The Question That Rocked My World
Someone asked me recently what the most destabilizing thing I’ve ever done or experienced was. Moving abroad (which of the three times?), getting married, or having children?
I had to sit with it for a while, because none of those choices felt like a good answer.
A destabilizing experience, when you think about it, is really just a moment that shook you away from yourself. Where did you lose the plot on who you were? This is what the question is asking. Answering it took me down memory lane, and I have much to say on the matter.
Softer Abs, Less Sleep, Zero Regrets
There’s a version of “losing yourself” that women talk about constantly — the motherhood version. You can’t escape the many iterations on this topic on social media and in general discourse. I get asked about it on Instagram whenever I open up the AMA box. Do you feel like you lost yourself since having the twins?
And here’s my answer: no. But I want to be precise about why, because I think we conflate two very different things.
Having my twins was the culmination of a lifetime’s dream and years of prayer. After two losses and a fertility journey that felt like one step forward, two steps back, they are my living, breathing miracles. I stare at them sometimes and still can’t believe they’re real.
My life changed with motherhood, absolutely. I go out and shop less. I’m more tired, more overstimulated, more distracted. My body changed, and my hair is shot through with grey, undoubtedly due to cortisol and a lack of sleep. But I’m at peace with all of it. Maybe because I had them at 39, after I’d already had my years of tiny bikinis, power shopping, and wandering. Maybe because I can see, in the mothers around me here in Zürich, that more freedom returns as they get older.
Circumstances changed. I stepped into a new life, with new characters, and I’m taking it day by day.
To me, that’s not losing yourself. It’s living.
The Glorious, Idiotic Business of Losing Your Head
What actually losing yourself looks like is a different story. And it’s one I know from experience.
For a good part of my twenties, I was in an off-again, on-again relationship with a man I had put on a pedestal so high I could barely see him clearly.
In his defense, he never asked me to become someone else. The losing myself bit was entirely my own doing, which made it harder to see while it was happening.
I dressed like the women in his world—think Charlotte York —a world I found glamorous and exciting. I went to the dive bars and the concerts he liked, though neither was my scene. I went on vacation with his friends. I didn’t leave the country for four years because he’d already been everywhere and had no interest in going back. I don’t ever once remember uttering, “No, I don't want to do that, I’m going out with Amanda instead. Call me later.” Or “I’m going to Paris with Priya since you’re done with Europe.”
I didn’t pursue my interest in tennis, despite my company at the time, Ralph Lauren, being a massive sponsor of the US Open. I just voluntarily put my actual interests in a drawer and closed it — waiting for him to direct my thinking and shape my taste. I dutifully kept up with the New Yorker subscription he got for me, as if he was trying to fill my head with ideas he didn’t realize I already had, because I rarely shared my thoughts.
Well, none of this sounds very fun, Nony. Why did you do it?
Because it was fun — at times. Glamorous, even. And if we’re being honest, there’s something intoxicating about leaning into the foolishness of it all. I’m not sorry for that part. That’s what your 20s are for.
But truly, I was also afraid of being single at 30. My culture was telling me to marry before then, and I didn’t want the years to feel wasted — even though it was painfully clear to everyone who knew us that we weren’t right for each other. I’m pretty sure he even told me, at times, that I could do better than him (men always reveal themselves…). So I stayed too long, forgave too much, and put up with things I would now find unthinkable.
A Birthday Offer and the Girls in Sardinia
The moment that crystallized it all: his stepmother wanted to buy me a birthday gift and asked what I was into. I had nothing to say. I genuinely couldn’t think of a single thing.
That’s when you know. When someone asks who you are, and you come up blank.
When Alessandro and I talk about this period now, he says he doesn’t recognize the woman I’m describing. But those years of drift were a form of self-discovery. That young woman had to live so that this woman could be born.
Years later, long after we had split, I was in Porto Cervo, Sardinia, with my sister, somewhere I had dreamed of going my whole life, at a nightclub, watching a group of young women just living. Laughing, dancing, looking so beautiful and free. I felt a pang watching them. That's how I should have spent my 20s, I thought.
Alors, je ne regrette rien!
But if I’m honest, I could have traveled more. Taken more career risks. Been lighter. Looser. Less afraid of what comes next if I let go.
What’s This Got to Do with You?
I share this not to relitigate an old relationship, but to get you thinking. Perhaps to nudge a conversation you need to have with yourself, or someone else. Or simply to give you permission to forgive yourself for whatever you once put up with.
The funny thing about losing yourself in a relationship is that it happens in small concessions. Maybe you obscure your accent, or dial back your enthusiasm for the things he doesn’t share. Perhaps you stop admitting, first to him and then to yourself, what you actually need. Or you start editing your personality for his comfort, your ambitions for his timeline, your taste to match his world.
Then one day, someone asks who you are. And you hesitate.
If any of that sounds familiar, perhaps like an old version of you, cheers to our younger selves! If it still feels current... sit with it honestly.
Life is long, and it happens in chapters. Some are messy, some are beautiful, all are necessary. But none of them should be longer than they need to be.
This is part one of a five-part series on losing yourself — and finding your way back. In the next four parts, I go into the countries we move to and the identities we leave behind, the friendships that quietly hollow us out, the workplaces that slowly sand us down, and what happens when we stop taking care of ourselves altogether. Parts two through five are for paid subscribers. If this resonated, come join us — the conversation only gets more honest from here.
This is such a strong post. Thanks for your openness, vulnerability, and strength. You're allowing more people that you know to be seen!
This would make an amazing podcast☺️