Russian Doll (2011) Rachel Rooney

All you see is outside me: my painted smile,
the rosy-posy shell, the fluttery eyes.
A butter-won’t-melt-in-my-mouth-type me

But inside there’s another me, bored till playtime.

The wasting paper, daytime dreamer.
A can’t-be-bothered-sort-of me.

And inside there’s another me, full of cheek.
The quick, slick joker with a poking tongue.
A class-clown-funny-one-of me

And inside there’s another me who’s smaller, scared.

The scurrying, worrying, yes miss whisperer.
A wouldn’t-say-boo-to-a-goosey me

And inside there’s another me, all cross andbothered.

The scowling hot-head, stamping feet.
A didn’t-do-it-blameless me.

And inside there’s another me, forever jealous
who never gets enough, compared
A grass-is-always-greener me

And deepest down, kept secretly
a tiny, solid skittle doll.
The girl that hides inside of me

I came across this poem while writing this blog, and it felt deeply fitting for what I’m expressing today. Not every part of it applies to my life now, yet the themes are resurfacing - asking to be released, acknowledged, and owned. It’s uncomfortable, yes, but the discomfort is part of the liberation.

When I lived in the middle of Somerset with Miss Mollie, my faithful soul companion, life slowed down enough for me to explore the land, discover hidden treasures, and meet parts of myself I had kept tucked away. Some call it shadow work. I call it allowing the parts I once denied to finally have a voice -even if only whispered to myself.

For years, I felt like a set of Russian Dolls: safe, hidden, showing only the layers I thought were acceptable. I shaped myself to fit in, to please, to avoid conflict, to avoid being seen too clearly. I kept myself protected because I didn’t know who the “real me” was supposed to be. I heard the phrase “Be the real you” so many times and wondered what on earth that even meant. Perhaps you’ve wondered that too?

Those behaviours helped me survive, but they also kept me small. I assumed people could see the emotional pain I was carrying, but all it did was push them away. Who would want to get close to someone who was half‑present, half‑alive, playing the saboteur and the perfectionist? I wasn’t offering my full self to friendships, relationships, or even to colleagues. I was living behind a mask.

I had become the Russian Doll. Silenced in childhood by whatever moments shaped me, I built layer after layer of protection, believing I wasn’t good enough and needed to hide so no one would discover the truth I feared about myself.

When awareness finally broke through, I felt both liberated and heartbroken. Liberated because I could finally see the pattern. Heartbroken because I realised how long I had kept myself frozen in that small, frightened version of me. The protection made sense - but it also kept me restricted, unseen, and disconnected from my own worth. It was a wake‑up call: I had been denying myself the right to speak from my heart.

Looking back, I can see that I was trying to communicate my unhappiness, but I didn’t yet know how to be honest, real, or vulnerable. I pretended I was fine. I pretended I didn’t feel deeply. I offered the world only half of me, and lived on the surface of my own life.

But beneath all of that, I have always had a wide‑open heart - a pure heart that seeks truth.

Is that uncomfortable? Absolutely.

Do I follow the crowd? Only when it feels true.

Do I make my own decisions? Yes.

Do I see myself as brave and courageous? Now I do.

It has taken years to reach this point. But today, in this era of new beginnings - these shadows, these hidden parts, dissolve so much more quickly when we meet them with willingness. They bring us back into alignment, back into peace, back into the life we are meant to live and enjoy.

So I ask you, as I asked myself:

Are you ready to open your Russian Doll?

It requires willingness, awareness, and patience. My smallest dolls, the most tender parts, were the hardest to open. When the image came to me, I saw the smallest doll as the purest version of myself: the child, the innocence, the truth. She had been covered in labels, some given by others, some created by me - and I believed them all. I never questioned them. I didn’t know I could.

But as I’ve slowly unravelled her, I’ve found gold hidden deep within. It has always been there, waiting to come home - not to rescue her, but to free her.

Will she take that freedom?

Will you?