Episode 8 - Who Am I Now? Identity After Loss

When you lose someone you love…
 you don’t just lose them.

You can lose parts of yourself too.

In this deeply personal episode of Grieving Greatly, I share the reality of identity after loss — the quiet, often unspoken grief of losing the version of yourself that existed alongside the person you loved.

From the loss of everyday roles…
 to the painful reminders in ordinary moments…
 to the question so many carry— “Who am I now?”

This episode gently explores:

•  The loss of identity and role after grief 
•  The everyday triggers that catch you off guard 
•  The feeling of not recognising yourself anymore 
•  And the slow, tender process of finding yourself again 

This is a space for anyone who feels changed by loss… and unsure of who they are becoming.

You are still you.
 You are still their person.
 And you are not alone.

🎧 Listen now on Spotify and Apple Podcasts, YouTube and Website https://harryshelpinghands.com.au/

Jen Connors - Harrys Helping Hands Grief & Loss Counselling 0431212575

Transcript

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When you lose someone you love, you don't just lose them. You can lose parts of yourself too. Grief doesn't just take the person you love, it can take the version of you that existed with them. Hi and welcome back to Grieving Greatly. In the last episode we talked about how the world can move on while you are still stuck in grief. Today I want to talk about something that can feel even more unsettling. Who you are after loss When Harry died I didn't just lose my son. I lost the version of myself that existed with him. The mother who cared for him every day, who was constantly by his side, who had a role, a purpose and a place. And suddenly that version of me didn't exist anymore. No one really talks about that part. The loss of your role, the everyday things that once felt like chores that you would give anything to have back. I remember looking at the washing and realizing there were less clothes, less to fold, less to iron, and I hated it because those piles meant he was here, and without them it felt like proof that he wasn't. And it wasn't just the washing, it was the meals, not making his favourite foods anymore, not hearing him ask for them, not watching him eat them, going to the supermarket and seeing the things he loved, his treats. It felt like being kicked in the stomach every single time. So I stopped going because it hurt too much. I couldn't go to his favourite noodle shop. I couldn't buy fish or Pluto pups. Because those things weren't just food anymore, they were memories and reminders, and grief in places I never expected it to be. Even the smallest, most ordinary moments became the hardest ones to face. I felt like less of a mother. Like I had failed in the one role that mattered the most to me. I couldn't protect him, I couldn't fix it, and even more than that I couldn't fix it for my other children. They had lost their brother, and I couldn't take that pain away. And that broke something in me, because as a mum, that's what you meant to do fix things, hold things together. And I couldn't. I felt exposed like the world could see it. Like people were looking at me and thinking there's the mother that lost her child. I couldn't leave the house. I wouldn't go to the supermarket. I wouldn't even go out in the sun. I stayed in my bedroom for weeks on end. Days blurred into each other. I didn't know what day it was or what I was meant to be doing. Messages came through and I didn't have the energy to respond. Even the simplest things felt impossible getting out of bed, showering, stepping outside. The world kept moving, but I didn't. And there was something about the outside world that felt too bright, too normal, too alive for what had just happened. So I stayed where I felt safer, even if that place was heavy. I didn't recognise myself anymore. The things I used to enjoy did not matter. The way I saw the world changed. I didn't watch the same shows. I didn't even eat the same food. I did not read the same books. Everything felt different. I felt different. And underneath it all was this question Who am I now? If I'm not the same mother I was before. If you're listening to this and you don't recognize yourself anymore, I want you to know this doesn't mean you're lost forever. You are not alone. This is a very real and very painful part of grief. If I'm honest, there was a part of me that didn't even want to find out who I was becoming because I didn't want to be anyone else. I just wanted to be Harry's mum the way I was before. But slowly, very slowly I started to realize something. I was still his mum. I would always be his mum. That didn't end when he died. But the way I mother him now had to change. I began to understand that I was still a mother just in a different way. A mother now who carries her child instead of holding him. A mother who speaks his name, keeps his memory alive, and honors him through the way she continues to live. Everything I do now, every experience, every moment I carry him with me. He may not be here physically the way I wish he was, but he is still with me. There are moments where I deeply feel it. When something good happens, and I wish I could turn and tell him when I laugh and for a second forget, and then remember he's not there to laugh with me. When I see something he would have loved, or hear a song he would have known. And in those moments it feels both beautiful and unbearable at the same time. Because I want him here. I want him physically beside me sharing these moments, and I always will. But I also know that the way I continue to live, the way I show up, the way I love, that's how I carry him forward. Everything I do now is for the both of us. I am still me, and I am someone who has been changed by loss. Both of those things can exist at the same time. If you're in that space right now where you don't recognize yourself, you don't have to figure it all out. You don't have to rush to become someone new. You can take this one one moment at a time, one breath at a time. And gently over time you will begin to understand who you are now. If you feel like you've lost a part of yourself along with the person you love, I just want you to know this you haven't disappeared, you are still here, even if you feel different, even if you feel broken, and even if you don't recognize yourself yet. You are still you and you are still their person. And I want you to remember something this week you are enough just as you are, and you will never be too much not for me and not for the people who truly see you. And as you move through the next few days, as gently as you can, I want you to notice something. Maybe it's a butterfly or a ladybug, or even a turtle slowly making its way forward. A reminder that even the smallest movement is still movement, that life can still exist alongside pain. You don't have to rush you don't have to be anywhere else. Just keep going in your own way at your own pace. This episode is for Harry and for anyone learning to find themselves after loss. I'm here with you and I'll be here with you in the next episode. For Harry and for every life deeply loved. And just a gentle reminder if today brought up anything difficult, please reach out for support. You can contact Grief Australia 1 800 642 06 or Lifeline Australia on 131114 or reach out to me directly on O four three one two one two five seven five. Thank you.