In 2023, I thought a lot about the parts of myself I’ve ignored

Published on 23 December 2023

To my treasured daughters. 

I want to talk about the importance of asking yourself difficult questions and being brave. Society doesn’t always promote these things as positive qualities in girls but I hope you’ll re-read this letter when you need reminding. 

Last night I told your Dad that lately I've been feeling scared that I don't really know who I am. Sounds strange doesn’t it? But I’ll try and explain. Of course I know parts of myself very well. I know I love the seaside. My favourite colour is red, and I get really into a good murder mystery novel.

But I’m beginning to realise that there are parts of myself that I’ve ignored – perhaps even purposefully – since I was your age. It feels a bit like I’m sleepwalking through life: I know what I’m doing but there’s a filter meaning my senses are a bit numb while I’m doing it. 

Colours are muted. Sounds are muffled. Touch feels mitten-stifled.

I’ve been trying to work out how I’ve got here and I’ve been thinking a lot about when I met your Dad. You know we met at university – during my first few weeks in fact. Dad was interesting and clever and he made me laugh. It turned out he liked me a lot and we got together. He was my first and only boyfriend and I adored the idea of him fancying me. 

I wasn’t a very confident person while I was at university and I’ve told myself that's the reason I spent the rest of my time there living very safely. Although I hung out with my gay (and newly out) flatmate drinking Lambrini and Pink Zin, I didn’t seek to meet new people and I never tried to grow my confidence so I could build friendships beyond a handful of people I met in my first year. 

If I was introduced to any lesbians or bisexual women then I wasn’t aware of it but I did have crushes on a few of my female course mates. But throughout the whole time I was in a committed relationship with Dad so my label was “straight”.

Straight in more ways than one I suppose. I was focused on my studies. I didn’t party. Didn’t join clubs. Didn’t experiment. Didn’t make stupid mistakes. Didn’t have any of those “one-to-tell-the-grandkids” experiences. 

I did not make the most of that time in my life. I regret that I lived so small as a student. And that I have done so ever since.

Why am I thinking about all this now? I think it’s connected to my hormones changing but I suppose it’s been bubbling away under the surface for a long time. Until now though, I’ve been able to shove my intrigue about women aside. I’ve been busy with my career and I’ve been busy being your mum and I enjoy and cherish both of those things. 

But there’s also the fact that, quite honestly, my feelings are excruciatingly inconvenient. If I acted on them without speaking to Dad first I would hurt him and perhaps change the shape of our family which would be painful for all four of us. But I also think that withholding such strong feelings would be a form of self-betrayal. 

So last night I finally spoke to Dad. I told him how much it bothers me that I don’t feel I know who I am as a person, as a woman, as an identity separate from him. 

I explained as best as I could. I told him that although I love him and the family that we’ve created, I’m also afraid of not fully knowing who I am. I'm scared I’ll realise in my 60s that I’ve spent my life comfortably married to a man I love but am not in love with. A man that I’m affectionate with but not attracted to. 

Dad listened. He held my hand. He said he wants me to be happy, and that if I needed to explore my sexuality he is ok with that. He loves me and our life and so he suggested consensual non-monogamy as a way for me to figure some things out. 

I didn’t expect that. I don’t really know what to do with that freedom. 

I do know that your Dad is a very special person and that I chose an exceptional man to raise you with. 

This is nobody’s fault. Nobody has stopped me finding out more about what I like, or what or who I’m interested in, but nobody has encouraged me to ask either. I don’t want that for you.

I never want you to feel trapped in a life you feel you’re supposed to want but don’t. I want you to be curious, to ask questions and to be brave enough to do what’s right for you and your long-term happiness. Even if it’s hard, feels selfish, or hurts people you love. I want you to forge a life that feels true to you. That’s what I’m trying to do. As Glennan Doyle says, “the call of motherhood is to become a model, not a martyr.” 

I might not show you this letter today or tomorrow or even next year – you’re both a little too young to understand – but I had to get this out of my brain and onto paper while it’s fresh in my mind. 

I want to live a life without regrets. I want to live a bigger, fuller, more vibrant life. And I want you both to live the biggest, the fullest and the most vibrant lives possible.

Here’s to bravery. Here’s to living a full life.

Mum.x