Who am I on my own?

Have you ever asked yourself that—and not known the answer?

Before I ever thought to ask myself who I was, I knew exactly who I was to everyone else.
I became who I needed to be—to feel safe, to keep the peace, to belong.

I learned early how to read a room, anticipate needs, and morph into whoever would fit.
From the outside, it looked like a strength—and in many ways, it was. It’s served me well in life.

But it also came at a cost.

Losing yourself without realising it

Like many people, I stepped into roles early—eldest daughter, supporter, nurturer, adviser, mother (swim mum, in my case).

These roles weren’t wrong—they were part of my life—but they became tied to what I gave, how I showed up, and how I made others feel.

I adapted. Whatever role was most present at the time became my identity.

Then there were the labels—the unhelpful boxes we’re placed in when we’re young. Even when we outgrow them, they have a way of shaping how others see us—and how we see ourselves. They continued to influence my choices.

And slowly, almost without noticing…I lost sight of me.

The subtle drift from self

I grew up in an environment where emotions ran high, and tension was something I learned to manage. As a child, I became hyper-vigilant and anxious—highly attuned to others.

Reading the room. Anticipating needs. Adapting quickly.

But I didn’t learn how to tune into what I needed—or how to communicate it.

At secondary school, surrounded by people from very different backgrounds, that adaptability only deepened. I could fit in anywhere.

But fitting in isn’t the same as belonging.

And underneath it all, I felt that disconnect.

As a natural introvert, I used my nature as an excuse to isolate myself—to avoid the discomfort, or the sense that something wasn’t right. Avoidance and distraction became my coping mechanisms.

Becoming an identity shape-shifter

Over time, my identity became fluid—shifting depending on who I was with.

I wasn’t grounded in a clear sense of self. I was a collection of versions.

A different person in different relationships.
Choosing jobs that didn’t align.
Staying in situations that didn’t feel right.

Not because I didn’t care—but because I didn’t know how to choose differently.

The moment that changed everything

In 2019, everything unravelled.

My dad had a life-changing stroke, and I became his carer. Within a month, my long-term relationship ended, and I had a miscarriage. Soon after, the world went into lockdown.

It was too much, all at once. I hit rock bottom.

I was trying to hold everything together while quietly falling apart.

I was dealing with the heaviness of my dad’s emotions, whilst being a parent, all while navigating my own grief.

At times, it felt impossible. I felt completely alone.

In an attempt to cope, I made impulsive decisions—driven by pain and disconnection. When things didn’t work out, I avoided, distracted, and drifted further.

I damaged relationships that mattered.

That—combined with the start of perimenopause and crippling anxiety—forced me to stop and really look at how I was living my life.

What I realised was this:

Even though I was strong, I had lost the ability to trust my instincts and decide for myself.
The noise around me—and the fear—made me doubt who I was.

The loneliness of not being yourself

There’s a particular kind of loneliness that comes from being surrounded by people—but not truly known.

I felt it deeply.

Because even though I was always giving, supporting, adapting…I wasn’t being fully real.

Coming back to yourself

Rediscovering who you are isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about remembering who you’ve always been.

It starts with awareness—recognising where you’ve been overriding yourself—and making small, intentional changes.

It means allowing other people to have their reactions without taking them on as your responsibility. Letting go of decisions driven by guilt or fear.

If you’re feeling disconnected from yourself, here are three places to begin:

1.     Make decisions based on your values—not fear
When your identity is shaped by others, your decisions often follow. You can feel pulled in every direction—and that can keep you stuck.

Start asking:
What actually matters to me?

Not:
What’s expected of me?
What will keep the peace?

Small, aligned choices rebuild trust in yourself.

2.     Notice where you adapt

Adaptability can look like strength—but constant self-adjustment comes at a cost.

Where are you overgiving?
Where are you silencing yourself?
Where are you holding back?

Awareness is the first step back to yourself.

3.     Let yourself be seen—gradually
Authenticity doesn’t mean sharing everything with everyone. But real connection comes from allowing yourself to be known.

Start small.

Let the right people see the real you, piece by piece. That’s where belonging begins.

If you recognise yourself in this, you’re not alone.

You didn’t lose yourself—you adapted in ways that once made sense. But there comes a point when those patterns stop serving you.

And that point is often the beginning of something deeper.

This journey is what led me to the work I do today.

I support people who feel disconnected from themselves—who’ve spent years people-pleasing, adapting, or losing their identity—to reconnect with who they really are.

If you’re ready to start that process, you can find out more about my ‘Rebuild your Sense of Self’ coaching programme here: https://www.catherinemurraycoaching.com/services

How learning to swim as an adult can give you the confidence to trust yourself

How learning to swim as an adult can help you trust yourself again

Learning to swim as an adult can be quietly life-changing.
It can turn long-held beliefs on their head, showing that facing fear can unlock an entirely new world of experiences and completely change how you see yourself and what you are capable of.

It often starts with fear. Fear that’s been around for years. Sometimes decades. And when that fear is met, something shifts. You don’t just learn to swim. You begin to see yourself differently.

Most of us know someone who wishes they could swim. And yet, as adults, not being able to do something we feel we should have learned as children often carries shame. Embarrassment. A sense of awkwardness. We tell ourselves it’s too late, that we’ll look silly. That it doesn’t matter anyway.

For many adult non-swimmers, water isn’t neutral—it's something to be avoided. Holidays are planned around staying dry. Experiences are limited. Confidence quietly shrinks.

I see a similar pattern in my coaching work around decision-making. When fear, responsibility, emotions, and expectations become tangled, trusting ourselves becomes difficult. We second-guess. We hesitate. We look outside for reassurance. The voice that knows what is right for us gets quieter.

When I speak to adults who haven’t learned to swim, one of the biggest barriers isn’t ability or desire - it’s environment.

Most learn-to-swim classes are designed for children. Adult beginners at local leisure centres feel out of place: self-conscious, rushed for time, often squeezing lessons in after work while already tired and stressed. Instead of feeling supported, many adults feel exposed. Progress feels slow. Fear feels amplified. Progress feels slow. It’s hard to relax enough to learn.

Just like decision-making, the right space and support can make all the difference.

That’s why I love the work that swim coach and teacher Harley Hicks of LDN Swim does with adults who never learned to swim - or who learned through fear rather than confidence. Harley understands that many traditional approaches fail because they don’t account for individual differences—emotional, physical or psychological.

Just as importantly, he’s seen how powerful it is to learn alongside others facing the same challenge. Shared vulnerability brings out bravery. Shame softens. Progress feels possible.

That’s the thinking behind LDN Swim’s Adult Water Confidence holidays - immersive, supportive experiences that allow people to learn in a way that works for adults

As Harley puts it, “Think of it like a driving crash course - learning in a relaxed, supportive, fun environment, while developing new associations with the sea as a place of courage and transformation.”

For many participants, the shift is profound. The water stops feeling like an enemy and starts to feel like a place of possibility. The body learns that it can float, breathe, and move safely. The mind follows. Each small breakthrough rewrites a story that may have been carried for years.


Learning to swim as an adult isn’t just about water safety—though that alone is life-changing. It’s about reclaiming something that once felt out of reach.

People often describe feeling braver, more capable - not just in the pool but in their everyday lives - and most importantly, they speak about a renewed trust in themselves. A sense of ‘I can do hard things’. A confidence that cuts through the noise and brings them back to their own inner knowing.

If you’d like to find out more about Adult Water Confidence holidays, you can contact bookings@ldnswim.org or visit ldnswim.org