Another birthday, another year older. I’m now 56.

There was a time, I thought 50 was old. I thought people in their 50s led a more sedate life, a quieter, take-a-back-seat life.

When I turned 50, to my surprise, I wasn’t dreading it; I was excited. I still felt the same. It wasn’t as if, suddenly, a switch had been flicked and I was in a different ‘world’.

I still thought the same thoughts, felt the same emotions, dreamed the same dreams… And I certainly didn’t act any different. I believed life would carry on in much the same way as before.

Yet, something had changed in me which, to begin with, I was unaware of. As I progressed towards my 51st year, I realised I didn’t want to live a half-life, tied to an alcoholic. To be honest, what opened my eyes to that realisation was Gordon and Liam – they had had enough of having a father who wasn’t being a father to them, who hadn’t been a father to them for years.

I put into words my feelings leading to that decision…

So, long story short, I decided to get a divorce. Even though I made the decision, it still took me months after my initial meeting with a solicitor before I made the final decision.

And in making that decision, I not only had to mourn the end of my marriage – 25 years of marriage, the first 10 of which were wonderful – I also had to mourn the loss of the dream I’d had of my married life.

The one where we enjoyed our early years of marriage, just the two of us, before having children. Where we brought up our children together and did all kinds of fun things together. The dream where we’d grow old together, enjoy time with our grandchildren together. Where we’d be happy, and we’d be together.

Not for one moment did I think I’d be spending the first half of my 50s battling conflicting emotions – anger, sadness, relief, frustration, depression…

I didn’t think I’d be fighting to hold on to my sanity, fighting against turning into a miserable cow, holding on to fragments of happiness, watching what I said in front of the boys, regardless of how old they were… Trying not to be laid low by the emotionally crushing lack of support and interest from those I had mistakenly believed cared.

I was lucky – I had wonderful friends, only three, but they got me through that time. I had Gordon and Liam, the keepers of my sanity.

Life is strange – I now have a good relationship with the ex-husband who’s been dry for a couple of years; we’re friends again. The boys have a good relationship with their father, which is the best thing ever.

I won’t lie, there have been times, even recently, when I’ve had to work through so much resentment.

My life has taken a few turns I hadn’t been expecting. I certainly hadn’t been expecting to return to the workplace after 20-odd years of being a stay-at-home mum and home-educating the boys.

Bureaucratic red tape and unexpected lack of funds landed me in a dire situation, something I’ve never experienced before. Beggars can’t be choosers, as they say, so I had to grab the first job that came along – hotel housekeeper. I hate housework! But hey, I did it and it eased the pressure.

The red tape was finally cleared concerning my employment eligibility – annoyingly, it wasn’t a legal requirement, but some jobsworth had decided it was – and I could start the job I believed I really wanted – care worker.

Good golly, Miss Molly! The reality of being a care worker is soul-destroying. I applaud those who do it. I tried to make it work, but was scuppered by the call bell system, which sounded almost continuously. It took me awhile to work out, but it had me in a constant state of anxiety.

Financially, I’m in an ok place now where I can afford to take a couple of months off, which I have done to concentrate on my writing. And that’s been great.

Another thing I discovered – a visit to my osteopath because of constant lower back pain revealed my hips had tilted and locked! Thanks to the housekeeping and care work jobs. A few visits seem to have sorted it, but the pain hasn’t really gone; it’s just more manageable now.

I know, at some point, I’ll have to get back on the job-search treadmill. But I’m not agonising over that for now.

Being a divorced 50-something, Asian woman is definitely not something that featured in my thoughts/plans in my pre-50 years.

I did not expect to be riding such an emotional rollercoaster.

I did not expect to be returning to the workplace.

I did not expect to have my heart broken three times.

I did not expect to be spending my time doing so much soul-searching to try and discover what I have to let go of; to open myself up, spiritually speaking, to new experiences; to trust and have faith… That’s an ongoing practice.

I did not expect to become stronger, emotionally.

I did not expect to realise it’s actually a good thing to be kinder to myself, to love myself.

I did not expect to no longer be wary of love.

I did not expect to be able to embrace all of me – the ‘nice’ side of me and the shadow side – and to no longer apologise for being who I am.

As I start my 56th year, I am proud to be the woman I’ve become because of what I’ve been through. And I wouldn’t change any of my experiences because they have made me who I am today.

(All photos taken April 2010 at Kingston Lacy)

Thoughts On Turning Fixty-Six