There are moments in life where something quietly shifts, and you realise you are no longer willing to live in the same way you once did.
For me, I would describe this period as my Tommy Shelby era.
Not as an identity to perform, and not as a persona to adopt, but as an energy. A way of relating to myself, my boundaries, and the world around me.
In the final series of Peaky Blinders, there is a scene where Tommy Shelby walks away from the manor house. He does not look back. He does not hesitate. He does not return to what has already been destroyed. He leaves behind the weight of that place, the ghosts within it, and the version of himself that could no longer continue in that environment.
That moment, for me, captures something important.
It is not about aggression or detachment. It is about clarity. It is about recognising when something has run its course, and having the internal permission to walk away without needing to justify it endlessly to others or to yourself.
That is the energy I recognise in myself now.
A few years ago, I lived from a very different internal position.
I was a chronic people pleaser.
As someone who was adopted, there has always been, in my lived experience, a complex interplay between belonging and identity. On one hand, a deep longing to be chosen, to be part of a family, to be held and accepted, and though I was chosen by my adoptive family, which I am eternally grateful for, there can remain an internal experience of questioning belonging and identity. On the other hand, an internal narrative that can quietly suggest a sense of not quite belonging, or needing to minimise oneself in order to remain connected.
Whether or not this is universal, it has been my experience.
Over time, this translated into patterns of self-erasure. I would prioritise other people’s comfort over my own needs. I would avoid expressing discomfort. I would adapt, accommodate, and absorb, often at my own expense.
I did not challenge this pattern for a long time because, in many situations, it was reinforced by others. My flexibility made things easier for everyone else, but it came at a cost that I was not fully acknowledging.
A significant turning point came after a period of loss. Within a short space of time, I lost both my birth mother and my aunt, who was a deeply important maternal presence in my life and who loved and cared for me in a very mothering way. That experience brought into focus the reality of time, mortality, and the importance of how I choose to live.
It shifted something internally.
It made it harder to continue living in a way that did not include me.
The shift that followed was not sudden in behaviour, but it was clear in direction.
I began to recognise that I could no longer continue erasing myself to maintain relationships or avoid discomfort.
Where previously I would explain, justify, negotiate, or try to help others understand my position, I now notice that my boundaries are more action-based.
I am less interested in convincing someone to meet me where I am, and more interested in observing whether they are capable of doing so.
If not, I am willing to leave the table.
That is a very different internal stance.
It does not come from anger. It comes from self-respect.
There is also an acceptance that not all relationships are meant to continue in their existing form. Some relationships shift. Some end. Some require a level of mutual effort that both people are not always able or willing to meet.
I have come to accept that without trying to force alignment where it does not exist.
My boundaries are now informed by behaviour rather than intention.
I am less willing to tolerate being walked over, not being considered, or feeling like a guest in my own life.
I am less willing to remain in dynamics where my needs are consistently secondary to someone else’s comfort, particularly when that imbalance is not acknowledged or addressed.
A key change is that I no longer hold the belief that I can change someone who does not want to change.
Instead, I observe what is present and respond accordingly.
This has led to some ruptures in relationships.
Those ruptures have not been easy, and they carry a sense of grief. At the same time, they reflect a necessary realignment. Remaining in relationships that require self-erasure is no longer something I am willing to do.
Internally, this phase is not purely empowering, nor is it purely difficult.
It is both.
There is grief present. Grief for relationships that have changed or ended. Grief for expectations that are no longer being met in the way they once were.
Alongside that grief, there is also a sense of empowerment. A growing alignment with myself. A recognition that I am beginning to live in a way that reflects my actual needs and values rather than suppressing them.
These two emotional states coexist.
One does not cancel out the other.
In this phase, I feel more grounded, more selective, and more reflective.
My decisions are more considered. My awareness of patterns is stronger. Actions now speak louder than words, and I allow those actions to inform how I engage with others.
There is a clearer internal voice. Not louder, but more consistent.
This has created a different relationship with choice. I am more aware that every decision either moves me closer to alignment or further away from it.
As a psychotherapist, this phase naturally informs my work.
It strengthens my awareness of transference, relational dynamics, and the importance of maintaining ethical boundaries within the therapeutic relationship.
It also deepens my capacity to understand what it feels like to move through personal transition while still holding responsibility for others.
Being a therapist does not remove human experience. It sits alongside it.
There is a balance to maintain between being a clinician and being a person navigating my own life. In practice, this requires supervision, personal therapy, and ongoing reflection to remain grounded and aware.
Clients often assume that therapists exist in a constant state of emotional stability.
The reality is more nuanced.
Therapists are human beings who have done their own work, continue to do their own work, and use both their training and their lived experience to hold space for others.
The aim is not perfection. The aim is awareness, responsibility, and ethical practice.
At a values level, what matters most to me now is honesty, integrity, truth, and accountability.
I value showing up as myself in a way that is not diluted or erased.
I value relationships where there is mutual respect, mutual consideration, and a willingness to engage with each other as human beings rather than as roles or expectations.
I am moving away from dynamics that drain me, where my presence requires self-suppression in order to maintain balance.
I am moving toward environments and relationships where I can be fully present, fully expressed, and still in alignment with myself.
If there is one thing I would want someone to take from this, it is this:
It is not selfish to put yourself first.
It is necessary to recognise your own value, to take up space in your own life, and to allow your voice to exist in the room.
As long as there is empathy alongside honesty, expressing your needs is not cruelty. It is self-advocacy.
For a long time, I did not live that way.
Now, I am learning to.
And this phase of my life, my Tommy Shelby era, is less about leaving something behind in a dramatic sense and more about no longer returning to what requires me to disappear in order to remain.
