you know have lived life a lot longer. Even simple things like appointments, being in a room where adults are talking, and I'm the one translating, you don't know the words properly. You don't even know what it means. You just perhaps know how to say it or how to read it. And I'm just sitting there trying to piece it together, trying to make sense of it in real time. And no one really understands how crazy that is. Because to them, it's oh, the kid understands English, it's fine. But in your head, you start to think, I actually don't know what the fuck I'm doing. And that's where it started for me. The starting over. The feeling of I have to feel it out, I have to adapt, I have to be switched on. And when you live like that from young, you you don't grow up like you're a soft babe. Like, let's be honest. You don't grow up soft. You grow up super aware, very, very fucking aware, noticing everything that's happening around you, people's tones, energy shifting, when something feels off, when something is not understood, you know, you start to become really good at reading situations because you even realize that you're able to read other people before you even understand yourself. And that's something that a lot of people I find call maturity. They say, Oh, you're so grown for your age. And you're just sitting there like, no. I just at the time did not have the luxury of being clueless. And that stays with you. That mindset of whatever happens, I will deal with it later. I think it's something that when you say out loud, it sounds strong. It sounds like resilience, but it also means that you never fully feel completely safe. Because in your own head, or at least myself at the time, in my head, I was always prepared for things to change. So I had to grow up, I had to go through school, I had to start building some kind of identity, I had to start making friends, I had to understand how to move in this new environment where I'm still balancing two worlds. Because at home, it's culture, it's religion, it's expectations. Outside, it's freedom, it's different lifestyles, it's different ways of thinking. And I'm constantly having to switch between the two, fully switching. You know, when they talk about code switching, that was me at the age of eight years old. You know, different tones, different behaviors, different versions of myself. And at first everything felt very normal, very fucking normal. It was all I knew. But over time I started to realize something. I didn't even actually know which version was real. Because I'd been adapting for so long, I've just never been, I've never felt seen, I've never just been seen. Do you know what I mean? And that became my normal. Adapting, adjusting, fitting into whatever situation that I was placed in, or I found myself in. And for a long time, it worked. It works, you know, when you adapt, it works. You get through life, you function, you look like you've got it all together, but internally there's always a question, like, is this actually me? And somehow you ignore it because it's inconvenient, because life is smoothing, because you don't have time to sit and unpack that until you actually have to do. And for me, that moment didn't come until I was, of course, 26. So now I'm older. I'm trying to figure out how to move. I'm trying to, you know, read the rooms because I already know how to read the rooms. You know, I already know how to switch between versions of myself depending on where I am. But from the outside, I know it's fine. Everything made sense. However, inside, there's always that one thing, that one truth that I've kept pushing to the side for a very, very long time. Not because I didn't know it was there, but because I knew what it came with. Do you understand? And for me, at that age, at 26, obviously, like I mentioned previously, that was my sexuality. The one thing I had kept hidden all my life. And listen, this isn't one of those stories where I feel like I woke up one day and was like, yeah, let me just tell everyone and live freely. No, if I'm going to be very serious, it doesn't work like that. I wish it did. Not when you come from a very religious background, not when you come from a culture where certain things are not just disagreed with, they're shut down completely. And you learn early on what's acceptable and what's not, what you can say and what you definitely should not say, and you adjust again and again and again. And that's the pattern, right? You adapt, you don't fucking challenge it, you don't question it out loud, you just somehow find a way to manage it. You keep certain parts of yourself separate, you live your life, but not fully. And the longer you do that, the more normal it starts to feel because you're still functioning, you're still living. And I was doing everything that I was supposed to do. So technically, nothing ever felt wrong. But internally, like I always said, there's that tension, you know, when you know you're holding something back, like you're not fully relaxed in your own life, you know, parts of you that you're constantly editing and it gets completely tiring, mentally fucking tiring, because now every interaction has a filter, every conversation has a limit, every version of you has a boundary. And it was something that for a long time, you know, I started to feel it slowly. I remember being in situations where I'd have to check myself with conversation, as if someone would say something, and I would instinctively want to respond honestly, and then I would pause, and then I would have to think wait, how do I say this in a way that doesn't actually expose me? And when you do that enough times, it becomes automatic, very easy. You just don't even realize you're doing it anymore. You just tend to find your way into editing yourself. You know, you become an editing genius, and that's fine until it's not, until you reach a point where you're like, I actually can't fucking keep doing this because it's just not one moment, it's years, years of managing something that is literally part of who you are. And at some point, like I said, it becomes fucking exhausting, it becomes ridiculous. And for me, obviously, that point came at 26. It was quiet, very quiet. It was a realization, right? And at that point, I'd realized obviously I can't build a real life like this because everything I was building was built on something that was incomplete, and that's when it hit me. This is not fucking sustainable. This life is not fucking sustainable. This version of myself is not sustainable. I can't constantly feel incomplete. And then comes the question, okay, so what now? Because knowing something and acting on it are two completely different things. Because now I'm sitting there thinking to myself, I've gotta think about my mum. And let's be real, the hardest part, especially when you're someone that loves their mother deeply, that's very close to their mother, you know, it's not just someone, it's mother, it's mommy, it's mom, the woman who raised you, who sacrificed for you, who moved countries for you, who built a life from nothing for you. And now you're just about to say something that might not align with everything she believes. So I was, what do they call it, between a hard and a rock place. But stuck. Because on one side, I've you know, I've got my truth. On the other side, I have someone I don't want to hurt, and that's not an easy place to sit in at all. And people constantly love to simplify this type of shit. They'll say things like, just be honest, just tell her, she'll understand, will she? How do you fucking know that? How do you fucking know that? Because unless you've been in that fucking position, you do not understand the weight of it. You don't. So you will constantly sit with that for a long time, longer than people think. And it's not just thinking, it's the rehearsing, it's the over and over again. How do I say it? When do I say it? What words do I use? What if it goes left? What if she doesn't accept it? And the biggest one, what if this changes everything? Because shit like this does, it can, and that's the risk. That's the real risk of coming out in this context. It's not just about being seen, it's about potentially losing something or at least changing it. And you don't know how. So I delayed it for as long as I can. I told myself, not now, I'll do it later. Let me just focus on other things first. And life continued. And that thing that I was hiding, it just didn't go away. It just was there. Background. And over time, it became louder and louder and louder. It became more present, present, present, became more uncomfortable until it wasn't something that I could simply ignore anymore. So I reached that point when I realized when she obviously confronted me, if I don't say this, I'm going to constantly keep living half versions of myself, a half version of my life. I didn't want that anymore. So I did it. I'm not gonna lie and make it sound nice. It wasn't, it wasn't smooth, it wasn't perfectly worded, it wasn't one of those conversations where everything just clicks, it was uncomfortable, there were a lot of pauses, there were moments where I didn't even know how to explain myself properly. Because how do you explain something that you've spent years not saying out loud? And at the same time, I'm sitting there watching her reaction, I'm sitting there trying to read her body language, trying to understand what she's thinking, trying to figure it all out, what this means now. And that moment, that moment in itself is heavy because it's not just about what you're saying, it's about everything it represents. And once it's said, that's it. You can't have it back, right? You can't do anything about it. You're you've shifted something, right? And here's the part no one really talks about life after that type of conversation, because everyone focuses on the moment, right? But what happens after that moment? That's the real adjustment. That is the real shape shifter. Because now things are different, even if it's subtle, because it's one of those things where even if no one says it directly, you can feel it in conversations, in energy, in what's said and what's not said. And you have to learn to exist in that without shrinking yourself, without going back, without trying to undo what you said just to make things easier. And that's growth, real fucking growth. Not this fucking bullshit advice people give you. That's actual growth. You know, the kind that's uncomfortable almost, where you're standing in your own truth and you're trying to figure out how to maintain it. And at the same time, you are learning something about yourself properly for the first time, without any filters, without any edits, without hiding. And that in itself is a strange feeling. I had to sit back and just think, yo, so this is me? Is this me now? Is this me now? No adjustments, no switching, no managing, just me, just me. And it took time to get used to that because I spent so long, so fucking long in my life adapting. You know, you just you don't immediately know how to just be. And once you start, you realize something. And I realized in that moment after that this feels better, it's uncomfortable, but better. And that's when the shift happens because now I'm not just building my life around what's acceptable, I'm actually building it around what's true, and that changed everything for me, completely changed because I'm now living for me rather than for others. You know, I'm more honest with myself, you know, about my life. I'm not hiding the same way anymore. And naturally, you start building a life that feels more aligned. And for me, that comes in in the form of relationships. And at the time, there was one relationship that that felt solid. It felt very fucking solid. You know, it wasn't confusing, it wasn't chaotic, it wasn't one of those situations where I'm constantly guessing. It was very stable, it was very comfortable, it was very safe. And after everything, that felt good. Like I finally, you know, found something in my life that wasn't in survival mode at all. And when you find that kind of stability, you tend to lean into it, isn't it? You build around it because now you're thinking, okay, this is it, this is the life that I've been trying to get to. And we built properly, not on a surface level. I'm talking in real life. You know, the whole living together, sharing a space, sharing responsibilities, sharing pets, sharing finances, sharing routines, everything. And this is something that a lot of people don't talk about. And that's what it means to actually share life with someone. Because it's not just the dates and the vibes, it's the who's doing the food shop? Who's paying what? What time are we eating? What are we watching tonight? Who's doing the cleaning? What's the plan this weekend? It's everyday stuff, boring stuff, the real motherfucking shit, you know? That is the real fucking stuff. And for me, that what that's what made it feel like home because it was consistent, it was predictable, it was familiar. And after a life that's been full of changes, full of starting over and over, that kind of consistency at the time, it felt like a win, a complete win. And I think when you're in something for that long, it becomes your normal. You stop questioning it, you just live in it. And for someone that's been in a life that was so contained, where I was living one life outside and one life inside the house, I was very happy to just live in it. And that's where things started to get tricky. Because when someone or something becomes your normal, you don't notice where it starts to shift. I can't exactly tell you when it changed. That's the annoying part. That wasn't a moment. There was no big arguments, there was no, yeah, this is where it went wrong. You know, it was very stable life. It was very subtle, very subtle. Everything still looks the same on the outside, but something obviously. You felt different on the inside. You know, when you're doing the same routine, when you're still living together, or you're still functioning as a couple, but you know there's a slight disconnect. You get me? There's a slight disconnect. And I think at first I try to ignore it, maybe. You know, I'm only a human being. Uh, don't pop the bear. Because if it's not big enough to address it, you know, you tend to tell yourself it's just a face, we're just comfortable, this is what long-term relationships are like. And to be fair, some of that is true. Long-term relationships do change, they're not always exciting, they're not always intense, but for me, it felt very different. It felt like I was there, but I wasn't fully there. Do you know what I mean? And as if I was just kind of going through the motions, I was doing everything right, but not feeling it the same way. And it's always a hard thing to admit, isn't it? Because when nothing is technically wrong, then what are you even fixing? And you know, I guess like any human being, I guess I started to negotiate with myself. You know, maybe I just need to try harder, maybe I'm the problem. Very easy to blame yourself than to accept that something might actually be off. So you tend to then try and try and put in the effort to show up. You do everything you're supposed to do. And that feeling, hmm, it doesn't go away. And over time it gets harder to ignore because now it's not just a thought, it's a knowing. And that's where things get very uncomfortable, isn't it? Because I feel like the moment I realized, like the moment I realized I knew, I just couldn't unknow it. And now I was obviously faced with a decision. Stay in this situation, in this relationship, or keep everything as it is, because it works, or leave and disrupt my entire life again, start over, again. And let's be honest, staying is always easier, isn't it? You don't have to explain anything, you don't have to move, you don't have to split anything, you don't have to deal with the emotional mess. You just tend to continue. And for a while, that's what I considered. Because, you know, do I really want to start over again? Like genuinely, again, after everything. I wanted to be fucking serious with myself. And, you know, I had to ask myself a real question. Am I staying because this is right or because it's comfortable? That question, that one would explain to everything because comfort and alignment are not the same thing. And that's when I realized I was very comfortable. I was so comfortable, but I wasn't aligned. And staying in something like that, it would have cost me a lot. Not immediately, maybe, not you know, dramatically, but slowly. It would have fucking cost me. So, you know, I started feeling disconnected from my own life. You know, I'm watching myself live it, but instead of actually being in it, and I didn't want that. So I made a decision, and it was a big, big decision. It was that type of decision where you're like, this isn't it anymore. And I think that made it harder because I didn't have any anger. I didn't care about who was the villain, I didn't care about the obvious reasons, I just cared about the truth. And the truth is always heavy. The truth is always heavy, and then that's when life decided to add a little twist because this decision, this moment, hey, it landed on my 30th birthday. Out of all the days, my 30th. And I just remember thinking this is actually fucking insane. Because birthdays are supposed to be about celebration, reflection, joy. And I'm sitting there, I'm about to break my own heart. And that's what it felt like. Go on. People think breakups are always about the other person, but sometimes it's genuinely about letting go of a version of your life. And that shit does hurt because it's not just the emotional aspect, it's the practical. Do you know what I mean? It's it's it's a hard thing to sit with. And it's also something that no one kind of prepares you for that part. Because it's you know, I had to look back and think, it's not just we broke up, it's my whole entire routine's gone. The little things, the normal things that I didn't even realize this mattered type things. It was all gone. And now I found myself being by myself, and at first it felt really calm. I sat there and I said to myself, okay, maybe I needed this. This is peaceful. And a few days would go, and I would look in the mirror and think, okay, but is this peace or is this just very quiet loneliness? Because the silence hits different. You know, there was no one to talk about random things with, there was no one to share my day with, no one was just there. And I had to get used to that. I'm not gonna lie, there were moments where I questioned everything. Where I said, Did I make the right decision? Was this necessary? Could I have just stayed? Because even when you choose yourself, it doesn't mean it feels good immediately. Do you know what I mean? It still felt like a loss. And I had to sit with that while still functioning, while still working, while still showing up in life. And to me, that's the real version of starting over. Not a clean one, it wasn't a clean slate, it was a messy middle where I'm grieving and rebuilding all at the same time. And just when I thought, okay, let me stabilize here, life then turned around again and said, ah, no, not yet. So now I've left the relationship, I'm by myself again. Life is quiet. Gosh, I hate the quiet sometimes. It's a it was a bit too quiet. And naturally, you know, this happens to all of us. Your brain does what it always does. It looks for something to focus on, something to control, something to build. Because sitting still, that's not really my thing. It's genuinely not really my thing. And I threw myself into work. It wasn't accidental, it was a very intentional thing for me to do. You know, I just said, you know what, cool. If everything else in my life is uncertain, let me at least lock this one thing in. So I shifted, I just continued working. I worked, worked, worked, and I went all in time, energy, focus. Because if there's one thing about me, I will figure it out. And the crazy part, it worked. Like it actually worked. You know, I worked so hard, I was very comfortable, opportunities were coming, things were growing. But from the outside, it did look like I finally cracked it. That I'd finally cracked life. You know, that moment where people always talk about where it's like, oh yeah, that's it. I made the right decision. And that's what it looked like. I can't stand here and lie. A part of me was, you know, quite happy. And I said, okay, finally. Because after everything, after all that, starting over, it felt like things were aligning. It was very much in line with how I wanted things to go. But internally, it was a different story. Because while everything else was growing externally, I was declining internally. And it wasn't obvious at first. It started small. You know, the I was feeling a bit tired, I was feeling a bit off, I wasn't as motivated, and I try to ignore it. And that's what I do. Just push through to normal, adjust, standard. And then it just kept going and going and going and going until things just got heavier. Mentally, I was fucked. Emotionally, I was fucked. And I started to notice that I wasn't really enjoying it. Even when things were going so well, you know, in friendships, in my work, everything was going so well. And that to me, that was the confusing part because I'm sitting there like, yo, this is what I wanted. I wanted these things to work out for me. I wanted to be successful at these things, but why does it feel different to how it should feel? And I realized success doesn't automatically equal peace. You know, you could be doing well but still not feel okay. And I found myself in that space where everything looked right but also felt wrong. And I think that was one of the hardest positions in life I could have ever been because I didn't have anything external to blame. It wasn't my environment, it wasn't about other people, it was about me. And it's an uncomfortable conversation to have with yourself because at the end you still have to be honest. And I had to ask myself a real question: do I really have the capacity to keep going the way I have been going? And the answer was no. Not because I wasn't capable, but because I realized mentally I was declining. I was doing things at work, going out, you know, I was trying to just be great at certain things that I'd have forgotten to take care of me internally. Because logically the answer was obvious. I should have slowed down and started slowly, you know. And it just, everything just felt very heavy. And like I said, emotionally I was really drained. Because I just I was so drained. And I knew if I kept going like this, I'm gonna burn out properly. And I found myself at a position where mentally and emotionally I couldn't function anymore, and I didn't recognize myself anymore, and I kind of just didn't want to continue that way. It was beyond the point it should be. So I made a decision. I stopped working for a while. It was a hard thing to do, but I stepped back, I shut things down, I paused everything, and from the outside, it made zero sense. You know, friends were saying to me, Wait, what? You were doing so well, why would you stop now? And I get it, everything was fantastic, but I feel like I had to start over again because I needed to take care of me. I needed to take care of myself internally, and I couldn't just continue living the way I was living. I knew that it wasn't sustainable. So I chose myself, I took a bit of time off, I reset, and yeah, that meant starting over again and again. But this time it did feel different to start over because I was finally prioritizing myself, I was prioritizing my health, it didn't feel forced. It wasn't, oh, life is just happening to me. It was just me choosing myself, you know, choosing to start again from a different perspective, from a different point in life, with no distraction, no busy schedule, no constant movements, just me, myself, and I. And whilst that might be uncomfortable at times, I realized that there was a lot of things that I was avoiding from my whole life. You know, all the thoughts, all the emotions, all the questions that I avoided whenever I've had to start life again, realized I couldn't outrun them. You know, so I sat there and I said, okay, but who am I actually? Without relationships, without the work, without the constant rebuilding. And that's when things started to make sense. And for the first time I realized I wasn't just reacting, I was actually reflecting. And I realized that I hadn't been failing at anything, whether it was the relationship with my mother, whether it was the relationships with my ex-partner, whether it was the relationships with my work. I've just simply been evolving and it might not look how it's expected to look, but I was evolving. Like I said, at eight, I had to adapt to a whole new country. At 26, I had to choose truth over comfort. At 30, I had to walk away from a close to a six-year relationship, and then I walked away from something that was working to protect my mental health. And of course, at 32, it feels like I'm starting over again. I've just had so many multiple recets. I realized that doesn't just mean I'm behind, it just means I've lived differently. And over time, once I understood that, everything shifted. Because now I'm not just looking at my life to be like, why am I here? I'm looking at it like, look how many times I've rebuilt. And that alone builds confidence, not loud confidence, quiet confidence, you know, the kind where you know no matter what happens, you will figure it out. You will figure out life because you've done it before multiple times. So yeah, I'm 32 and my life doesn't look how I thought it would. But if I'm being honest, I actually respect it more because everything in it has been chosen. Even the hard decisions, especially the hard decisions. And I think that's what starting over really teaches you. It teaches you how to trust yourself, not when things are easy, but when things are certain. If there's one thing I know, it's this, right? Starting over isn't the problem. Avoiding it is because the longer that you stay in something that doesn't fit, the more you lose yourself. And I would rather rebuild 10 motherfucking times than to stay stuck once.