The loss of valued roles (‘I’m a…)
From the beginning of our lives we occupy significant roles in our family and in our immediate social environment. We may fulfil some or all of the following roles; child, sibling, grandchild, niece, nephew, cousin, godchild, neighbour and so on.

The significance of our birth order and assigned gender are among the earliest role descriptions we hear about ourselves, followed soon after by comments like ‘she’s the funny one’, or ‘he’ll be Prime Minister one day’. Others might be described as the peacemaker, the rebel, the compassionate one, the tough one, mummy’s little helper, daddy’s little shadow, and so on, repeated on enough occasions to firmly embed those descriptions in our psyche. I wonder how much these descriptions may later bear fruit in the occupations and relationships we choose? In the way we fulfil those roles? And perhaps the value we give to each one? Questions certainly worthy of further thought.

Throughout our life we continue to accumulate a plethora of roles, sometimes to the point of feeling overburdened. These might include student, friend, colleague, partner, parent, sportsperson, neighbour, our occupation and maybe qualification. These roles are what my husband Mal calls our “I’m a’s”. For a personal example, “I’m a wife, mother, father, daughter, sister, aunt, niece, cousin, grandmother, great grandmother, great, great grandmother, friend, counsellor, writer, mentor, clinical supervisor, neighbour and so on. Roles that I value and that publicly define me.

In social situations, one of the first steps any of us might take in the dance of getting to know someone is to ask “what do you do for a living?” Responses will be along the lines of “I’m a home maker, plumber, landscape gardener, nurse, accountant, shop assistant, volunteer, beautician, doctor, masseur“ and so on, allowing the asker to assign us to ‘boxes’ that may make them comfortable or uncomfortable. At some point, we’re almost inevitably asked if we’re married, have children, own a dog, play or watch sport, like particular music, travel, write or read. Most of us are willing to answer questions about the roles we are proud of and those that give our life meaning, but probably have some reluctance to answer questions that touch painful, carefully protected parts of our being.

Some questioners may have a need to discover the ‘box’ of our country of origin, our religious beliefs, or our political persuasion. Our willingness to respond will be determined by many things including the appropriateness of the environment, the timing, the trustworthiness of the questioner, their suspected motives, or our characteristic dislike of being put into a box of any kind.

I remember a colleague who always added the age question to her list of important enquiries, asserting that it was important because she could then make assumptions about many of that person’s interests. To my way of thinking, making assumptions about anything is rarely safe territory – it’s always better to ask a version of “what does X mean for you?”

The impact of role loss
We grieve the loss of anything significant in our lives; country of origin, physical or mental ability, relationships, reputation, status, respect, home, valued possessions, work role, pets, income, or freedom. When someone we love dies we lose at least one of our ‘I’m a’s’, and sometimes several. The depth and duration of our grief, as with all loss, will be determined by the meaning we give to each of those losses.

Some losses result from potentially happy situations or events, perhaps meaning that we are less likely to receive sympathetic understanding. For example, when our children become independent and leave home, we may feel proud that they have achieved enough maturity to take responsibility for their own lives but grieve the empty nest. When our children marry we are no longer their next of kin, an important ‘I’m a…’ to lose. If that child is asked to describe their family, it will no longer be just ‘our side of the family’ – the circle for most people expands to accommodate ‘both sides’. If we like our child’s family extension we’ll be happy for them, while perhaps secretly grieving the loss of exclusivity. Happiness and sadness co-existing.

Most of us have a conscious or unconscious tendency to compare losses on a ‘worseness scale’. We may feel reluctant to complain about an ache, pain, disability, illness or surgery because someone else’s loss or situation seems worse than ours. And often it is. I know I do that. I often find my severe hearing loss frustrating and exhausting, then I see someone who is blind or unable to walk and feel guilty for complaining.

Worseness is subjective. If my only child dies, is my grief less than a mother or father who have all three of their children die? In this situation we have all lost our ‘I’m a’s’ – none of us will now be the parents of a living child. In an attempt to assuage the distress of our own reactions to another’s pain and make it manageable for us, we may use the familiar, hurtful comment “well, at least you have two other children” or “the Kaffoopses are worse off because their children were so young”. No matter how many people we are grieving, we can only grieve with 100% of our being so if all 10 of my children die in an earthquake, I will be grieving 100%, not 1,000%. My most significant and valued ‘I’m a…’ may have been killed suddenly and dramatically adding trauma and perhaps post-traumatic stress disorder to my grief. In this extreme situation it might be hard to avoid using the ‘worseness measurement’. Trauma is certainly a complicating factor.

Later, when the bereaved (and those grieving other losses) have learned to wear the socially expected ‘I’m OK’ mask and grief has become a private pain, you might gently ask “what effect has the death of your partner/10 children (or other loss) had on your sense of self ? Do you ever ask yourself ‘who am I now?”

I will add a word of caution here: only dare to ask the question if the situation is safe, you genuinely care and if you can tolerate visible emotion. Grief tends to make us all hypersensitive, so what is fake, or simply inquisitiveness, can be discerned at the speed of light.

What helps when an ‘I’m a…’ is lost?
What helps depends of course on the circumstances of the loss and its meaning to our identity and wellbeing. If the loss has occurred in traumatic circumstances, our first need is to be physically and emotionally in safe territory.

Once that is assured, we need time, the right environment, and effective strategies to help us grieve and process what we have lost; to eventually integrate the empty space into our changed sense of self.

Some people achieve this through meditation or prayer; some do so in counselling or in dreams; others while they are involved in physical or creative activities. Many talk to compassionate friends, or read books that make them feel understood and perhaps stimulate creative thinking.

If you have experienced the loss of a significant ‘I’m a…’ and find the question “who am I now?” repeatedly occupying your thoughts, counselling could prove helpful. A skilled therapist might be able to help you find a new ‘I’m a’ to help carry the empty space left by the lost one that was a valued part of your being.

If your loss is as the result of bereavement, the team at ‘A Friend’s Place’ is ++familiar with grief in all of its manifestations and counselling sessions with them could prove invaluable. Make contact by phoning 1 300 654 556, or emailing [email protected]

Alternatively, you are welcome to write to me for email support on
[email protected]

By Dianne McKissock OAM
Co-founder, National Centre for Childhood Grief
May 2025