In the spring of 2023, I made the hardest and most liberating decision of my life, I left my husband of 28 years. After more than two decades in a marriage that had once been filled with love but had gradually become hollow, I finally chose myself. It wasn’t a sudden decision. It came after years of feeling unseen, undervalued, and slowly losing pieces of who I was.

For the first 10 or 12 years, our marriage was strong. We were building a life together, raising our two incredible children, creating a home, and dreaming about the future. We were partners in every sense. But over time, the connection began to fray. The partnership that once felt effortless became strained. Love turned into obligation. Communication became surface-level, then strained, then mostly absent. We drifted into parallel lives—coexisting but no longer truly seeing each other.

Now, at 55, I’m writing this blog nearly two years into the process of rebuilding my life. I didn’t start writing from the beginning, I was too busy surviving. But I’m here now, sharing my story, because I hope that putting these words out into the world will help me process it all. Writing, I’ve realized, might just be the thing that keeps me steady as I continue walking this uncertain road.

Throughout this journey, I’ve cried more tears than I ever thought possible, grieving the loss of the marriage, the life I thought I would have, and even parts of myself I had let go of. I’ve laughed too, sometimes out of relief, sometimes with genuine joy when I caught a glimpse of what life could look like on the other side. There have been fleeting moments of freedom and excitement…small tastes of the new life I’m slowly building.

My children, now 26 and 27, have been my constant source of strength. Though they’re adults, I still worried about how my decision would affect them and faced many challenges navigating this new “family”. But watching them live their own lives with courage and independence reassured me that I could do the same.

In the midst of all this personal change, I took on a new job, a role that has been incredibly difficult and demanding. The endless hours and the constant pressure have pushed me to my limits, but it has also taken me on many business trips, gotten me out of my shell, and forced me to step up as a leader. Speaking in large meetings and navigating challenging situations have become a part of my new normal, each experience transforming me in ways I never imagined.

Now, as I prepare to sell the house that once held decades of memories, I feel the weight of it all. It’s more than just bricks and mortar, it’s the backdrop of family holidays, birthday parties, late-night talks, and countless moments in between. Letting it go will feel like shedding another layer of my old life, a necessary but emotional farewell. But I know I can’t move forward while still holding on to the physical remnants of the past.

Starting over at 55 is not for the faint of heart. It’s raw and terrifying, but it’s also empowering. There is no roadmap for rebuilding yourself when you’ve spent more than half your life entwined with someone else. But with every step—packing boxes, making plans, and envisioning a new home—I feel a little lighter.

This blog is my way of capturing that journey. Of being honest about how messy and beautiful it is to begin again when society often tells us it’s too late. It’s not. I’m proof of that. I’m still learning how to be alone without feeling lonely. I’m still figuring out who I am without the labels of wife or partner. And I’m still hopeful, hopeful for a future filled with love, adventure, and the freedom to be fully, unapologetically me.

If you’re reading this and you feel stuck in a life that no longer feels like yours, I hope my story reminds you: it’s never too late to choose yourself.