Who Am I Now My Dad Is Gone?

Rebuilding your identity when grief strips away everything you thought you knew about yourself.

Photo by Kyle Glenn on Unsplash

Some days I miss my dad. Some days I miss who I was when he was still alive.

I was alone after he died. Truly alone, in a way I’d never felt before. I’d survived depression, anxiety, cPTSD and disordered eating for most of my life.

Feeling isolated and different. But I felt adrift now like never before, without the anchor of Dad’s unconditional love.

He’d assigned me his next-of-kin. All those discussions with doctors were overwhelming. What if I got it wrong? I fretted day after day about my choices.

It was picking the best of the worst options.

My family couldn’t cope the same way, so I protected them from the brunt and took the guilt hits after he died. Then withdrew as my world quietly fell apart.

We’d built a closer relationship over the years, and it was just easy. Fun. Caring. It felt like he was the only one who really wanted to protect me without putting his needs first.

And when he died, a part of me died too.

The version of me that picked up the phone more easily. That tried harder. That smoothed things over. That was available whenever the family needed me, even if it was exhausting.

That person has gone now. And Mum called me out on it last week in another argument over the phone:

“You used to be so nice. You called more when Dad was here and visited more often.”

She's not wrong. What really hurt with it coming from her is how she's ignored why I changed.

And no matter how much she wants to take his place, I don’t think she ever will.

When part of you dies, what used to matter doesn’t anymore

I’ve always been obsessed with work. It appeals to my problem-solving nature but feeds my people-pleasing and perfectionist patterns too well.

After Dad died though, it seemed a bit pointless.

I needed to earn money, but I’d always struggled with corporate life. And yet, I accepted the golden handcuffs reluctantly.

Sure, I could survive but it always took a part of me with it. I become too entangled and over-giving, every time.

Too emotionally consumed with office politics, answering emails and working late into the night. Taking on projects or problems that weren’t mine to fix.

It’s hard when you see all the issues, solutions and fails others can’t. I overwork and over-give to prove my worth through blood, sweat and tears.

When I started a new job after losing Dad, I held some healthy boundaries for a while. But was going through the motions, on autopilot. It became harder to deal with corporate when I didn’t know what the future looked like. Who I was anymore:

• How long can I stay here?

• Can I build my coaching practice in the next 12 months to replace my salary?

• Do I even want to stay in London or explore other options now?

Every decision felt massive. Overwhelming. I kept my head down and threw myself into the work because at least there was structure and rules to follow.

Plus, it helped me avoid the ongoing loneliness and grief. I still missed Dad too much and needed to feel useful in a different way. I didn't realise it at the time so gladly sacrificed myself.

My work obsession ignited, even though it was a tough environment and job. Maybe because it was intense. Even when I realised it wasn’t the legacy I wanted to build, I kept going because it felt familiar.

I trained as a coach to use my experience and knowledge to help others, initially with burnout recovery and more recently to embrace life after profound and prolonged grief.

But being an entrepreneur in this space is f*cking hard and like screaming into the void at times. The day job helps keep the lights on. I know it’s a reality I need to accept.

And it gets harder with each role to feel OK with it.

The question that broke my paralysis: Fear or values?

I realised I was stuck because I was asking the wrong questions. “What would Dad want for me now?” “What will Mum think?” “What will the family say about me if I retreat?”

This to and fro questioning kept me stuck and anxious. Frozen. But the question that finally moved me forward was “What actually matters to me now?”

Not what used to matter. Not what should matter. What matters NOW, in this moment, to this version that survived his death.

That’s when boundaries become non-negotiable. When I stopped apologising for pulling back, fixing their problems, being their backstop when things got too hard.

Is it easy? No. But it’s necessary.

I knew my family were trying to replace the gap Dad left with me as the fixer, doer, one that got things sorted. I already played this role but was trying to pull away over the years.

I finally began enforcing proper boundaries with Mum which she’s resented ever since. The first time I said no to her after Dad died, I felt awful. I zoned out watching YouTube videos but couldn’t settle. Paced around the sitting room. Restless.

Was I being cruel? Selfish? Or did I need to survive? Part of my identity was “the good daughter” but who was I when that didn’t make sense or align anymore?

And after he died, I just couldn’t do it anymore because something inside me died with him. Instead, the values question gave me my answer: survival wasn't selfish.

It was vital.

Why setting boundaries protects the parts of you that remain

My relationship with Mum was always tricky. And admitting it here now: she’s narcissistic.

Sure, that term is over-used these days, but recalling discussions with previous therapists over the years, I know it’s not just me.

She’ll never be happy with who I am. I took it as over-interest as a child. A bit controlling. Now I recognise it’s because I’m not who she wants me to be.

On how I look, how I act, my life choices, or how I look after and protect her - or don't.

I was parentified early in life and it taught me how people-pleasing was survival and useful.

Dad worked long and unsocial hours, and I’d stay up late to spend any time with him. But he wasn’t around as much as we wanted.

So, Mum had real influence.

We didn’t have much money growing up. Another reason I overwork because I know what it’s like to have the bailiffs take your stuff away or being threatened with the electricity being turned off.

I learned to tolerate discomfort for a bigger cause. Financial stability. Feeling accepted. Making her proud and secure when no one else could.

But it's a never-ending job and the complaints don't stop. No matter how much I bend, contort, or reshape myself to fit.

And after a lifetime of people-pleasing and being there for her, I couldn't handle it anymore.

Setting boundaries is protection, and I'm still working out the right balance.

For her and for me. It's not easy with so many conflicting messages and inner critic voices railing in the background.

Every time she tries to pull me in, I retreat a bit further.

I've said hard truths aloud. And she’s never forgiven me.

Embracing life and rebuilding based on values not fear

We’re not just mourning a parent when they die or become distant, but the part of us gone with them.

The potential shared future we could have had. The life lessons they aren't able to offer.

There’s grief we don’t even realise is there for the parts we’ve lost. It's why life feels off for so many of us. Reality doesn’t make sense because we've fundamentally changed.

And in this new reality, our tolerance for BS tanks massively. That’s not a bad thing, but it means no longer wasting the time left in my one precious life.

That means not to hand it over to a company who doesn’t care. Or a parent who wants more than I can offer.

Today is about embracing a life based on what’s important now. Helping others make sense of grief when it reshapes who you are. Choosing to pivot my coaching work from burnout to grief support is a risk.

It feels like starting from scratch. And every time I post, I lose subscribers.

But this is my life’s work, because losing a parent, however that happens, impacts many of us in ways we could never imagine. Unable to adapt our lives to grief and feeling heavy, stuck, and adrift.

It’s made me more discerning about the corporate work I take on. To minimise distraction and aware of how much energy I’ll need to make it work. I’ve said no to roles because they aren’t the right fit anymore.

It’s scary but that’s what values-driven looks like for me now. Whilst creating ceramics and designing grief workshops to put something beautiful into the world. To explore and get curious about the things I still don't understand.

Living life not driven from fear of the world and its judgement, but from deeper values and what matters most.

Will everyone be happy with this approach to life?

Probably not. But we can’t keep pleasing everyone whilst killing ourselves, can we?

I'm learning how to live with the version of myself that emerged after Dad died. Some days are clearer than others. Some decisions still feel impossible. But I’m no longer frozen by them.

If you're navigating this same identity crisis - stuck between who you were and who you're becoming, unable to make decisions because nothing feels solid anymore - I get it.

It’s why I have this Substack and do this work.

Not to tell you who you should be now. But to help you discover who you actually are, beneath the grief, expectations and fear.

So, we’re on this journey together.

And maybe that’s exactly where we need to be.

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P.S. What decision are you struggling to make right now because you don't know who you are anymore? Hit reply or comment because I read every response.