“You have to be willing to go to war with yourself and create a whole new identity.” – David Goggins
I recently took on an opportunity to mentor some graduate students of a university as part of the school’s alumni program. As part of my introduction email to my assigned mentees, I had to introduce myself. Typically, most people will introduce themselves by their job titles. But lately, I’ve been gravitating towards introducing myself by who I am outside of a job title. And that was where I got stuck while writing the introductory email. I couldn’t figure out something so simple.
“Who am I?”
It’s one of those questions that seems simple on the surface but unravels into a thousand pieces the moment you begin to answer it. I’ve asked myself this question more times than I can count, especially recently, as I’ve embarked on a personal challenge to walk and write every day. The goal was simple: improve my health and sharpen my mind. But somewhere along the way, the challenge morphed into something deeper—a journey to understand who I really am during this specific period of change.
If you’ve ever gone through a major life shift—starting a new job, becoming a parent, ending a relationship, or even beginning a personal challenge like mine—you’ve probably felt it too: a kind of dislocation from the person you thought you were. It’s as if you’ve been uprooted from the stable ground of your past identity, left to float in the space between who you were and who you’re becoming.
This identity dislocation (as I’m calling it) is both uncomfortable and exhilarating. If you’ve never experienced it, it’s the experience of being in-between, where the person you once knew—yourself—feels distant, but the new version of you hasn’t fully emerged yet. And as unsettling as that may sound, it’s an inevitable part of growth.
Let’s start by acknowledging that change is the only constant in life.
As long as we have life, we’re stuck in a cycle of constant evolution; physically, mentally, and emotionally. Despite this, the idea of “who we are” often feels static. We tend to define ourselves in fixed terms: “I am a writer”. “I am a mother”. “I am a professional”. These labels give us a sense of identity, a grounding. But what happens when change uproots us, forcing us to rethink these labels?
This is exactly what I’ve been grappling with. The challenge I set for myself wasn’t just about ticking off boxes or reaching a certain milestone. It was about transformation. And as I’ve changed my habits—writing and walking every day—I’ve realised something profound: the person I was when I started is not the same person I am today. Nor will I be the same person tomorrow. The changes I’m going through aren’t just on the surface; they’re reshaping my very sense of self.
But the paradox that I’m beginning to see is that we long for change, but we cling to identity. We want to evolve, to become better versions of ourselves, but at the same time, we resist the dislocation and disorientation that comes with it. It’s as if we want the benefits of change without having to let go of the familiar self we’ve always known.
So, what is this ‘identity dislocation’?
It is when the core pieces of your identity—those labels and self-concepts you hold dear—are thrown into flux. You’re no longer just “you” in the same way. I have been feeling this during my daily walks and writing sessions. At first, I was simply “a writer challenging myself”. But as time went on, that label no longer felt sufficient.
Was I just a writer? Was I a person obsessed with self-improvement? Or was I something entirely new, something that hadn’t quite formed yet?
Of course, I had to research to confirm that I was not alone in this feeling. And I learnt that when we go through a period of significant change—whether it’s in our career, relationships, or personal development—it disrupts our sense of identity. We can feel lost, unmoored even, like we no longer fit neatly into the box we’ve created for ourselves. I don’t need to explain to you that this is an uncomfortable experience. Mostly because we rely on our identity to give us a sense of stability and control. Without it, we’re forced to confront the unknown.
But this identity dislocation, as unsettling as it is, serves a purpose. It’s a necessary space for growth. If we remained tethered to the same identity for life, we’d never evolve. Identity, like life itself, must remain fluid if we’re to grow into our full potential.
With the fluidity of life comes the definitive possibility of change. This leads me to:
Exploring the paradox of change.
That period when you’re changing, but you’re still you. Sounds familiar?
Sure, it’s familiar because it’s where things get tricky. As much as change reshapes us, there’s a paradox at play. One where we are constantly changing, yet in some ways, we remain the same. How can both be true?
The answer lies in the fact that while the surface of who we are is always evolving, the core essence of who we are tends to remain. Liken it to a tree going through the seasons. In the rainy season, it blossoms with new leaves, while in the dry/harmattan season, those leaves fall away. Each season brings a different appearance, but the tree itself—its roots, its trunk—remains steady beneath it all.
In the same way, I’m still me as I navigate this personal challenge, even though I’m not the same me I was when I started. The habits I’m developing, the new ways of thinking that have emerged—they are new branches growing from the same root. My identity is in flux, but there’s a thread of continuity that runs through it all.
This paradox can be freeing once you embrace it. Something I’m beginning to do. I know that I don’t have to cling to one rigid version of myself because I’ll always carry the essence of who I am, even as I grow and change.
So, where does that leave us?
With a life that’s a continuous cycle of changes.
I’m learning that identity is never a fixed point. We are always in a continuous cycle of becoming. Of changing. Of evolving. Every challenge we take on, every risk we embrace, and every step outside our comfort zone pulls us further into that cycle of evolution. It’s futile to wait to reach a destination where you can finally say, “This is who I am” because that destination doesn’t exist.
What exists is the journey. Every experience, every period of identity dislocation, shapes you into someone new. And while that might sound disorienting at first, it’s actually incredibly liberating. You’re not bound by a single definition. You are always free to evolve, to adapt, to discover new facets of yourself.
In fact, the only way to truly answer the question “Who am I?” is to recognise that the answer will always be changing. And that’s the beauty of being alive.
As I continue on this path—walking and writing every day—I’ve come to realise that my identity is as fluid as my goals. I’m not the person I was yesterday, nor will I be the person I am tomorrow. But that’s okay. I’m learning to embrace the space between who I was and who I’m becoming. Because in the end, who I am isn’t about a fixed identity; it’s about the ongoing process of becoming.
So, where does that leave me?
I understand that change is constant. I understand that identity is fluid. I also understand that the dislocation we feel during times of transformation isn’t something that I should be afraid of because it’s the fertile soil from which my growth emerges. Every challenge I take on, every risk I embrace, pushes me toward a new version of myself. And while I may feel lost or uncertain at times, I know that this is where my ‘becoming’ happens.
So the next time I ask myself, “Who am I?”, I won’t expect a permanent answer. Instead, I expect to evolve. Expect to change. Because the answer to that question is always unfolding, just as I am.
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