There was a version of myself I kept meticulously folded, tucked away behind the expectations of others, obscured by the calm of their certainties. This quiet suppression began subtly in childhood. I recall, at five years old, a moment of mischievous delight in a bustling shopping mall, relishing the frantic attention of my parents as they searched for their ‘lost’ child. As the youngest, overshadowed by an older brother, I often felt voiceless, seeking recognition in ways that sometimes backfired, leading to blame rather than understanding.
From an early age, a distinct sense of difference set me apart. I craved solitude, yet felt isolated, especially in a neighborhood where outdoor play was restricted without adult supervision. The park, a tantalizing expanse of freedom just across the street, remained out of reach, a symbol of the unfulfilled desires of my youth.
Adolescence brought its own complexities. Friendships blossomed, but so did the sting of bullying, making school a challenging landscape I yearned to escape. The moment I could, I left home, finding solace and a sense of adult recognition with my father and his family, even at a youthful age.
The societal conveyor belt soon beckoned: work, a partner, a house, a mortgage. I found myself seamlessly integrated into what I now recognize as the ‘matrix’ of conventional life. My career in finance spanned three decades, moving from small family businesses to large corporations. I strived, I studied, I worked tirelessly, chasing promotions and recognition. Yet, despite accumulating responsibilities, the significant job titles and equal pay remained elusive. Burnout became an unwelcome companion, a stark realization that I was in the matrix and without an escape plan.
Then, abruptly, the illusion shattered. A wave of anxiety washed over me, forcing a profound introspection: Who was Sarah Foulkes? I had become a people-pleaser, a pillar of support for others, losing sight of my own identity in the process.
My journey to independence was not a sudden leap through an open door; it was a slow, deliberate turning, a gentle loosening of the hands that had held me captive. I began by reclaiming the insignificant: the precise way I took my coffee, the quiet routes I chose for my walks home, the books I devoured in private moments, unobserved and unjudged.
I noticed a growing disconnect from old friendships and an increased sense of unfulfillment for past enjoyments. Initially, this sparked panic, but it soon evolved into a period of solitary introspection, a meticulous ‘unstitching’ of my life, much like deconstructing a jacket I had once sewn together. First, the collar, then the sleeves, and gradually, the entire garment, until only the raw material stayed. I had been wearing masks for such a long time that my jacket was well-padded.
I knew it was time to release the padding and show the raw and real person hiding behind this big jacket, and become vulnerable and cold in the rain. People started to worry about me as they saw how cold and shaky I was becoming.
This happens when you start shredding the layers and release the trauma and beliefs inside the person that you had become. Other people and things can trigger you, and then you become more aware of what is happening and just want to stay in the warm and hibernate, as you know the old jacket no longer fits and is unwearable.
Your friends invite you out, and you feel like something is missing, and it is the padded layers of jacket that you have been wearing for so many years.
Places feel more exposed and uncomfortable than ever, and you start to panic, like being in the deep end of a swimming pool, trying to tread water or float. Things become tired, and you realize that you are ready to go home.
They understand, and then you can start to relax and unwind when you are back in the comfort of your own home.
You are in the middle of not fitting into the outdated version of yourself and your old, padded jacket and not ready or have fully designed the new fitted one which shows off your body shape.
It is not until you start seeing things in a new light that you want to go outside and look at other people’s jackets and styles that you can start rebuilding and designing a new more positive way to wear it.
This process of redesigning my ‘jacket’ into a style more authentic to my evolving self was neither quick nor easy. It demanded patience, a careful search for each stitch, and the courage to unravel every thread. Yet, the new jacket is taking shape beautifully, drawing appreciative glances and comments on its unique style and how well it suits me.
In the spaces between these larger acts of reconstruction, I found my voice. I stopped swallowing unspoken words and ceased apologizing for my chosen paths. To be free, I have learned, is not to be fearless. It is to acknowledge the fear, to feel its presence, and yet to recognize the steady, low, undeniable sound of your own voice beneath it.
I am still becoming. This is the most profound truth I know. Not yet arrived, not fully finished, but more honestly present, wearing my newly designed jacket with pride, a testament to innovative design and the challenging, yet rewarding, work of self-creation.
As we move through life’s seasons, we shed layers that no longer fit. The beliefs, expectations, and identities that once kept us safe can become too heavy to carry. Yet when those layers fall away, we realized that it feels so much lighter and freer in your movement.
We choose a new jacket, one woven from experience, resilience, and self-knowledge. Not a disguise, but a reflection of who we have become.
This was written by our contributing writer, Sarah Foulkes.
The photo used in this article was taken by Sarah Foulkes of herself.
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