The Fragments of Who We Are

Since becoming a mother, I have felt my identity fracture.

It is something I reflect on often, both privately and in conversations with my mother and other mothers. Motherhood is an extraordinary privilege, but it is also a profound transformation. One that, for many women, demands we give up large parts of ourselves, sometimes without the time or space to acknowledge what we have lost.

We live in between who we used to be and who we are becoming.

A new fragment of our identity emerges while another part of ourselves quietly disappears. And there is often an expectation that we should embrace this transformation with nothing but gratitude. That because raising children is a privilege, we should not grieve the versions of ourselves we leave behind.

But I am learning that gratitude and grief can coexist.

I love being a mother. I love my children. Yet I also miss parts of the person I used to be, and I am still discovering the person I am becoming.

Perhaps this is why the themes I have always explored in my writing feel more personal than ever.

Writing from the In-Between

I have not yet written a fantasy novel with a mother as its female main character, although it is something I am contemplating for a future standalone novel.

And yet, motherhood has brought me closer than ever to the experiences of many of my characters.

Identity. Belonging. Transformation. The uncertainty of existing between two versions of ourselves.

These themes have always been present in my stories, even before I fully understood why I was drawn to them.

I have spent much of my life feeling in between.

Between languages and cultures. Between citizenships and countries. Between different interests and expectations. I was once described as a poet trapped in science, which perhaps says something about how difficult I have always found it to fit neatly into one category.

It has taken me years, and I am still learning, to accept myself. Not only the parts I am proud of, but also the parts I would rather keep hidden.

One of my most recurring nightmares is being abandoned and completely losing control, allowing everything ugly I have carefully concealed to come pouring out.

It is an uncomfortable fear. But it has also made me wonder: what does it mean to accept ourselves if we only embrace the parts we consider beautiful?

Who Gets to Tell Our Story?

In In-Between, identity is inseparable from narrative.

The Second Children are supposed to be heroes. They have been told that they are the reincarnations of legendary Guardians, destined to fulfil an ancient prophecy.

But what happens when the world no longer believes in that prophecy?

Who are they when the story that supposedly defines them is forgotten, questioned or rejected?

Are they heroes? Monsters? Something in between?

And, perhaps most importantly, who gets to decide?

I have always been fascinated by the rewriting of history and the idea that those who emerge victorious shape what future generations remember.

In In-Between, this question operates on both a grand political scale and an intimate personal one. Nations construct narratives about their past, just as individuals construct narratives about themselves.

These questions begin in the first book, become increasingly important in Embers of Revolution, and underpin the wider saga.

Because our understanding of who we are is so often shaped by the stories other people tell about us.

And sometimes, by the stories we tell ourselves.

The Monster We Believe Ourselves to Be

In Soul-Threader, these questions become even more intimate.

Noa does not remember her past.

She knows her name. She knows she was a traitor. And she believes that whatever she did must have been terrible enough to deserve the miserable existence she has created for herself.

She does not want to remember.

Because remembering might mean discovering that she truly is a monster.

But as her world begins to change, Noa must confront a possibility she has never allowed herself to consider: that she might be worthy of love, healing and a future.

And to move forward, she must choose whether to uncover the truth about who she was.

Even if she does not like what she finds.

Soul-Threader explores self-love, prejudice, found family, memory and belonging. But above all, it asks what happens when someone chooses to heal.

When someone chooses to change.

When someone chooses to seek help, confront the past and imagine a future that is not defined entirely by what came before.

I think there is something deeply human in that struggle.

We are not always proud of the people we have been. We make mistakes. We hurt others. We carry shame, fear and regrets.

But does our past have to define the entirety of our future?

Can we acknowledge the ugliest parts of ourselves without allowing them to become the whole story?

And can we find people who recognise the light within us, even when we struggle to see it ourselves?

All Hail the Moon

Perhaps this is why I have always loved the moon.

Unlike the sun, which appears constant and whole, the moon seems to change endlessly.

It waxes and wanes. It disappears into darkness and returns. It becomes a crescent, a half-circle, a brilliant full moon, and then begins again.

It appears fragmented, but it is never truly incomplete.

There is something reassuring in that.

We change. We shed parts of ourselves. We become parents, partners, artists, strangers to our former selves. We lose things and discover others.

Sometimes we find ourselves in darkness.

But perhaps becoming someone new does not mean that the person we used to be has disappeared.

Perhaps we are simply learning to see ourselves in another phase.

Motherhood has made me think about this more than ever. It has challenged my sense of identity while also giving me new ways to understand it.

And it has made me more aware of the questions I return to in my fiction.

Who are we when the world no longer recognises us?

Who are we when we no longer recognise ourselves?

And how do we learn to belong to the people we are becoming?

So, in honour of October, the witches, the shadows and all the stories that emerge from the darkness:

All hail the moon.

May we continue to change, to heal, and to become.

 
If you enjoy stories about identity, belonging, morally complex characters and the spaces between who we were and who we might become, you can discover more about my fantasy worlds through my Readers' Circle newsletter.

This October, I'm introducing readers to Noa, the main character of my dark fantasy novel Soul-Threader, with an exclusive character reveal.