Self in Transition

I've always believed that at our core, we each have a set of unshakeable values, deep-seated beliefs, and distinctive character traits that make us uniquely ourselves. These aren't just preferences or passing interests, but the fundamental elements that define how we see the world and our place in it. For me, these include my commitment to family, my faith, my value of honesty, and my natural tendency toward optimism even in challenging times. These pillars have remained steady even as life has taken me through marriage, motherhood, and career changes.

Understanding which parts of yourself are non-negotiable versus which ones can flex and adapt is crucial during times of transition. I've learned that while my roles might change, my core values don't have to. For instance, my independence was something I once thought might be compromised in marriage, but I've discovered that healthy partnerships actually create space for autonomy within unity. On the other hand, I've been willing to adjust my schedule, living situation, and daily routines as my family's needs evolved, recognizing these as the flexible aspects of my life that don't define my essential self.

When I became a wife and then a mother, I initially lost sight of myself amidst these wonderful but overwhelming new roles. It wasn't until I found myself feeling oddly disconnected one day while folding tiny onesies that I realized I needed to reconnect with Jenny the person, not just Jenny the mom. I started journaling about what made me feel most like myself—meaningful conversations, creating things with my hands, being outdoors—and deliberately carved out time for these identity-affirming activities. This small act of self-reclamation made me feel whole again and, surprisingly, made me even more present in my family roles.

Taking inventory of what truly matters to you beyond your roles and relationships isn't selfish—it's essential for authentic living. I recommend sitting down with pen and paper and answering some honest questions: What would you still care deeply about even if your relationship status, job title, or family situation changed? What activities make you lose track of time? What values would you defend even when it's difficult? When have you felt most alive and most yourself? Your answers reveal the pillars of your identity that deserve protection and nurturing, no matter what transitions life brings your way.

When I married my husband eight years ago, I didn't expect how much my sense of self would shift as our lives intertwined. Suddenly, decisions weren't just mine alone, and my space, time, and even emotional landscape were now shared territory. I found myself wondering where "I" ended and "we" began. The adjustment wasn't always easy—I remember feeling oddly resistant when people started referring to us exclusively as a unit rather than as individuals. Over time, though, I learned to embrace my identity as a wife while maintaining my sense of individual selfhood, finding joy in the balance between independence and partnership.

Setting healthy boundaries while nurturing deep connection is a delicate dance, but it's absolutely essential for a thriving relationship and personal wellbeing. In my marriage, this looks like having open conversations about our needs for together time versus alone time, keeping some friendships and hobbies that are just mine while creating others we share, and being honest when I need space to reconnect with myself. Far from creating distance, these boundaries have actually fostered greater intimacy between us because I bring my full, authentic self to our relationship rather than a diminished version who's lost track of her own needs and passions.

I've watched too many friends disappear completely into their relationships, adopting their partner's preferences, friend groups, and even speaking patterns until I barely recognized them anymore. This complete identity absorption is a common pitfall that can lead to resentment and emptiness down the road. I've consciously avoided this by maintaining my own opinions (yes, my husband and I still vote differently sometimes!), keeping up with my personal interests even when they're not shared, and making sure our home reflects both our personalities rather than just one. Marriage is about building something new together, not erasing who you were.

As relationships evolve through dating, engagement, marriage, and potentially parenthood, maintaining friendships and personal interests becomes both more challenging and more important. I've made it a priority to keep monthly dinner dates with my college girlfriends, continue my weekend hiking hobby, and pursue my love of photography even when life gets busy with family demands. These connections and activities aren't just pleasant additions to my life—they're vital threads in the fabric of my identity that keep me grounded when other aspects of life are in flux. Plus, they give me something interesting to talk about with my husband beyond household logistics!

No transformation rocked my identity quite like becoming a mother to my children. The moment my son was placed in my arms, I felt simultaneously more myself than ever and also completely transformed. Suddenly, I was responsible for this precious human, and my heart expanded in ways I hadn't known possible. Yet amid the joy came moments of identity whiplash—looking in the mirror at my postpartum body, navigating sleepless nights, and temporarily setting aside career goals left me wondering who exactly I had become. My journey through this identity shift involved allowing myself to fully embrace motherhood while also gently reclaiming parts of pre-mom me that still mattered deeply.

Creating space for personal growth while nurturing your children isn't just nice to have—it's essential for both your wellbeing and theirs. For me, this has meant waking up thirty minutes before the kids to enjoy my coffee and journaling in peace, trading childcare with a neighbor so I can take an occasional art class, and being fully present with my children rather than multitasking so that when I do take personal time, I can do so without guilt. I've found that these intentional pockets of self-development make me more patient, creative, and energized in my mothering rather than depleting my capacity to care for my family.

When my daughter was born, I was determined not to completely abandon my pre-mom interests like I had somewhat done with my firstborn. I kept up my photography hobby, bringing my camera on family outings and shooting during naptime. I maintained my book club membership, even if I sometimes showed up having only read half the book. These continuing threads of identity didn't just preserve my sanity—they unexpectedly enhanced my mothering. My photography has documented precious family moments we treasure, and my reading gives me fresh perspectives and conversation topics to share with my children. By keeping these parts of myself alive, I've become a more interesting, fulfilled mother with more to give.

Our children are constantly watching us, absorbing lessons about identity from how we live more than from what we say. When I maintain firm boundaries, pursue personal growth, and honor my needs alongside my family's, I'm showing my son and daughter what healthy adulthood looks like. I want them to see that being devoted to family doesn't require obliterating yourself, and that the most loving thing you can do is bring your authentic, whole self to the table. This modeling is especially important to me as I raise a daughter in a world that sometimes still suggests women should be endlessly self-sacrificing. I want her to know she can be both loving and self-respecting as she grows.

Transitioning from my established real estate career to marketing wasn't something I had planned, but when the opportunity arose after my second child started preschool, it felt like the right move for our family's schedule and my professional growth. Still, I worried: Would I be starting over completely? Was I abandoning years of professional identity-building? Would clients take me seriously in a new field? Rather than experiencing an identity crisis, though, I approached the change by recognizing that my professional identity wasn't tied to a specific job title but to the strengths, values, and perspective I bring to any work I do. This mindset shift transformed what could have been a disorienting change into an exciting evolution.

During my career transition, I found it helpful to make a comprehensive list of my transferable skills and core strengths that would move with me from real estate into marketing. My ability to understand people's unstated needs, my talent for persuasive communication, my eye for visual presentation, and my comfort with relationship-building were all assets in both fields. By identifying these portable aspects of my professional identity, I realized I wasn't starting from scratch but rather applying my established capabilities in a fresh context. This exercise boosted my confidence and helped me articulate my value to new employers and clients who might have otherwise only seen my lack of direct experience.

Professional transitions, while challenging, offer rich opportunities for growth that often aren't possible when staying in one lane. Moving into marketing stretched me to develop new technical skills, adopt different perspectives, and collaborate with teams unlike any I'd worked with before. Rather than resisting this stretch out of fear or pride, I embraced being a learner again, asking questions and seeking mentorship without shame. This openness to growth has ultimately expanded not just my skill set but my understanding of myself—revealing capabilities and interests I might never have discovered had I clung too tightly to my former professional identity as a real estate agent.

Perhaps the most valuable lesson from my career change has been learning to balance professional ambitions with family priorities in a way that honors both. I've rejected the false choice between being fully career-focused or fully family-focused, instead crafting a professional identity that complements rather than competes with my role as a mother and wife. This has meant setting boundaries on work hours, choosing projects that energize rather than drain me, and being honest with employers about my family commitments. Far from limiting my success, this integrated approach has led to more meaningful work and the satisfaction of modeling to my children what it looks like to pursue professional fulfillment while remaining present for those you love.

Through all of life's transitions, my conservative values have provided a steady foundation that keeps me grounded when everything else seems to be shifting. These aren't just political positions, but deeply held beliefs about the importance of family, personal responsibility, faith, and tradition that inform how I navigate change. When I became a mother and felt overwhelmed by conflicting parenting philosophies, these core values helped me filter advice and make decisions that aligned with what I truly believed was best. During career changes, these principles guided my professional ethics and boundaries. Rather than limiting me, these convictions have provided stability and clarity during life's inevitable transformations.

Finding a community that reinforces your core beliefs is invaluable during times of transition. For me, our church family and our neighborhood group of like-minded families have been essential supports when navigating identity shifts. These connections remind me of who I am and what matters most when I might otherwise lose sight of these truths amid change. We share childcare duties, celebrate milestones together, and offer perspective when one of us is struggling. Unlike online echo chambers that can become rigid and judgmental, healthy in-person community offers both reinforcement of shared values and grace for individual differences and growth within those values.

One of my greatest joys has been passing down meaningful traditions and values to my children, creating a sense of continuity and belonging that transcends life's changes. We make Sunday dinners a sacred family time, attend church together weekly, celebrate holidays with rituals that connect us to previous generations, and openly discuss the values behind our family rules and decisions. These traditions give my children anchors of identity that will serve them through their own life transitions. I've found that explaining the "why" behind our family's values—not just imposing rules—helps my children internalize these principles in ways that will be resilient as they grow and face their own identity questions.

My faith has been an unwavering compass when making identity-shaping decisions throughout adulthood. When considering whether to move cities for my husband's job opportunity, whether to pursue a different career path, or how to handle complex family situations, I've turned to prayer, Scripture, and Christian wisdom to guide my choices. This spiritual foundation doesn't eliminate the difficulty of transitions but provides a framework for approaching them with purpose rather than simply reacting to circumstances. Having values that transcend my current situation gives me confidence that even as external aspects of my life evolve, my essential identity remains connected to something greater and more permanent than my temporary roles and circumstances.

Learning to recognize which friendships affirm your true self versus those that limit you is a skill that becomes increasingly important during major life transitions. I've had friendships that made me feel more authentically myself—friends who celebrate my successes without jealousy, gently point out when I'm not acting like myself, and make space for my evolution without trying to keep me in a box. Conversely, I've had relationships that subtly pressured me to conform to certain expectations or made me feel I needed to hide aspects of myself to be accepted. During my transition to motherhood, it became crystal clear which friends could embrace this new dimension of my identity while still seeing and valuing the whole me.

My closest friends have been essential mirrors reflecting my authentic identity back to me when life changes temporarily blurred my own self-perception. When I was drowning in early motherhood, my college roommate reminded me of my creative passion and intellectual curiosity by sending me articles and small art supplies I could use during naptime. When I doubted my abilities during my career transition, my neighbor who'd known me for years pointed out strengths she'd observed in me that I'd forgotten I possessed. These friends help me maintain continuity of self even as my external circumstances change dramatically, reminding me of enduring truths about who I am when I lose perspective.

Nurturing friendships that can grow with you through different life stages requires intentionality but yields invaluable returns for your sense of identity. I've invested in relationships that show potential for depth and evolution—friends who are secure enough in themselves to celebrate my changes rather than resist them, who communicate openly when our needs shift, and who share core values while perhaps differing in life circumstances. My friendship with Sarah has spanned single life, dating, marriage, and now parenting, evolving from weekend adventures to playground meetups, yet maintaining the essential connection that makes us feel known by each other across all these transitions.

There's a certain courage required to evolve your friendship circles as you yourself evolve, and I've had to develop this bravery over time. Sometimes this means letting go of relationships that no longer reflect or support who you're becoming, even when shared history makes this painful. Other times it means opening yourself to new connections that align with your current season. After becoming a mother, I initially resisted making "mom friends," fearing I would become one-dimensional. But allowing these new relationships into my life while maintaining older friendships has actually enriched my identity by adding new facets rather than replacing existing ones. True friendship should expand, not contract, your sense of self.

Creating a vision for who you want to become while honoring who you've been is perhaps the most beautiful aspect of identity evolution. I keep a journal where I periodically write letters to my future self, articulating values I want to maintain and growth I hope to experience. This practice helps me see identity as a continuum rather than a series of disconnected roles or stages. When I look back at entries from five years ago, I'm moved to see threads of continuity alongside evidence of positive change. Rather than holding rigidly to a fixed self-concept or abandoning my history completely, I've learned to carry forward the best of who I've been while remaining open to becoming more fully myself with each passing year.

I've discovered that small daily choices shape my identity far more powerfully than major life events, though we tend to focus on the latter. The decision to wake up early for quiet reflection before my family needs me, the choice to call my mother weekly despite a busy schedule, the commitment to put down my phone and fully engage with my children—these seemingly minor habits have cumulatively formed who I am more than getting married or changing careers. When navigating transitions, I focus less on the big event itself and more on the small, consistent actions I can take to carry my essential self through the change, making identity evolution an intentional practice rather than something that merely happens to me.

Setting boundaries that protect my core self during transitions hasn't always come naturally, but it's been essential for maintaining identity continuity. When I became a mother, I established firm boundaries around certain personal needs—like getting outside every day, having occasional solitude, and keeping up with reading—knowing these activities were vital to my mental health and sense of self. During our recent move to a new neighborhood, I quickly established connections with a local church and recreation center, protecting my needs for spiritual community and physical activity during a disruptive time. These boundaries aren't selfish; they're the necessary guardrails that ensure I don't lose myself when life circumstances shift dramatically.

Finding joy in evolving while remaining true to your essential nature is the secret to navigating identity transitions with grace. I've learned to approach changes with curiosity rather than fear, asking what new aspects of myself might be revealed through this transition rather than only focusing on what I might lose. When I became a wife, I discovered capacities for compromise and partnership I hadn't fully developed before. Motherhood unveiled depths of patience and fierce protection I hadn't known I possessed. My career change revealed creative abilities that had previously been dormant. By holding my identity with open hands—neither clinging too tightly nor carelessly discarding it—I've found that each transition has added richness to my sense of self rather than diminishing who I am.