Embracing Identity and Self-Discovery for Whānau Facing Childhood Illness and Los

Embracing identity and self-discovery is not a luxury topic at Silent Hum; it is core survival work for parents, siblings, and wider whānau living with childhood illness and loss in Aotearoa. When life is shaped by diagnosis dates, appointment letters, and hospital wristbands, it can be easy to forget that each person is more than their role, more than “the cancer kid’s mum,” “the strong sibling,” or “the one who holds it together.”​

More than what you do

Coralia Glavas talks about how most people can list what they do, but struggle to describe who they are, and that question lands differently when illness, grief, or neurodiversity are part of the story. In paediatric wards and waiting rooms, identity often gets flattened into labels like “patient,” “primary caregiver,” or “bereaved parent,” even though each person carries a much wider life, history, and set of hopes than those roles show. At Silent Hum, there is a belief that your value does not start or end with a hospital file number, and that telling the fuller story of who you are can be a quiet act of resistance and care.​

Why self-discovery matters in hard seasons

Self-discovery is not about chasing some perfect, polished version of yourself; it is about steadily learning what matters most, especially when life has been interrupted by serious illness or loss. For many parents and siblings, this process can bring three kinds of change that are deeply practical, not just “self-help” talk.​

• Clarity and purpose: When you understand your values—such as whānau, justice, faith, or creativity—it becomes easier to make tough decisions about treatment, schooling, work, or rest in ways that feel aligned with who you are, not just what others expect.​

• Improved relationships: Knowing your own triggers and needs can soften communication in the middle of stress, helping you say “this is what helps me” or “this is too much right now” with more honesty and less shame.​

• Resilience and growth: Seeing your strengths—whether it is advocacy, humour, organisation, or gentle presence—can anchor you when things feel chaotic, and can also help you ask for support in the places that feel raw or stretched thin.​
  

Reflecting on values, here and now

For families in Aotearoa, values often sit at the heart of identity: whakapapa, whenua, whānau, spirituality, community, and the stories handed down across generations. Taking time to name those values does not fix what is happening medically, but it can guide how you move through it—who you invite into your child’s care, what “quality time” looks like, and which traditions or rituals you protect even in hospital halls. A simple starting point is to ask: “When life feels most like ‘me’—even in this season—what is present? Who is around me? What am I giving my limited energy to?”​

Letting yourself be vulnerable

Serious illness and grief often pull people into “survival mode,” where being vulnerable can feel dangerous or indulgent. Yet identity work almost always involves admitting that things are hard, naming fears about the future, and telling the truth about the parts of your story that feel messy or unfinished. Vulnerability might sound like: “I love my child fiercely and I am exhausted,” “I miss who I was before diagnosis,” or “I am scared that I won’t know who I am after treatment or after my caregiving role changes.”​

Practising self-compassion, not perfection

Self-discovery can stir up grief for the versions of yourself that illness or bereavement has changed. Instead of demanding constant strength or positivity, self-compassion allows you to see yourself with the same kindness you would offer a close friend in the same situation. That might look like:​

• Allowing rest without guilt, even when the to-do list is long.

• Accepting that you can be both grateful and angry, hopeful and heartbroken, in the same week—or the same day.

• Recognising that growth can be tiny and quiet: attending one appointment feeling a little more prepared, asking one honest question, or saying “no” to something that does not fit your values anymore.​
  

Questions to gently explore who you are

If it feels safe, you might like to use these prompts during a quiet moment, with a cup of tea in the staff café, at home after bedtime, or in a journal by your hospital bed.​

• Without using job titles or caregiving roles, how would you describe yourself to someone who truly wanted to know you?

• Which values feel non-negotiable for you right now, even in the middle of hospital or hospice routines?

• What parts of you feel “on pause,” and what small ways could you reconnect with them—through music, language, spirituality, writing, movement, or time in nature?

• When you imagine life one year from now, what kind of person do you hope to be “on the inside,” regardless of what has or has not changed on the outside?​
  

There is no rush to “find yourself” or to turn this into another project to manage; identity work can be slow, circular, and deeply human. Here at The Silent Hum Foundation, the hope is that your story—your real, complicated, beautiful self—has room to breathe, far beyond any diagnosis, role, or label. If you would like to share part of that journey or explore these questions alongside others, you are welcome to connect with Silent Hum for kōrero, resources, and awhi shaped for whānau in Aotearoa