Who Am I If I Don’t Have to Be Anyone?

I was asked this question in a group recently, and let me tell you, it stopped me in my tracks. Not the polite, “hmm, that’s interesting” kind of pause. No. The full-body, stare at thewall, “bloody hell, who even am I?” kind of silence.

It wasn’t an easy question to answer.

Not because I don’t know myself (I’ve lived a few lives in this one, trust me), but because I’ve spent decades being someone. And usually someone for someone else.

Let me explain.

When You Spend Years Being Someone for Everyone

Once upon a time, I was a wife. A mum. A business owner. A coach. A volunteer. A daughter. A friend. The dependable one. The fixer. The doer. The quiet sufferer. The bringer of snacks and emotional labour.

I was the one who remembered birthdays, booked dentist appointments, wiped tears, paid bills, planned holidays, handled tantrums (sometimes my own), and held it all together. I didn’t just wear the hats, I crocheted them by candlelight with one eye twitching.

I was ticking boxes like it was my job because, well, it kind of was. Not just the literal jobs, but the invisible ones. The holding everyone else up while crumbling inside jobs. Keeping things smooth. Managing feelings. Making it all look effortless (it wasn’t, by the way. Not even close).

And then one day, the universe pulled the plug. Or maybe I yanked it out myself, hard to say. Separation and almost Divorced. Early menopause. My kids growing up and moving away. Losing my home. My business. My first dog. My faith. And let’s not forget, my bloody sanity for a hot minute.

Everything I had wrapped my identity around GONE.

Just like that. Poof.

So, when someone asks me, “Who are you if you don’t have to be anyone?” I don’t answer straight away. Because I know how easy it is to rattle off roles. I’ve done it for years. And let’s be real, it’s not a question you answer with your LinkedIn profile.

This isn’t a branding exercise. It’s a reckoning.

The Stripping Back (AKA: the Bit That Hurts Like Hell)

When you’ve built your whole life around being needed, being useful, being responsible, being “the strong one,” you don’t even realise you’ve disappeared. Piece by piece, you vanish into the roles. Like mist in someone else’s story.

You start forgetting what you like for fun (besides scrolling or planning everyone else's life like an unpaid PA). You forget how you take your tea. You forget what it’s like to laugh, not the polite “oh that’s funny” kind, but the belly-deep, snort out loud kind that surprises even you.

You become efficient. Reliable. Predictable. And very, very tired.

And then when all of that is stripped away? You’re left naked in front of the mirror.

And not in the sexy, “damn, I still got it” way. In the “who the f*ck is this woman and why does she look like she hasn’t exhaled in years?” way.

But here’s the gold bit: that’s where you find the MAGIC.

Not in the polished parts.

Not in the highlights reel.

In the mess. In the unravelling. In the silent sobs on the bathroom floor.

When there’s nothing left to pretend, you finally meet yourself.

Who I Found Underneath the Rubble

I found a woman who doesn’t need to perform to be worthy.

A woman who swears like a sailor and prays like a saint (sometimes at the same time).

A woman who cries when she needs to and laughs loud, often, and sometimes at totally inappropriate things (funerals, awkward Zoom meetings, you name it).

I found a woman who lost everything, her titles, her certainty, her bloody post code, and still had the audacity to get back up and start again.

I found someone fierce, soft, rebellious, and sacred all at once.

I found someone real.

I found ME.

Not the curated version. Not the “please like me” version. The wild, wise, whole me.

The one who dances barefoot in the kitchen. The one who paints with her body. The one who whispers affirmations into the wind and screams into pillows when it gets too much.

And it turns out, I really like her.

What I’m Not Anymore (and Why That’s Bloody Brilliant)

• I’m not your fixer.
• I’m not your emotional dumping ground.
• I’m not the girl who waits to be picked.
• I’m not a cog in someone else’s machine.
• I’m not a walking to-do list in yoga pants.

 I’ve RETIRED from that role.

Thank you for your service, people-pleaser Bhupi. You can rest now.

Instead, I’m the woman who:

• Paints with her whole body in hugs at retreats
• Writes raw blogs that make people laugh, cry, or rage (or all three)
• Coaches women who are done pretending and ready to actually live
• Says no and means it with grace, not guilt
• Dances like nobody’s watching (and honestly, even if they are, lucky them)

If I Don’t Have to Be Anyone...

I get to be a little messy.

I get to change my mind and not apologise.

I get to be powerful and peaceful, wild and wise, bold and broken, and none of it cancels the other out.

I get to say, “I don’t know,” and not feel ashamed.

I get to follow joy instead of obligation.

I get to wear colour, speak my truth, rest without guilt, and rise without apology.

And more than anything, I get to belong to myself.

Because when you’re not trying to fit in, you finally realise you already fit. Just as you are.

So Who Am I?

I’m Bhupi.

Not the “mum of two” (though I am).

Not “separated, divorcing soon, and starting again” (though, yes, that too).

Not “British-born, Canada seasoned, mandala-loving life coach” (but also accurate).

I’m not here to impress you.

I’m here to be me.

Fully. Loudly. Colourfully. Tenderly. Imperfectly.

I’ve spent years earning badges in survival. Now I’m choosing aliveness.

And you, my dear friend?

Now It’s Your Turn.

Who are you if you don’t have to be anyone?

Not the mum. Not the employee. Not the partner. Not the people-pleaser.

Strip it all back. The shoulds’. The roles. The filters. The polite smiles. The self-abandonment dressed up as loyalty.

What’s left?

That’s your real self.

That’s the woman who’s been waiting.

Not silently. She’s been humming under the noise. Whispering through the cracks. Sipping her tea with one eyebrow raised, like, “Took you long enough.”

She’s not here to perform.

She’s here to live.

And trust me, she’s worth meeting.

This question isn’t just a journaling prompt. It’s a bloody portal. One I’ve walked through. One I now hold open for others.

Come join me, on retreat (coming soon), in on-line courses (coming soon), or just message me for a real, human chat (no fluff, no mask, no ten-step funnels).

Because you don’t have to be anyone to belong here.

Just YOU.

That’s more than enough.