Celebrating the end of this chapter

Hi friend

That wasn’t a clickbait subject line - this will be my penultimate Exploring SELFHOOD newsletter.

Even as I type that, there’s a part of me that can’t quite believe it. The part of me that has never been particularly good at endings.

But… it’s time.

I sent my first email on Sunday 25th February 2024 — 109 weeks ago. That’s 763 days, or just over two years. And a lot has changed in that time, perhaps most importantly: me.

I started building SELFHOOD driven by a core belief that it should be easier for all of us to understand, explore, and evolve our identities. That the richest lives are built when you create around what feels true to you, and give yourself the grace and permission to let that truth evolve as life evolves.

I still believe that.

So I’d be a bit of a hypocrite not to honour it in myself.

I’m not sure if any of you have felt it (as I know I have an empathic bunch here), but if I’m being honest, writing these last few months has felt like trying to squeeze into my favourite old pair of jeans that no longer fit.

If I hold my breath and suck in, I can make them work — but they don’t feel the same.

Where once they fit like a glove and felt like one of my favourite expressions of me, now they make me feel a little sad. A little more self-conscious. Like I’m trying to force something that no longer works in the way it once did.

And as scary as it feels, I want to find a new favourite pair of jeans.

And to do that, I need to let this pair go.

I won’t lie, on some days that realization REALLY sucks.

But on others? What a gift.

How exciting to know that somewhere out there is something I can love just as much as I loved this, I just need to start looking for it.

I’ve intentionally referred to this as the end of a chapter (not the whole book), because I’ve loved the practice of weekly writing and cultivating this little community. So I imagine this is something I’ll come back to in some capacity.

It’s just that this current format, a lesson, 3 questions, and a dare via Beehiiv, feels complete for now.

Identity work is a part of who I am, so my interest in and passion for it isn’t going anywhere. I’m just choosing to let myself explore other ways it might manifest.

Over the years, a number of you have asked whether there’s a journal compilation you could buy, so as a little parting gift, in our next and final exploration, I’ll be sharing a guide featuring 15 of my favourite themes (and their corresponding prompts), so keep an eye out for that.

And if you have any favourite editions you’d love to see included, let me know. Over the years we’ve explored things like:

• self-anthropology

• re-identifying yourself to yourself

• the discomfort of being misunderstood

• the story of your life

• 5 pillars for a great life

• liminal spaces

So, in keeping with where I’m at in life, this week we’ll be exploring the power and importance of closing chapters.

You know the deal by now. Find that comfy spot, grab your journal and any snacks.

As always, I have a lesson, three questions, and a dare for you.

[LESSON]

Endings get a bad reputation.

Too often, we treat them like failures.

Like something has gone wrong. Like we should have been able to hold on longer, try harder, make it work.

But psychologically, that framing misses something important.

In psychology, there’s a concept called closure, not as a clean, cinematic moment, but as a cognitive process. Your brain is constantly trying to create coherent narratives about your life, so when something lingers unfinished, it creates tension (what’s known as the Zeigarnik effect), keeping it active in your mind.

That’s why unresolved chapters feel heavy.

Not because they’re inherently bad, but because they’re open loops.

Closing a chapter isn’t about failure.

It’s about freeing up cognitive and emotional bandwidth so something new can emerge.

But here’s the part we don’t talk about enough:

Just because something is no longer right, doesn’t mean it wasn’t once perfect.

And I think that’s where a lot of us get stuck.

We try to rewrite the story to make the ending easier.

We tell ourselves:

• It wasn’t that good anyway

• I outgrew it ages ago

• It was never really aligned

But that’s not always true.

Sometimes the most honest story is:

This was once deeply right for me. And now it isn’t.

No betrayal. No failure. Just evolution.

Developmental psychology would call this identity transition — the process of updating your self-concept as your experiences, values, and desires shift over time.

It’s not a glitch. It’s the mechanism.

But transitions require something deeply uncomfortable:

Letting go of who you were, before you fully know who you’re becoming.

That in-between space? It’s cognitively disorienting. Your brain prefers certainty, even if it’s misaligned, over ambiguity.

Which is why staying in the “old jeans” is so tempting.

They’re familiar. They’ve worked before. They tell a coherent story about who you are.

But they don’t fit anymore.

And trying to force them to fit doesn’t just feel uncomfortable, it quietly erodes your sense of self-trust and confidence. Because somewhere, you already know.

So the real work of closing a chapter doesn’t need to be dramatic.

It can be quieter than that.

It’s the moment you stop negotiating with something that no longer fits.

It’s the decision to honour who you are now, even without a clear picture of what comes next. And that’s exactly where I am today.

If I zoom out, that’s what this chapter has been for me.

A practice. A container. A version of me that I loved.

And now, something I’m ready to release.

Not because it wasn’t meaningful. But because it was. And in the process, it changed me.

And now, I leap, trusting that making space is how I’ll find whatever comes next.

[3 QUESTIONS]

1. If I didn’t need certainty about what comes next, what would I feel ready to let go of?

2. What am I afraid will happen if I let this chapter end?

3. What did this chapter give me that I want to carry forward, even as I close it?

[A DARE]

This week,

I dare you to close one small loop.

Not the biggest, scariest one — just something manageable.

Maybe it’s:

• sending the message you’ve been putting off

• making the decision you’ve been circling

• clearing out the drawer / folder / habit that belongs to an older version of you

• or simply admitting, privately, that something is complete

And then, this is the important part, mark it.

Write it down.
Say it out loud.
Go for a walk and consciously name it.

That chapter is done.

Because closure isn’t just about ending something.

It’s about allowing your brain and body to register that it’s over, so you can actually move forward, instead of unconsciously carrying it with you.

See you on a Sunday,
L

P.S. Don’t forget to send me any favourite editions you’d like included in the final guide.