For a long time, it felt like DPDR was all I was.

It was all I could see when I looked in the mirror, which wasn’t helped by the fact that DPDR made it really hard to even connect to the person staring back at me. I recognised my face, but it didn’t feel like me. It was like looking at someone I was supposed to know, but couldn’t quite reach. And when that’s your daily experience, it’s very easy for your identity to shrink down into just that feeling. The disconnection, the fog, the symptoms. It becomes the lens you see everything through, including yourself.

Before I knew what DPDR was, I had some idea of who I was on the surface. I could list things about myself; my interests, my personality traits, the kind of person I thought I was. But I couldn’t connect to any of it. It all felt distant, like words on paper that didn’t quite land. And if I’m being honest, I didn’t like a lot of it anyway. I had a tough time at school, and my self-esteem really took the brunt of that. So even the identity I thought I had didn’t feel solid or safe to stand on.

Then I learnt I had DPDR which made everything even more uncertain. It didn’t just make me feel disconnected from myself and from the world, it made me question who I even was within it.

There was a phase where I became consumed with trying to “fix” it. Constantly analysing, researching, checking in with myself. Trying to find the thing that would switch everything back to normal. And in that process, I think I lost myself even more, because all of my focus was on what was wrong with me. But something shifted when I stopped waiting for it to go away in order to start living. Not in a perfect, overnight way, but gradually. Gently. I made the decision, over and over again, to live my life alongside it instead of putting everything on hold.

And in doing that, something unexpected happened. I got to meet myself all over again. Not the version of me I thought I should be. Not the version shaped by other people’s opinions. Not even the version defined by DPDR. Just… me.

I started to notice things in a different way. The way I show up for people, the way I care, the things that light me up, even slightly. The parts of me that were always there, just buried under fear, self-doubt, and disconnection. I am kind. I am caring. I am passionate. I am intelligent. I am brave. I am resilient. I am talented, ambitious, adventurous, funny, sensitive, considerate, loving, and hard-working. I feel deeply. And none of those things disappear just because I experience DPDR. And they were still there, even when I couldn’t feel them.

I think that’s something that gets lost in conversations about mental health and illness. The way it can completely blur your sense of identity. The way it can make you feel like your symptoms are your entire personality. But they’re not. They are part of your experience, yes. Part of your story and what has shaped you. But they are not all that you are.

Identity is so much bigger than any one condition, feeling, or phase of life. It’s made up of a mixture of internal and external factors; your personality, your values and beliefs, your interests and passions, your memories and experiences, your self-concept. It’s influenced by your family and upbringing, your friendships, your culture, your environment, your education and work, your age, your gender, your physical traits, your ethnicity, your sexuality, your life events.

It’s layered. It’s complex. It’s constantly evolving. And that means it isn’t something you can lose completely, even if it feels like you have. So perhaps this isn’t about finding a fixed, perfect answer to “who am I?” Maybe it’s about allowing that answer to change. Who I thought I was before, who DPDR made me question, who I’m learning to be alongside it.

All of those versions are valid. All of them exist within me in some way. And maybe identity isn’t something you have to figure out once and for all. Maybe it’s something you build a relationship with.

Even through the fog. Especially through the fog.

All my love, Kate x