When someone asks you to introduce yourself and tell the room a little bit about who you are, what do you say? Before you read another word, I want you to stop for just a minute and answer that question. Don’t overthink it. Don’t edit yourself. Don’t write what you think sounds impressive. Just write down your answer exactly as it comes to you.
Okay… got it?
I’m willing to bet your answer looks a lot like mine used to. A laundry list of roles and responsibilities. “I’m AJ’s mom.” “I’m a nurse.” “I’m a CEO.” “I’m a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a friend.” Maybe you listed your degree, your profession, your volunteer work, your accomplishments, or the organizations you’re involved in. None of those things are wrong. In fact, many of them are things we should be incredibly proud of. But here’s the question I want you to wrestle with: Did you actually describe you, or did you simply describe the roles you play?
This is one of the most important conversations I have in the very first session of The Unfiltered Leader because I believe it sits at the root of why so many women eventually wake up one day feeling exhausted, disconnected, and strangely unfamiliar with themselves. We spend years becoming exceptional at serving everyone else. We become the dependable employee, the supportive spouse, the devoted mother, the reliable friend, the daughter who always says yes, the volunteer who takes on one more project because no one else will. Before long, our identity becomes a collection of hats we wear rather than the woman wearing them.
The problem isn’t that those roles matter. They absolutely do. Being a mom has changed me in the best possible ways. Becoming a nurse shaped how I see people. Leading hospitals and organizations stretched me, humbled me, and taught me lessons I could never have learned any other way. Our roles contribute to who we become, but they were never meant to become the entirety of who we are. When every ounce of our identity is invested in titles and relationships that can change, disappear, or be taken away, we leave ourselves incredibly vulnerable. If our entire sense of self is wrapped up in what we do instead of who we are, then every major life transition feels like an identity crisis.
I know that because I didn’t just study this—I lived it. I don’t write, speak, coach, or advise on anything I haven’t personally navigated. When I tell you I lost myself, I don’t mean I had a rough couple of months. I mean I completely lost sight of who Allie was underneath everything I’d built my life around. Within just a few years, my marriage ended. My family relationships deteriorated into estrangement. I lost the executive career that had consumed more than two decades of my life. Those weren’t just difficult events. They were the unraveling of many of the identities I had spent years building.
I can still remember looking in the mirror one morning and thinking, “I don’t even recognize the woman looking back at me.” It wasn’t that I didn’t recognize my face. I didn’t recognize my life. The titles were changing. The relationships were changing. The future I had envisioned was changing. Somewhere along the way, I had become so consumed with being the best daughter I could be, the best sister I could be, the best executive I could be, the best employee, the best volunteer, the best friend, and the best mom that I had forgotten to ask a much simpler question: “How do I become the best Allie I can be?”
That realization didn’t magically fix everything. I wish it had. Contrary to what social media would have us believe, healing doesn’t happen after reading one inspirational quote or taking one girls’ trip to the beach. It has been messy. Some days I’ve felt incredibly grounded, and other days I’ve wondered if I’d made any progress at all. I’ve had to learn that boundaries aren’t the same thing as walls. That saying no isn’t selfish. That disappointing someone else isn’t the same thing as failing. I’ve had to untangle years of believing my value came from how much I could produce, fix, rescue, lead, or carry for everyone around me.
The interesting thing about losing yourself is that, eventually, if you’re willing to do the work, you get the opportunity to meet yourself again. And this time, it’s different. Today, I know Allie outside of all the titles better than I ever have before. That’s not to say I have life figured out because, trust me, I don’t. I still have moments where I catch myself slipping back into old patterns. I still have days where I over-function, over-give, and over-own things that were never mine to carry in the first place. Growth isn’t a destination we arrive at. It’s a practice we choose over and over again.
What has changed is that I’m no longer trying to build a life by abandoning myself in order to maintain everyone else’s version of who they need me to be. I’m working to build healthier relationships where I can have boundaries without building walls. I’m learning to focus more on the future than replaying the past. I’m becoming softer without becoming weaker. I’m protecting my peace without sacrificing my values. And perhaps most importantly, I’m learning that the woman underneath all the roles deserved just as much attention as every role she was trying so desperately to perfect.
So let me ask you one more time. Who are you? Not your job title. Not your relationship status. Not whose mom you are or who signs your paycheck. Not the letters after your name or the responsibilities filling your calendar. Who are you when all of those things are stripped away?
If you don’t know the answer, you’re not broken, and you’re certainly not alone. But you do have some work to do. Because the most important relationship you’ll ever build isn’t with your employer, your spouse, your children, or even your closest friends. It’s with the person staring back at you in the mirror. And I can tell you from experience, she’s worth getting to know.
