Who Am I, Really?

There was a moment—maybe around my late 40s—when I looked in the mirror and thought, I don’t really know who I am anymore.

Not in a dramatic, falling-apart way. But in a quiet, aching way.
I had spent years being “Mom,” “Volunteer,” “HR Manager,” “Wife,” “Helper,” “Reliable One.” I had collected labels like trophies—each one well-earned, each one meaningful.

But somewhere in all the serving, giving, organizing, managing, and loving… I forgot about Bobbie.

The woman behind the roles. The dreamer. The creative. The one who used to lose track of time in acting class. The one who wanted to tell stories and make people feel.

I hadn’t lost her. But I had definitely buried her beneath years of responsibility, sacrifice, and survival.

This is the story of how I started peeling back the labels—and found the woman I almost forgot.

When Life Becomes a Job Description

It happens slowly, especially for women.

You become a mom, and suddenly your name becomes “so-and-so’s mom.” You’re the one who packs lunches, keeps track of homework, drives to sports practice, signs the field trip forms, and makes sure everyone has what they need—except maybe you.

You work a job that pays the bills, and then you get good at it. You take on more. Become dependable. Promotions come. Stability matters. You stay.

You volunteer—because your heart leads you to give back—and then you give even more. Operation Santa turns into hundreds of kids receiving Christmas gifts, and you’re running the whole thing with nothing but spreadsheets, prayer, and a to-do list.

And before you know it, your entire identity is based on what you do for others.

It’s not that I regret any of it. I’d do it all again.

But I forgot that I was someone beyond what I could give.

The Wake-Up Call

For me, the wake-up came in little whispers.

I’d see a movie and feel that old familiar tug—the one that said, you used to want to do that.
I’d help someone find their voice in an HR conflict and feel something deeper—you used to be a storyteller.
I’d tuck my kids in at night and feel this quiet ache—you had dreams once too.

It wasn’t bitterness. It wasn’t resentment. It was a gentle reminder from God:
I gave you gifts too, Bobbie. They weren’t meant to stay buried.

Returning to the Spark

So I made the decision to return to acting—not to chase fame or fortune, but to reconnect with myself.

I got new headshots. I signed up for casting sites. I relearned how to memorize lines, self-tape, and show up to auditions with a vulnerable, open heart.

It was terrifying at first. I felt rusty, old, unsure.

But it was also thrilling. That fire I’d tucked away for decades came back to life. And with it came the realization: Bobbie was never gone—she was just waiting.

And guess what? She’s wiser now. Stronger. Softer in the best way. She’s been through heartbreak, motherhood, miracles, rejection, and redemption. And now, she brings all of that with her into every scene.

Faith Was the Thread

I couldn’t have found myself again without my faith.

God never left me, even when I forgot about the creative parts of me He designed. Every season had its purpose. Even the ones that felt like detours were actually preparation.

Scripture reminded me that identity doesn’t come from roles—it comes from being His. That I am fearfully and wonderfully made. That He knows the plans He has for me, even when I can’t see them.

And slowly, through prayer and journaling, volunteering and acting, I began to reclaim Bobbie.

Letting Go of Guilt

One of the biggest hurdles in rediscovering myself was guilt.

Was it selfish to pursue my dreams now? To spend time acting instead of always “doing” for others?
Would people think I was flaky? That I was trying to be someone I wasn’t anymore?

The answer was: No.

Wanting to reconnect with who you are is not selfish—it’s necessary. It’s honoring the life God gave you. It’s trusting that your identity matters too—not just what you can do, but who you are.

I had to learn that I wasn’t abandoning my old life—I was integrating all parts of it.

The mom, the volunteer, the HR pro, the woman of faith, and yes—the artist.

You’re Still in There

If you’re reading this and feel like you’ve been wearing labels for so long that you forgot your name, let me tell you: You’re still in there.

The girl who dreamed. The woman who wanted more. The creative, the curious, the passionate part of you that you buried to survive.

She’s not gone. She’s just waiting for you to say, “I remember you.”

You don’t have to quit your life to reclaim yourself. You just have to start paying attention to the little nudges. The sparks. The moments that feel like you.

Peel back the labels. Reclaim your name.
Because the world doesn’t just need what you do—
It needs who you are.