After 25 years of dedicating my life to my husband’s military career, raising kids, and moving every few years, I reached a startling realization: I had no idea who I was anymore. When my marriage ended, I walked away from financial security, shared memories, and the semblance of stability. It wasn’t just daunting—it was like stepping into a void with a blindfold on.
I’ll admit, there’s nothing quite like the combination of a midlife crisis and starting over. But here’s the twist: I didn’t crumble (though, admittedly, there were days I considered staying in bed indefinitely). Instead, I found humour in small absurdities. Like realizing I could go to bed at 6 PM if I wanted—or skip cooking altogether. Small rebellions felt oddly exhilarating.
Of course, not all moments were tinged with humour. Leaving wasn’t just about logistics; it meant confronting the subtler, insidious forms of control—financial, emotional, and otherwise—that kept me tethered. But I chose not to dwell in victimhood. There’s strength in acknowledging hurt without letting it define you, and there’s freedom in learning to laugh again.
The first victory? Buying a car on my own. I’ll never forget sitting in that driver’s seat, feeling like Thelma without Louise but exhilarated all the same. Little by little, I rediscovered a self I hadn’t seen in decades. A self that could choose, dream, and build a future not dictated by someone else’s needs.
Today, I’m not just surviving—I’m thriving. My story isn’t about running away but stepping forward into something infinitely better: my own life, lived on my own terms. So, to anyone wondering if it’s too late to start over, here’s my advice: grab the wheel. You’ve got places to go.
