Have you ever read Philip Larkin's poem Afternoons? I'm not pretending to be an avid reader of poetry, but there's a verse that's pretty poignant:

Their beauty has thickened.
Something is pushing them
To the side of their own lives.

 

In the poem, Larkin is describing mums, but his observation is a bleak one. The responsibilities of domestic life and raising children have gradually displaced them from the centre of their own existence. The freedom, possibility, and individuality of youth have given way to routine, obligation, and repetition. Rather than portraying motherhood as joyful or fulfilling, Larkin portrays it as something that can quietly consume a person's identity. The women appear to stand outside the lives they once envisioned, watching rather than actively living the futures they had imagined for themselves. Their identities have been absorbed into the roles they now play. 

It's a sad image, but there's truth in it. As a mum, I know that for a time you do lose part of yourself. Everything becomes about your children. Their needs come first. Their routines shape your days. The things that once felt central to who you are, your ambitions, interests and even simple freedoms, can slip further and further down the list of priorities. Before you realise it, you've spent so long focused on everyone else that parts of you feel harder to reach.

I think there's something beautiful in that sacrifice. It's an act of love. But it's also so easy for that temporary shift to become something more permanent. For you to wake up years later and realise you've spent so long caring for everyone else that you've lost sight of yourself. 

I think part of why this stands out to me so much is because I saw it in my own mum. I'm not saying she didn't achieve things in her life, or that I'm not proud of her, because I am. I really am. She's stronger and more capable than I could ever be. But I don't think she ever fully lived the life she once imagined for herself. And I think that matters. I think that stays with you. 

Those final two lines of the poem are so powerful: Something is pushing them to the side of their own lives.

And I don't think it's just about motherhood. I've seen it happen to people around me. It happens to a lot of us. Most people start with some version of the life they want. It doesn't have to be grand. A career they care about. A creative path. A relationship. A sense of freedom. A life that feels like their own. But slowly, almost without noticing, life starts to shift them away from it. A compromise here. A responsibility there. A safer choice. Time passes. Then more time. And one day you realise you're living a life you arrived in, rather than one you chose.

I think that's one of the quietest tragedies of adulthood. And when people find themselves there, they make sense of it in different ways. They blame circumstances. They blame other people. They tell themselves they never really wanted those things anyway. But underneath all of it, there's often the same feeling. A gap between the life they imagined and the life they're actually living.

That feeling is hard to describe. It's not always dramatic. More often it's subtle. A low hum of dissatisfaction. A sense that something is slightly off. Like you're watching your life happen rather than fully living it. That's why I think it's so important to listen to yourself. Not the noise. Not the expectations. Not the path you're on just because you've been on it for a while. Yourself.

To slow down enough to ask the uncomfortable questions. What do I actually want. What would a life that feels true to me look like. Are my choices moving me towards that or away from it. Because it's very easy to end up on a treadmill. You keep going because you're already going. You stay because changing direction feels difficult. You wait for a better time that never really comes. And while all of that is happening, life can quietly keep pushing you further from the version of yourself you once imagined.

But the important thing is this: it works both ways. If life can push you away from yourself, you can also find your way back. It doesn't require a dramatic reset. More often it's small things. A decision. A conversation. A change in direction that feels almost insignificant at the time. But repeated over time, those small choices start to add up.

Larkin’s lines capture a fear most of us recognise in some form: the fear of becoming a bystander in your own life. But they also offer a reminder: pay attention, listen to yourself, and don’t lose yourself in the expectations of others or in the habit of putting everyone else’s needs before your own.

The greatest tragedy isn’t making the wrong choice; it’s reaching the end of a life that was shaped entirely by what everyone else wanted from you. Don’t wait until you’re standing on the edge of your own life to realise you’ve been absent from it. Your time, your dreams, and your happiness matter. So choose yourself sometimes, speak up for what you need, and remember that your life isn’t something that happens around you, it’s something you are meant to fully live. 🩷