Where Did Fiona Go?

For years, I wasn't Fiona. I was "the gym girl." The gym manager. It wasn't just what I did — it was who I was. Every conversation, every identity marker, every outfit (all black, all activewear, all forgettable) pointed back to the same story. And somewhere in there, I lost track of where that story ended and I began.

The Girl on the Back of the Harley

I've been doing a bit of soul-searching lately, and a memory kept resurfacing — high school, year 12. I wasn't interested in being like everyone else (ask my mum — apparently that was obvious from a very young age). I loved my Doc Martens. Thought they were the coolest, most rebellious thing I owned.

My boyfriend at the time rode a Harley, and one day he dropped me off at school on the back of it. No one else's boyfriend was doing that. I felt like the bees knees. I was different, I dressed different, and I owned every bit of it.

That version of me didn't care what anyone thought. She knew exactly who she was, even if "who she was" didn't look like anyone else in the year group.

Losing Her

Then life happened, the way it does. Marriage. Living overseas. Divorce. Remarriage. Divorce again. Every chapter reshaped who "me" was, and somewhere along the way, as things got more settled, I lost that rebellious streak entirely. I lost my individuality. I became the gym girl — reliable, capable, and completely indistinguishable from the version of me that existed the day before.

I didn't notice it happening. That's the thing about losing yourself slowly — there's no single moment you can point to. It's just one day you look up and realise you've been wearing the same version of "fine" for years.

The Wardrobe Audit That Changed Everything

Until one wardrobe audit changed everything.

That day, I rediscovered the version of me I'd misplaced. I remembered how much I need individuality — I genuinely cannot stand seeing a group of friends who all look the same. It gets under my skin. Who are you, under all that sameness?

Once I understood I could express myself through what I wore again, I found her. The version of me I am now, at 46-ish, is exactly where I want to be. Not the gym girl. Not "the manager." Just Fiona.

Over to You

So I'll ask you what I asked myself this week:

Can you think of a time you truly felt at one with yourself — not performing, not pleasing anyone, not trying to be someone else? Just completely, authentically you?

I'd love to hear about it. Drop a comment below or send me a message — I read every single one.

Fe. XO

Be authentically you xx

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