The Fluid Self: Embracing Every Iteration of Who We Are

We Are Not Meant to Stay the Same

The world loves certainty. We are taught from an early age to define ourselves in neat, static terms, "I am this, not that", as if who we are should be an unchanging fact, like the colour of our eyes or the number of bones in our body. But identity is not a static thing. It is not a single, fixed point that we are meant to locate and adhere to for life.

To journey inward is to journey outward, into every facet of existence, every archetype, every emotion. Who we are is not a destination but an ever-shifting landscape, a living, breathing expression of the moment we are in.

But why do we cling to the idea of a fixed self? Beneath it all, is it fear? Fear of uncertainty, fear of instability, fear of dissolving into something unfamiliar and unrecognisable? Or is it a need for congruence—the deep desire to feel aligned within ourselves?

Congruence is the key. It is not about being the same in every moment or in every situation, but about being aligned. Who you are in different spaces may shift, but as long as those shifts are congruent with your values and beliefs, they are all still you. Carl Rogers, one of the most influential humanistic psychologists, argued that psychological distress often arises from incongruence—when there is a gap between our true self and our self-concept, the identity we have constructed based on external expectations.

The true self, according to Rogers, is the authentic, unfiltered core of who we are, independent of societal conditioning or the need for approval. When we act in ways that align with this deeper, more genuine self, we experience congruence - a state of harmony and inner peace. When we live according to a false self, shaped by external pressures and expectations, we feel fragmented, anxious, and disconnected. This tension, between who we truly are and who we feel we must be, is what creates stress and dissatisfaction.

Rogers believed that self-actualisation, the process of becoming one's fullest and most authentic self, is only possible when we embrace our fluidity while remaining anchored in our deepest values. This means recognising which aspects of our identity are flexible - our thoughts, emotions, interests, and which are more deeply rooted, like our fundamental values and sense of integrity.

The illusion of a fixed self is deeply embedded in the cultural structures that surround us. It is reinforced by the rigid expectations of consistency, stability, and predictability, qualities that serve economies and institutions but often suffocate the soul. The idea that we must remain unchanged, unwavering in our identities, is an inheritance from Victorian ideals of linearity and order, where deviation from the norm was met with suspicion. But life itself is wild, cyclical, unpredictable. And when we allow ourselves to be shaped by its tides rather than resist them, we step into a far greater freedom.

The deep feminine, the wild, the liminal, she does not stay the same. She is ever shifting, ever becoming, moving with the seasons, with the phases of the moon, with the rhythm of breath. To embrace this nature is not to abandon ourselves but to step more fully into who we have always been: creatures of change, beautifully and necessarily unfixed.

But that is not an easy task. It requires unlearning. It requires confronting the parts of ourselves that we have built as fortresses against change. The identities we have constructed to feel safe, to feel in control. The ones that say, "I am successful because I do this," or "I am worthy because I am this kind of person." Who are we without those labels? Who are we when we strip away the familiar signposts? That is the work. The terrifying, exhilarating, deeply necessary work.

What if, instead of striving for consistency, we strived for congruence? What if we let go of outdated identities not because they are inconsistent, but because they are no longer true to us? What if the real work is not "finding ourselves" but giving ourselves permission to shift, to shed, to become more aligned with who we are meant to be?

This is not a lack of authenticity, it is the fullest expression of it. The self is not a single note but an entire symphony. And we are allowed to play every instrument.

Identity as a Wardrobe: Trying On Different Versions of Ourselves

Each version of us is an outfit, a costume, a different lens through which we experience the world. We slip into them effortlessly, sometimes without realising it. The Maiden, the Mother, the Wise Woman, the Wild One, the Shadow Self. We embody them all, sometimes within a single day. One moment you are fierce and untamed, the next you are soft and introspective. Neither is more real than the other. You are all of it.

But here is the deeper truth - sometimes, we wear old selves not because they fit, but because we are afraid of the nakedness underneath. Who are we when we remove all the costumes, all the borrowed personas, all the inherited beliefs? If we are not this, then what? If we stop performing for the world, do we still exist? And if we do exist, who is left beneath all that shedding?

Congruence is what determines whether an identity feels right or wrong. When we feel aligned with the self we are embodying, we feel at ease, confident, alive. When we feel out of sync, it is because we are holding on to something that is no longer us, or perhaps was never us to begin with. The incongruence creates stress, tension, and unease.

Our emotions, our desires, our needs shift like seasons, like tides. There is no shame in being many things, many selves. To be fixed is to be stuck. To be unfixed is to be free. The world may tell you to pick a lane, to be one thing and one thing only, but the truth is you were never meant to be just one.

Some aspects of who we are are fluid, shifting as we move through life. Emotions, thoughts, ideas, likes and dislikes, interests, hobbies, even the way we work, all of these are malleable. They are shaped by experience, by time, by context. One year, a particular passion may light you up, and the next, it may no longer hold meaning. The way you approach work or creativity may evolve as you grow, as you find new rhythms, new inspirations, new ways of operating that align more with your current self.

But beneath all of this, there is something deeper. A truer, more essential part of who you are. Your values. They, too, may change, but not in the same way. Unlike fleeting interests or shifting moods, values evolve more slowly, influenced by profound experiences, by growth, by deep introspection. They form the foundation upon which the fluid aspects of self move and shift.

When we feel lost, it is often because we are focusing too much on the things that are changing and losing sight of the deeper things that anchor us. If we chase an ever-changing sense of self without connecting it back to the values that matter to us, we can feel untethered, unmoored. But when we root ourselves in what is deeply meaningful, our core values, we create a space where change is not threatening, but expansive.

Personality as Seasons: Embracing the Shifting Self

We often think of personality as a fixed trait, something we either have or don’t have, something innate that defines us. But what if personality was never meant to be a rigid, unchanging thing? What if, instead of thinking of ourselves as a single, fixed identity, we considered our personality as something seasonal, shifting in response to life’s context and cycles?

Have you noticed that around different people, in different job roles, in different countries, you are a slightly different version of yourself? That certain environments draw out parts of you that lie dormant in other settings? Have you ever rebranded your business, changed careers, or gone to a psychedelic ceremony and felt something fundamental shift within you? That is not an illusion. That is the nature of who we are.

Much like the changing seasons, we move through phases of our identity. There are times when we are in the high energy, outward-facing Spring of our personality, initiating projects, stepping into new opportunities. Other times, we find ourselves in the deep Winter, more introspective, withdrawn, allowing things to rest before renewal. Summer might be a period of full expression and creativity, while Autumn could be a time of shedding, letting go, refining what no longer serves us.

By acknowledging these shifts as natural rather than resisting them, we give ourselves permission to evolve in ways that serve us best in the present. Instead of clinging to a singular version of self, we can ask, "What aspects of my identity am I experiencing right now? There is no need to be the same person in every moment, in every environment. We are meant to shift, to respond, to change.

When we embrace this way of thinking, we release the pressure to be consistent and allow ourselves to be adaptable. This adaptability is not inauthentic, it is a deep recognition that different situations call for different energies, different aspects of self. Rather than feeling lost in change, we can begin to see it as a necessary and beautiful part of who we are.

The Tyranny of the Fixed Self

"A leopard doesn’t change its spots." This phrase, originating from the Bible in the book of Jeremiah, has long been used to reinforce the idea that people are fundamentally unchangeable. It reflects a worldview that prioritises stability over transformation, assuming that character and identity are rigid and predetermined.

This idea has deep sociological and historical roots. The notion of a fixed self was reinforced during the Enlightenment when individual identity became closely tied to rationality, personal responsibility, and moral constancy. European societies, particularly in the post-Roman and early modern periods, increasingly valued consistency and predictability in social roles, seeing change as suspicious or even deceitful.

In contrast, many indigenous and pre-Roman cultures, including the ancient Britons, had a much more fluid understanding of identity. The Celts, for example, embraced transformation and cyclicality as a fundamental part of existence. Their spirituality, mythology, and social structures reflected an understanding that people, like nature, go through continuous seasons of change. Identity was not something rigid but something that evolved in response to life’s circumstances. Warriors became poets, druids became warriors, and rites of passage marked transitions between identities rather than enforcing a singular, lifelong definition of self.

Anthropologically, cultures that prioritised oral traditions and shamanic practices often had a more flexible concept of identity. In many indigenous traditions, people were expected to shift and evolve throughout their lives, adapting their roles to the needs of the community rather than adhering to a fixed persona. These societies recognised the necessity of transformation, seeing it as a form of wisdom rather than instability.

Even in modern sociology, identity is increasingly understood as contextual. Erving Goffman’s theory of dramaturgy suggests that we perform different selves depending on our social environment, much like actors on a stage. Who we are in a professional setting may differ from who we are in intimate relationships, but both versions are still real. The idea of a single, unchanging self is a cultural construct rather than a psychological or biological reality.

Carl Jung introduced the concept of archetypes, the universal patterns of human behaviour that exist in the collective unconscious. He believed that to fully individuate, we must integrate these different aspects of ourselves, the Maiden, the Mother, the Crone, the Warrior, the Healer, the Shadow, rather than attempting to commit to a single, unchanging identity. To be whole is to embrace the multiplicity within, to acknowledge that different phases of life, different experiences, and different circumstances call forth different aspects of our psyche. The self is a constellation, not a singular fixed star.

Jean-Paul Sartre, from an existentialist perspective, rejected the idea of a fixed self entirely. To be human, he argued, is to be in a constant state of becoming. We are not defined by a singular identity but by the choices we make in each moment. Authenticity, then, is the willingness to embrace this responsibility, to recognise that we are always in flux, that we are never finished. He saw the attempt to solidify an identity as a form of bad faith, a refusal to accept the responsibility and freedom inherent in our nature.

So why does the world cling to the myth of the fixed self? Perhaps it is because an evolving person is harder to control. A woman who redefines herself cannot be easily categorised, marketed to, or manipulated. A person who is in motion, who sheds what no longer fits, is a force that cannot be contained.

The idea of a fixed self serves institutions, industries, and power structures that rely on predictability. If we are convinced that we must remain one thing, one role, one persona, we become easier to market to, easier to govern, easier to limit. Consumerism, for example, thrives on the premise that identity can be bought and solidified through possessions. The moment we accept that we are fluid, that we are always shifting, the less power external forces have over defining us.

Historically, patriarchal structures have reinforced this notion as well. A woman who is free to evolve, who embraces her own cycles and transformations, becomes less dependent on external validation. She moves beyond the confines of being the dutiful daughter, the perfect mother, the desirable lover, the compliant employee. She becomes something unpredictable, something that resists definition and therefore resists control.

Even in psychological frameworks, early models of personality sought to classify people into rigid categories—types, traits, immutable characteristics. While these frameworks provided a sense of understanding, they also risked reinforcing the illusion of permanence. More contemporary psychological thought recognises that personality is shaped by environment, experience, and neuroplasticity, meaning we are never truly finished, never truly fixed.

Culturally, many indigenous traditions understood identity not as something fixed but as something cyclical, responsive to the needs of the community and the rhythms of the natural world. In pre-Roman Britain, identity was deeply tied to one’s role in the shifting seasons of life. A person was not expected to remain the same; rather, they moved through phases of being a hunter, a healer, a warrior, a storyteller, according to what was required and what was unfolding within them. Change was seen not as instability but as wisdom in motion.

If we embrace this, we begin to realise that our greatest strength lies not in defining who we are once and for all, but in recognising our capacity to shift, adapt, and become. To live fully is to allow ourselves to grow beyond the narratives we have been given, to let go of outdated versions of self, and to honour the newness emerging within us at every stage of life.

The Sacred Cycle: We Are Different in Every Season

We are not meant to be the same every day, just as the Earth is not the same in every moment. To live in deep reverence for life is to attune ourselves to the rhythms of the land, the moon, the tides, the seasons, the rising and setting of the sun. The Earth, our great teacher, does not demand constancy, she shows us that to be alive is to move, to shift, to evolve.

Yet, we have been taught to resist this natural wisdom. We have been conditioned to strive for sameness, to cling to an identity that does not waver, to see change as instability rather than sacred transformation. But our bodies know the truth. Our cycles whisper it to us. The shifting landscape of our hormones, our emotions, our needs, and our desires remind us that we are nature itself—not separate from her, but woven into her endless unfolding.

Within us, the great rhythms of the Earth play out in miniature. Our menstrual cycle is not just a biological function; it is an ancient wisdom practice written into our flesh. Each phase calls forth a different energy, a different way of seeing, creating, and moving through the world.

In our follicular phase, we are like the early spring, rising, awakening, fresh with ideas and inspiration. Ovulation mirrors the height of summer, radiant, outward, magnetic, fertile in every sense. The luteal phase is the slow descent of autumn, a call inward, a time to refine, to release what is unnecessary, to prepare for the deep rest ahead. And menstruation, our sacred winter, is the stillness, the darkness, the descent into the void where all things dissolve so they may be born anew.

To live in harmony with this rhythm is to honour the intelligence of our bodies, to listen when they call for action and when they call for retreat. To deny these shifts, to push through when we are meant to rest, to force output when we are meant to receive, is to deny nature itself.

The great cycles of life mirror these inner rhythms. Just as we move through the phases of our monthly cycle, we also traverse the great arcs of existence.

We begin in the Maiden phase: curious, unshaped, filled with the energy of becoming. The Mother phase is not just about birthing children; it is the season of creativity, of devotion, of sustaining the life around us. Then comes the Wise Woman, the one who has lived, who has seen, who carries the stories and the knowing. And finally, the Crone, the one who holds the threshold between life and death, who sees beyond the veils, who knows that all things must return to the Earth.

These transitions are not metaphorical; they are deeply embodied initiations. They are not linear; they are cyclical. Just as the Earth cycles through seasons, we move through these identities again and again, shedding old skins, stepping into new expressions of self.

Even in the course of a single day, we are many selves. Who we are at dawn—filled with the rising energy of the sun, the promise of a new beginning—is not who we are at dusk, softened by the day’s lessons, called toward stillness. Midnight is the realm of the mystic, the unseen, the subconscious; midday is the domain of clarity and action. The sun and moon, the tides, the light and the dark, all shape us moment by moment.

To reject this is to reject our own nature. To force ourselves into rigid definitions, to expect ourselves to be the same in every hour, every season, every year, is to go against the very essence of life.

The Earth does not resist her seasons. She does not cling to summer when winter is calling. She does not fear the falling leaves or the quiet of the snow. She does not resist the blooming of spring or the heat of the sun at its peak. She surrenders to each phase fully, knowing that nothing is lost, that all things must transform.

What would it feel like to live this way?

To trust that the part of you that is waning will rise again. To know that your inward, quiet moments are not weakness but wisdom. To embrace your full bloom when it comes without fearing its eventual descent. To see your shifting self as something sacred rather than something to be fixed.

When we honour our fluid nature, we stop forcing ourselves into a single, rigid definition. We make space for the multiplicity of who we are, allowing for renewal, change, and adaptation. We step back into the great rhythm of life itself.

The Power of Shedding Skins

We are meant to evolve, to shed what no longer serves us, to step into new versions of ourselves again and again. Like the serpent that outgrows its skin, we are not meant to stay confined within old definitions of who we once were. There is nothing unnatural about transformation, it is our birthright, our most inherent rhythm.

Yet, we often resist it. We fear losing ourselves, as if change means erasure, as if growth means forgetting. But the truth is, we do not lose ourselves when we evolve. We return. We move deeper into who we were always meant to be. Every shift, every reinvention, every letting go is not a departure from the self but a homecoming to a truer, more expansive version.

The self is not a static entity, not a singular story with a beginning, middle, and end. We are kaleidoscopic, turn us slightly, and a new pattern emerges. Shift the light, and different colours appear. We are never the same person twice. The river of who we are flows endlessly, never repeating the same current, never standing still.

When we stop clinging to the illusion of a fixed self, we free ourselves from the pressure to be one thing, to be consistent, to be predictable. Instead, we give ourselves permission to be the contradiction, the paradox, the wild and untamed movement of being.

The deepest self-acceptance does not come from perfecting a single identity, from defining ourselves in neat and tidy terms. It comes from embracing the beautiful mess of our becoming. It comes from allowing ourselves to be inconsistent, to change our minds, to outgrow what we once loved, to release what no longer fits.

To live fully is to surrender to the knowing that we will not be tomorrow who we are today and to welcome that with open arms.

The Wild Permission to Be Everything

To be alive is to change. To resist this is to suffocate the soul, to refuse the rhythm that pulses through all things. Life is not still. It is motion, unraveling, dissolving, returning. It is the great inhale and exhale of existence, the constant becoming.

Nothing in nature remains unchanged. The river does not apologize as it carves new paths. The moon does not cling to its fullness, nor the serpent to its skin. The trees do not weep for the leaves they release, for they know the cycle is sacred. And so too are we called to shift, to shed, to surrender to the tide that moves through us.

The greatest wisdom is not found in fixing ourselves in place, but in surrendering to the current of who we are becoming. To let go of the illusion that we must be one thing, one name, one story. We are not singular beings. We are the maiden and the mother, the fire and the ash, the dawn and the dusk. We are multitudes. We are infinite.

And yet, the world will ask you to be small, to be contained, to be something legible and fixed. But you were never meant to fit within their lines. You were meant to expand, to stretch beyond their understanding, to dance at the edges of the unseen.

So what if you let go? What if you stopped grasping at definitions, at certainty, at the stories they told you to believe about yourself? What if you embraced the shifting, the unraveling, the glorious unknown?

What if you let yourself become?

What if you remembered what you have always been?

The Oracle’s Becoming

I have worn a thousand faces,
woven them into veils of dusk and dawn,
shed them like rain-soaked silk upon the earth,
let the wind take their whispers, their weeping, their war cries.

I am not one thing. 
I am not one name.

I am the shifting sands, the undulating tide,
the hymn of bone upon bone, breaking, remaking,
the serpent that devours herself and is reborn in the hollow of her own mouth.

You ask me who I am.

I uncoil, I rise, I unravel before you,
a river of tongues, a shrine of echoes,
each syllable a name I once carried,
each breath a prayer I have become.

I have been the maiden with fire-threaded hands,
the mother with a mouthful of storms,
the crone who sings to the roots of the world,
and yet I am none of these, and all of these,
turning, turning, turning in the wheel of my own making.

I have died a hundred ways,
bare thighs pressed into the dirt,
hips rolling like an ancient wave,
palms slick with the nectar of my undoing.

I have licked the edge of oblivion and called it home,
let it kiss the backs of my knees,
let it thread its opaque fingers through my hair,
let it press its lips to my throat and rename me.

Do not call for me in the voice of the past.

I have slipped through the cracks of my former self,
left my old skins at the altar of time,
offered them to the black-eyed void where all things begin again.

I am becoming. 

I am the one who knows,
not because I am fixed,
but because I am endless.

My deepest love for all you have been, all you are now, and all you are yet to become.

In creativity & connection

Rosie x