Returning to yourself

My husband and I have lived in a number of countries-Australia, the UK and Spain-but the longest chapter of our lives abroad was in the United States.

What was meant to be an eighteen-month adventure became nine years.

During that time, we bought what is, to this day, probably still my dream home. Eight acres of rolling land. We built a wonderful community of friends-our "framily". Our children were settled, happy and thriving at school.

Life was full.

But underneath it all, we always knew that one day we'd return to Australia.

I've always disliked the language around that.

People talk about "moving back" or "going back", as though returning somehow means retracing your steps. As though you've gone out into the world only to end up where you started.

But that's never really true, is it?

You don't return as the same person.

You return carrying everything you've learnt, everyone you've loved, every joy and every disappointment. The landscape may be familiar, but you are not. A return isn't a reversal of the journey. It's part of it.

Perhaps returning isn't moving backwards at all.

Perhaps it's another step forwards.

I've been thinking about the idea of returning a lot lately. Northwards feels, in many ways, like a return. A return to work that once brought me immense joy and purpose.

People have congratulated me on starting a new business, but it doesn't really feel new.

It feels like coming home.

And that has made me think about another kind of return.

The idea of losing yourself… and then finding your way back.

Menopause was definitely a derailment for me. I felt as though I had completely lost my course and no longer knew who I was. I was tired, sweaty, not sleeping and grumpy. Angry, actually. My joints hurt, my body was changing before my very eyes, and I felt frightened that this was what the rest of my life was going to look like.

Gradually, I found the things that worked for me-exercise, good nutrition, HRT, and perhaps most importantly, a little grace and compassion for myself.

Sometimes life asks us to leave parts of ourselves behind for a while. We do what the season requires. We care for children, support ageing parents, build careers, survive illness, weather loss, or simply keep putting one foot in front of the other.

And then, if we're fortunate, something gently calls us back.

Not back to who we were.

Back to who we've always been.

Not becoming someone new.

But returning to yourself.