Why the question hits so hard
In my survey of 20 people about creating a life that feels like their own, “who I’d be without my role” came up as one of the things holding people back. When I talk to founders and senior leaders, it often sits underneath other reasons. “The timing isn’t right” can mean “I don’t know who I’d be if I stopped”.
A role does a lot for you. It answers the question “what do you do?” at dinner. It structures your week. It brings respect, and a circle of people who know you through it. It gives you a sense of being useful. Losing all of that at once is a real loss, even if the role no longer fits.
How a role becomes an identity
The sociologist Helen Rose Ebaugh interviewed people who had left major roles: ex-nuns, ex-doctors, divorced people, retired police officers and many more. She found a pattern in how people exit a role. First doubts, then searching for alternatives, then a turning point, and finally building an identity as an “ex”, someone defined partly by what they used to be (Ebaugh, 1988). The old role doesn’t disappear. It becomes part of the story.
That matters, because it means you don’t have to choose between keeping your identity and changing direction. The person who built the company will still be you, and so will the person who does the next thing.
Don’t put everything in one basket
Patricia Linville studied what she called self-complexity: how many distinct parts people have in how they see themselves (a parent, a climber, a friend, a professional, a musician). People with more distinct self-aspects were less thrown by stress and setbacks in any one area. A blow to one part of life didn’t spread to all of them (Linville, 1987).
For many successful people, the professional self has slowly taken over the others. The climber stopped climbing. The friend stopped calling. So when the role is threatened, it feels like everything is threatened.
One practical implication: start growing the other parts before you change the role. They’re the ground you’ll stand on during the change.
Try on possible selves
Herminia Ibarra, who studied mid-career professionals making big changes, describes identity as a set of “possible selves”: versions of who you might become. People who changed successfully didn’t decide on one in advance. They tested several in small ways: side projects, temporary assignments, new conversations, courses. Over time, some possible selves grew more real and others fell away (Ibarra, 2002).
That’s slower than a bold leap, and it holds up much better. You learn who you could become by acting as that person in small ways and reading what comes back.
What it feels like from inside
In ontological coaching, which shapes how I work, identity shows up in three connected domains.
Language. The stories: “If I’m not the director, I’m nobody.” “I’d be starting from zero.” These are assessments, judgements, that sound like facts. You’re not starting from zero. You’re starting with everything you’ve learned.
Emotions. Often grief, which people don’t expect when the change is their own choice. Sometimes fear of being ordinary. Sometimes anger at the years spent. Sometimes relief, which can feel like guilt.
The body. Years in a role shape how you stand and speak. A new identity often needs a new way of being in your body, too. Clients notice it when they walk into a room as “just” themselves for the first time.
How we work with it
1. Name what the role gives you. Make a list: status, structure, belonging, usefulness, money, the answer to “what do you do?”. For each, ask: where else could I get some of this?
2. Catch the sentence. Write down what your head says about who you’d be without the role. Check it: is it a fact you could verify, or a judgement?
3. Grow the other selves now. Pick one part of you that’s been neglected and give it an hour this week. A friend, a sport, a craft, something from before the role took over.
4. Choose two possible selves to test. Small, real experiments: a conversation, a weekend, a course, a small project. Act as that person for a few hours.
5. Read both compasses. How did it feel from inside? How did people respond to that version of you?
6. Practise the new introduction. Try answering “what do you do?” in a new way, in low-stakes settings. Notice what it does in your body. It usually feels strange the first few times, and then it doesn’t.
A composite example
Details from several clients, combined and changed.
Andrej had been CEO of the company he founded for fifteen years. He wanted to step back to chairman and spend time on a non-profit project in the mountains. Every time he got close, he pulled back. “Without this, I’m just a guy with a lot of opinions,” he said.
We listed what the CEO role gave him. Top of the list wasn’t money or status. It was being needed. So we looked for where else he was needed, or could be. The non-profit was an obvious answer, but he’d never let himself see it that way.
He started small: one day a month with the project, introducing himself there as “Andrej, I help with the logistics.” He noticed his shoulders drop the first time he said it. A year later he made the move. He said the hardest part had been the six months before, and the first week after.
When it’s more than identity
If the loss of a role came suddenly, through redundancy or illness, the grief can be heavy and long. That’s normal, and it may need more than coaching. A therapist who works with loss can help.
One thing to try this week
Write five answers to “who am I?” that have nothing to do with your work. If you struggle to get to five, notice that. Pick one, and give it an hour this week.