Who Am I When I’m No Longer Who I Was?

M. Hakikah Shamsideen
Nov 13
5 min read

There should be a song for women to sing at this moment, or a prayer to recite, but perhaps there is none because there are no words strong enough to name that moment.

Like every mother since the first mother, I was overcome and bereft, exalted and ravaged. I had crossed over from girlhood.

I beheld myself as an infant in my mother's arms, and caught a glimpse of my own death. I wept without knowing whether I rejoiced or mourned.

My mothers and their mothers were with me as I held my baby.”

Anita Damant, The Red Tent

We were on the Jackie Robinson Parkway, headed for the hospital miles away.

The Grandmother was in the front seat, driving like Mario Andretti. And I was in the back with her daughter, my 19-year-old pregnant mentee, Mary*, who had asked me to be her birth coach. This was our second trip to the hospital that day. The first time, the OB sent her home, stating it was too soon. Now we wondered if we were too late. I had no real training aside from being an avid viewer of TLC’s A Baby Story! I’d also given birth to a son but that was almost 20 years prior. As the leader of the church’s women’s ministry I was accustomed to navigating all kinds of situations, but this was waaaay out of my comfort zone. I didn’t think being in the labor room to mean a Dodge Caravan on the Jackie Robinson!

Mary told us she needed to push, I panicked and told her NO, WAIT! Meanwhile, Grandma was driving AND searching her bag for the tape recording of a sermon Mary requested be played during her labor.

We contemplated going to a closer hospital. I turned to check on Mary, hoping to persuade her to hold on for the professionals! I could barely see what was happening as there was only the overhead light in the backseat where she was stretched out. Mary shouted, she’s coming! WHOOSH, out came the head, straight into my open hands! With another push, the rest of the baby emerged. I moved out of panic mode into the supporter I was asked to be. I remembered I needed to tie off the cord. All I had was my shoelace, so I used that.

I'’ll never forget watching Mary held her daughter. I was in awe of her. That day Mary was born a mother. I realized that mothers know exactly what to do, we are merely privileged bystanders.

As we careened into the hospital driveway, car sideways, Grandma rushed inside to alert the staff, who quickly came out with a stretcher. It was past midnight, and the sidewalk was deserted. While the staff worked with precision, the only sound was the preacher’s voice on tape emanating from all the open car doors.

Reader, it was the definition of a Holy Night.

There are moments in life when everything we’ve known about ourselves begins to shift. Sometimes the change is welcomed—like giving birth or becoming a grandmother. Other times it arrives uninvited—through loss, illness, menopause, or the end of a career. Regardless of how it comes, transformation demands something sacred from us: the willingness to grieve who we once were so that we can be reborn into who we are becoming.

The Many Births Along Our Timeline

After giving birth, a woman becomes a new creation. She is no longer who she was before that moment—her mind, body, and soul expand to hold a new purpose. The same can be said of so many turning points in a woman’s life: menopause, the death of a loved one, a divorce, the transition into retirement, physical changes, or even the simple act of releasing a version of yourself that once fit perfectly but no longer does.

We birth ourselves repeatedly as we move through our personal timeline. But just as in physical birth, there’s often pain, uncertainty, sadness, and a period of waiting before the new phase of life takes form. If we rush through this process or refuse to acknowledge what’s ending, we risk becoming stuck—emotionally, spiritually, even physically, and may never reach the other side. These "birthing pains" and the uncertainty of knowing when it wil end, can be unbearable, There is no set timeline. Similar to a stalled labor, we can feel suspended between who we were and who we’re destined to become.

The Necessity of Grieving Your Former Self

Every rebirth requires release.

It’s not just about letting go of a job, a role, or a relationship—it’s about grieving the identity attached to those things.

Grief is characterized by a range of emotions, thoughts, and actions that arise when someone encounters loss or the possibility of loss. Various life events can lead to grief. It affects everyone, as no one is immune. While grief is a common experience, the way we heal and navigate our grief journey is individual to each person.

Maybe you were the dependable one, the caretaker, the professional who always knew what to do. Maybe your sense of worth was wrapped tightly around what you produced, achieved, or gave to others. When that chapter closes, it’s natural to feel disoriented, even frightened.

Who am I now? Where do I belong?

Acknowledging this grief is not weakness—it’s wisdom. It’s how you clear emotional space for something new to take root. Without it, we carry remnants of the old self into our next chapter, unable to grow fully into what’s next.

"He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful."

The Gift of Accrued Wisdom

With every shedding of what no longer belongs, comes an inheritance—wisdom that only life experience can give.

The woman emerging on the other side of change is not the same one who began the journey. She’s shaped by truth and loss, deepened by love.

Instead of trying to regain what once was, think about what your newfound wisdom can achieve. What if the next iteration of you is gentler, more truthful, and liberated? A version of yourself that you now allow yourself to become.

What if the rebirth isn’t about starting over but starting deeper—from a place of knowing yourself more intimately than ever before?

Creating Rituals to Honor the Shift

Throughout history, we’ve marked life’s major transitions with ceremony—baby showers, weddings, funerals, retirement parties. These rituals help us name the passage from one identity to another. However, not every transformation receives such recognition, and sometimes we must create our own.

Light a candle for the version of you that is complete. Write her a letter of gratitude. Host a quiet dinner, plant a tree, or take a solo trip to honor your new beginning. Whatever form it takes, ritual gives your spirit permission to let go and move forward with intention.

Stepping Into the Next Version of You

Every season of change is both an ending and a beginning.

As you navigate your own transitions—whether through motherhood, menopause, loss, or retirement—remember that you are being remade. Something beautiful is waiting on the other side of surrender.

Honor who you were.

Grieve her fully.

Then carry her best parts with you into this new season of growth and development.

You are both the midwife and the miracle. REFLECTIONS

Which version of myself am I being invited to release right now? What emotions—fear, sadness, relief, gratitude—rise when I imagine letting her go?
What wisdom has this season given me that my former self didn’t have? How might that wisdom guide the woman I’m becoming?