Wool Goddess

I was recently asked what advice I would give to someone trying to find themselves again. My immediate response was, “I could write a book about this.” The truth is, I probably could. But when I sat down to write this blog, I realised that if I had to distil everything I’ve learned into one simple answer, it would be this: I made a conscious decision to become my truest, most authentic self, and I got therapy.

Not the neat, Instagram-worthy kind of healing. I’m talking about the raw, messy, snotty, crying-so-hard-you-give-yourself-a-migraine kind of therapy. The kind that asks you to sit with the parts of yourself you’ve spent years avoiding. The kind that changes you from the inside out.

The biggest piece of advice I can offer is to consider CBT therapy. Not as a quick fix, but as a way of gently untangling the patterns that have quietly shaped how you move through the world. So much of who we become is rooted in unresolved experiences from the past: old wounds, inherited beliefs, and survival strategies that continue to influence our choices long after the original hurt has passed.

For me, it meant revisiting the uncomfortable chapters of my own story; the moments that taught me to seek external validation, to adapt myself to fit in, to shrink when it felt safer, or to perform in order to be accepted. It wasn’t always easy work, but it was illuminating. CBT helped me understand the connection between those early experiences and the ways I was still showing up in my life. More importantly, it gave me the tools to start making different choices.

What follows isn’t a step-by-step guide, a foolproof formula, or a “Girl, Fix Your Crown” manifesto. It’s simply my story, and some of the questions I asked myself while finding my way back home.

If you’re feeling a little lost in your own life right now, I hope some part of this resonates with you.

Menopause has made me question so much about myself as a woman. It has prompted me to look back over the seasons of my life when I drifted furthest from my own identity; the times I tried to mould myself to fit spaces that were never truly meant for me. Even when I sensed it at the time, the desire to be accepted, chosen, and loved often came at the expense of parts of myself.

I’ve always felt a little different, like a square peg in a round hole, forever trying to tuck away the corners that didn’t quite fit. That might paint a picture of someone quiet and compliant, but anyone who knows me will tell you that’s far from the truth. I’ve always been outspoken, sometimes to my own detriment, because I tend to speak with a raw honesty that doesn’t naturally soften itself for comfort.

And yet, I can also see the moments when I softened myself anyway. The times I made myself smaller, quieter, or more agreeable because belonging felt more important than authenticity. The moments when I dimmed my own brightness just enough to remain included.

After spending so many years immersed in motherhood, I found myself entering menopause with a question I had never really had the space to ask before: who am I beyond the roles I have played for everyone else?

That question opened the door to a deeper understanding of both myself and other women. The women who have spent their lives being “the agreeable one.” The women who rarely say no, who avoid rocking the boat, who carry the invisible weight of everyone else’s needs before their own. If that’s you, I want you to know that I see you. There is nothing weak about surviving the way you learned to survive, and that burden deserves compassion rather than judgement.

At the same time, I recognise my own patterns. I’ve generally been good at setting boundaries, even from a young age, yet I still found myself disconnected from who I was at various points in my life. That’s because losing yourself doesn’t always happen through a complete absence of boundaries. Sometimes it happens gradually, while life becomes organised around everyone else’s expectations, needs, responsibilities, and demands. One day, you realise you’ve become so busy managing life that you’ve forgotten to check in with yourself.

For me, menopause has felt less like a decline and more like a reckoning. A turning point that arrives with an uncomfortable clarity, inviting you to examine how many years you’ve spent trying to be who other people needed you to be.

Perhaps that’s where the real magic lies. Not in becoming someone entirely new, but in returning to yourself. In reclaiming the parts of you that were always there beneath the noise. In meeting yourself with more honesty, more compassion, and finally allowing yourself to take up all the space you were entitled to occupy in the first place.

If someone asked me how I found myself again, my answer would be disappointingly unglamorous. There was no dramatic transformation, no lightning-bolt revelation, no cinematic moment where everything suddenly made sense. It has been, and continues to be, a gradual process of falling back in love with myself—but loving her properly this time. Listening to her needs. Respecting her boundaries. Honouring her dreams. Giving her permission to sparkle.

Along the way, I found myself returning to a handful of questions again and again:

• What do I actually want?
• Which parts of my identity were consciously chosen, and which were inherited?
• How can I stop people-pleasing without building walls around my heart?
• What kind of woman do I want to be for the next twenty or thirty years?

And perhaps most importantly: am I willing to embrace vulnerability?

Because if you truly want to reconnect with yourself, vulnerability isn’t optional. It is the doorway.

As Brené Brown beautifully explains:

“The origin of the word courage comes from the word cour, meaning heart, and it originally meant to speak one’s mind by telling all one’s heart.”

Many of us spend years adapting ourselves to fit in, avoid conflict, gain approval, or simply feel accepted. Sometimes that adaptation comes from exhaustion. Sometimes it’s driven by fear. Sometimes it’s such a slow erosion of self that we barely notice it’s happening.

I often think of that chapter of my life as my “I’m fine” era. Not because I was fine, but because I couldn’t be bothered explaining that I wasn’t. It felt easier to wear the mask, to offer those two familiar words, than to open the door to what was really happening underneath.

People are often surprised when I talk about losing myself because I’ve always appeared confident, outspoken, and self-assured. But that’s exactly the point. Losing yourself doesn’t always look like falling apart. Sometimes it looks like functioning beautifully while quietly abandoning your own needs.

It rarely arrives as one dramatic collapse. More often, it’s a gradual drift. A subtle erosion that happens while you’re busy healing others, supporting others, loving others, and putting everyone else’s needs ahead of your own.

We become experts at reading rooms. Anticipating expectations. Adjusting ourselves so everyone else feels comfortable. The danger is that we can become so skilled at performing who we think we should be that we lose touch with who we actually are.

The return to ourselves is rarely loud. More often, it begins with a quiet, uncomfortable realisation that somewhere along the way, we stopped asking ourselves what we wanted.

So ask yourself this often:

• Who am I when I’m not trying to make everyone else happy?

Then take a piece of paper and answer another question with complete honesty:

• If nobody was disappointed, what would I choose?

Write without editing yourself. Let the truth flow messily.

The good news is that your true self isn’t gone. Trust me, mine hides remarkably well sometimes, but she’s still there. Yours is too.

Two years ago, I embarked on what I can only describe as a pilgrimage back to myself. I had lost touch with my identity and knew it was time to turn inward. One of the first things I learned was that the biggest misconception about “finding yourself” is believing it arrives in the form of a grand revelation. It usually doesn’t. You don’t regenerate like Doctor Who. You don’t rise from the ashes in a blaze of golden light. More often, self-discovery arrives through a collection of small moments: paying attention to your own thoughts, honouring your feelings, noticing your preferences, listening to your desires.

You don’t become someone new. You uncover who you’ve been all along.

Many of us spend years attached to roles: the motherly one, the caretaker, the peacemaker, the strong one, the funny one, the capable one. There is nothing wrong with those roles, but it is worth asking yourself whether you’re acting from genuine desire or from habit and expectation.

Who were you before the pressure arrived? Before the world told you who you should be? Before you learned which parts of yourself earned approval and which parts didn’t? What fascinated you? What made you lose track of time? What brought you joy? The clues are often hidden there, quietly waiting to be rediscovered.

I know this work is hard. Setting boundaries can feel uncomfortable. Speaking up for yourself may feel selfish. Prioritising your own needs can feel unfamiliar, even wrong. But discomfort is not always a sign that you’re doing something bad. Sometimes it’s simply evidence that you’re growing.

Creating a life that genuinely feels like your own often begins with a shift in the questions you ask yourself. Instead of “What will people think?” ask, “How do I feel?” Instead of “What should I do?” ask, “What do I want?”

Those small changes have the power to alter the entire direction of your life.

And if you’ve spent years people-pleasing, please be gentle with yourself. You didn’t become that way by accident. At some point, fitting in felt safer than standing out, and pleasing others felt easier than risking rejection. You did what you needed to do with the tools you had.

You’re allowed to be imperfect.

And you’re allowed to discover who you are without apologising for it.

The journey back to yourself won’t happen overnight, and that’s perfectly okay. Every time you choose honesty over approval, authenticity over performance, and self-respect over people-pleasing, you move a little closer to the woman you’ve always been beneath it all.

Love & healing hugs.

Some useful resources:

Books I would recommend:

• Wise Words For Women by Donna Lancaster: A pocket book of comfort, advice and love for any woman, anywhere. Coach and therapist Donna Lancaster brings her 32 years of experience helping people find their authentic selves, heal pain and overcome setbacks to this collection of honest words, counsel, and self-love.
• A Better Second Half by Liz Earle: A superb “Bible” for taking the reins of your health and happiness in the second part of your life as a woman. This is a great all-round holistic look at being a woman.
• Untamed by Glennon Doyle: Almost a manifesto for women who have spent their lives meeting expectations.Explores intuition, authenticity, and letting go of the need for approval.
• The Gifts of Imperfection by Brené Brown: Excellent for recovering people-pleasers. Focuses on worthiness, boundaries, and self-acceptance.
• Women Who Run With the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estés: A deeper, more mythic exploration of feminine identity. Many women discover it resonates differently in midlife than it would have earlier.
• The Goddess Path by Kirsty Gallagher: A beautiful book to discover your Divine Feminine. Taking you on a personal and spiritual deep dive, this book will lead you on a powerful journey to uncover all that keeps you from living your most authentic, purposeful life.
• Set Boundaries, Find Peace by Nedra Glover Tawwab: Practical guidance for women who struggle to say no.

Watch this TED Talk:

Brené Brown “The Power of Vulnerability”

One of the most influential TED Talks that I come back to time and time again is this one. It explores why authenticity often feels frightening but is essential for a meaningful life.