I never thought I’d be here. At 47, writing a blog post about starting over—again. But life, as they say, has a way of throwing curveballs when you least expect it. It’s been two years since my mother passed away, and almost a year since my husband and I began the separation process. It feels like a lifetime in some ways, and in others, it feels like yesterday. The emotional weight of these losses has been profound, but I’m slowly finding my way back to myself, navigating a new chapter in my life, and I want to share that journey with you.

The End of My Marriage

The separation was the end of a chapter I thought would last forever. I’d been married 17 years, and while I didn’t know it at the time, I was marrying a version of myself who hadn’t yet learned how to stand on her own. We built a life together, raised children, and survived a lot. But somewhere along the way, I lost sight of who I was—what I wanted, what I needed. The separation process was a quiet a confusing storm, a breaking that happened over the years of unmet needs, unspoken words, and forgotten dreams.

It’s strange, the way a relationship can shift so completely. One day, you’re in it, and the next day, it’s all unraveling. But I’ve come to realize that the unraveling wasn’t just a result of the end of the marriage—it was also about my own unraveling. After all, I had allowed myself to be defined by the role of wife, mother, caretaker. Somewhere along the way, I stopped asking who I was.

The pending divorce didn’t just take away my partner; it forced me to confront the parts of myself I had neglected for too long. In the aftermath, I had to ask hard questions: Who am I, now? What do I want? What makes me feel alive?

It’s been a slow rebuild. There are days I wake up and feel like I don’t even know where to begin. But I’ve learned that starting over doesn’t mean throwing everything out. It means finding new ways to connect to the person you were always meant to be.

The Loss of My Mother

The year prior to the beginning of my divorce my mother’s death set my life adrift entirely. I didn’t realize how much of my foundation was built on her presence until she was gone. I had been her caretaker in her final years, and her passing left a hole that felt impossible to fill. She had been my rock, the one who understood me like no one else could, and losing her took away a part of myself I hadn’t even realized was so deeply intertwined with her.

Grief is a strange thing—it comes in waves, and just when you think you’ve managed to stay afloat, another wave crashes over you. I’ve learned that grief doesn’t follow a linear path, and sometimes the smallest things—like a song or a smell—can bring everything rushing back. Some days, I can hardly breathe under the weight of it.

But in this loss, I’ve also found something unexpected: a quiet strength. I see now that my mother’s legacy isn’t just in the things she left behind, but in the ways she taught me to be resilient, to keep going even when it felt impossible. She taught me, without ever saying it outright, that survival is about carrying forward the lessons and love we’ve been given, even when those we loved are no longer here to guide us.

The Road to Rebuilding

Starting over at 47 doesn’t feel as glamorous as it might sound. It’s not about finding the “perfect” new life, or meeting someone new, or even traveling the world. It’s about finding peace with what is, and the courage to dream again.

For me, that’s meant stepping back into hobbies and passions I’d let slip away. I’m rediscovering my love for creating products, photography, and writing. I’m learning to enjoy my own company, indulge in a yoga class, and take long walks without feeling guilty for not doing something “productive.” I’m slowly letting go of the perfectionism I held onto for so many years and allowing myself to just be.

But the most important lesson I’ve learned so far is the power of small steps. Starting over doesn’t happen all at once. It’s in the tiny decisions—the ones that don’t seem significant at the time—that start to shape a new life. Maybe it’s saying “no” to something that no longer serves me, or saying “yes” to something that scares me. Maybe it’s finding new friends or re-establishing old connections. Or simply choosing to believe that I deserve joy, even in the aftermath of pain.

I still have moments of doubt, moments when I wonder if I’ll ever feel whole again. But in those moments, I remind myself that healing isn’t linear, and neither is growth. Some days are messy. Some days are better than others. But in the end, they all count.

Embracing the Future

Starting over at 47 has been a journey I never expected, and in many ways, I still don’t know what the next chapter holds. But I’ve come to understand that the process of rebuilding isn’t about perfection; it’s about embracing change and uncertainty. It’s about finding joy in the messy, unexpected moments, and trusting that this next chapter will be one of possibility, even if it looks nothing like what I imagined.

Life might not have turned out the way I expected it to, but I’m learning to trust in the beauty of the unknown. One step at a time, I’m finding my way forward.

And if you’re here, reading this, and you find yourself starting over, too, I want you to know that you are not alone. Whatever it is you’ve lost, whatever it is you’re rebuilding—there is strength in starting again. Keep going. The next chapter might just surprise you.

With love and resilience,
A Woman Who’s Finding Her Way