Who Am I Now? Navigating Identity Loss in Life’s Transitions
For years, my introduction rolled off my tongue like a second name.
“I’m Kathy Goller, diocesan director of youth and young adult ministry.”
It gave me a place in the room. It told people who I was. It came with purpose and recognition and a sense of certainty.
And then… it didn’t.
The day I lost that role, I didn’t just lose a job—I lost the sentence that helped me explain myself to the world. And when I tried to introduce myself without it, it felt like the words just stopped.
I’m Kathy Goller. Period.
And that period felt like a punch.
I didn’t have a new title to fill in the blank yet. I didn’t know what came next.
I didn’t really know who I was anymore.
But what I was starting to realize—slowly and not-so-gently—was that what I needed wasn’t just a new job.
It was a new identity.
And one that wasn’t entirely dependent on what I did.
Losing More Than a Role
You don’t have to lose a job to lose a sense of yourself. Identity loss shows up in all kinds of transitions—some expected, some not.
Maybe you're navigating a career pivot, whether by choice or circumstance.
Maybe your last kid just left for college, and your days feel emptier than you imagined.
Maybe your marriage has ended, and you're still trying to figure out who you are on your own.
Maybe you're grieving the end of a caregiving role—either because someone has passed, or because you’ve stepped back.
Maybe you're stepping into caregiving for a parent, and the role reversal is throwing everything off balance.
Maybe a diagnosis has made you rethink your limits, your pace, your plans.
Whatever the story, the ache is the same.
We lose more than a title.
We lose a rhythm, a responsibility, a role we’d built a life around.
We lose the reference points that told us who we were and why we mattered.
It’s grief.
It’s holy disorientation.
It’s a quiet identity crisis.
And it’s also an opening.
The Quiet Lies That Hold Us Back
One of the most common fears I hear from women in transition is this:
“I don’t really think I know who I am anymore.”
Closely followed by:
“Can I even be someone different?”
“Who would I be if I’m not that?”
“Really, nothing is terribly wrong. I should be grateful for all that’s good.”
These are honest thoughts. Tender thoughts. And sometimes they’re true—at least partly.
But they’re also shaped by quiet lies we’ve absorbed over time.
Like the idea that identity is something you earn through your usefulness.
Or that being grateful means you’re not allowed to want more.
Or that change is only valid if it’s externally justified and clearly mapped out.
Or that it's selfish to question your role when other people are depending on you to stay exactly where you are.
Those messages are sneaky.
They show up in the form of guilt, shame, and second-guessing—right when what we really need is compassion, curiosity, and space to explore.
I’ve seen it again and again:
When life shifts and roles fall away, it’s not just clarity that’s missing—it’s permission.
Permission to not have it all figured out.
Permission to want something new, even when life looks “fine.”
Permission to redefine who you are, not based on what you do or who you take care of—but who you’re becoming.
Sometimes, the most courageous thing we can do in a transition is simply pause long enough to ask:
What if I’m allowed to change?
What if I’m still me, even if I’m not that anymore?
Changed, Not Ended
One of my favorite lines from the Catholic Mass of Christian Burial is this:
“Indeed for your faithful, Lord, life is changed, not ended.”
It’s meant to describe the passage from earthly life to eternal life, but it’s spoken to me in other seasons too—especially the ones where a part of my life ended and something else had to begin.
I don’t think we talk enough about how important that shift is.
That your life is not over just because a role ended.
That your identity can evolve without being erased.
That your story can still be sacred, even in the fog.
Since that job loss, I’ve worked to rebuild my identity from the inside out. I connected the parts of my story in new way—one that still made sense as a whole, and offered a more robust sense of purpose.
It wasn’t the first time I’d done this kind of work – but it was the first time in a long time.
I’ve always considered myself introspective and self-aware.
But when the external changes happened to my role, I realized that some things had been quietly shifting in my soul.
I needed to do some new work and refresh my sense of self.
It wasn’t just about where I’d been.
It was about who I was becoming—now.
And who I wanted to become in the next.
Making Peace with the Both/And
This isn’t about slapping a silver lining on your grief.
It’s about holding space for both.
Loss and possibility.
Sadness and hope.
Uncertainty and quiet trust.
A friend of mine recently lost her mom.
She told me, “Yes, she lived a long, good life. Yes, she’s no longer suffering. All of that’s true.
But it still sucks.”
She’s 100% right.
Both/and.
That’s not weakness. That’s wisdom.
A “both/and” perspective helps us hold this:
Things can be different and still be good.
Or good again – eventually.
Becoming Who You Are—Now
If you're in that liminal space—that “in-between” of not quite here, not quite there—maybe these questions will help:
What parts of my identity have I lost—or am I afraid to lose?
What did my last role give me that I now need to find elsewhere?
What am I ready to release?
What might I be called to reclaim?
And the one I come back to often, for myself and in my work with others:
Who am I now?
Not five years ago.
Not who others expect me to be.
Not just who I’ve been at work, or at home, or in ministry.
But who I am – now – and who I want to be in my next.
And here’s the thing:
Even if you don’t have a full answer yet, just asking the question starts to clear the fog.
You might begin with a gentle exploration of your needs and values.
(I’ve got something to help with that – check it out.)
You might reflect on your voice, or what makes you come alive.
You might name the losses honestly—then leave space for something new to grow.
(If you’re curious about how I began that process, I share more in “Start with Who” and “Find Your Mirrors.”)
Need a Full Refresh—or Just a Reset?
If you’re walking through a season where your old life no longer fits…
If you're not sure what comes next, or who you’re becoming…
I just want you to know:
This season matters.
This work is sacred.
And you don’t have to do it alone.
This is the kind of inner and outer alignment I help women rediscover in my Real Life Refresh program.
It’s not about a do-over—it’s about small, powerful shifts that realign your life with who and where you are now.
Not a makeover—but a quiet change from the inside out.
Not going solo—but doing the work alongside other women who are right there with you.
But if you're not sure you’re ready for something as big as a full refresh—maybe you just need a reset.
Something small.
Something simple.
Something sacred.
A space to breathe.
A little clarity.
A tiny step forward.
That’s exactly what the Reset Your Rhythm Challenge is for.
It’s a free 3-day experience to help you realign with what matters most—so you can move forward with more peace and purpose.
Because even when you’re in the in-between, you can begin again.
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