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58 and Counting

‘Who am I?’ and ‘Where am I going with my life?’ and ‘What the hell happens next?’ – nothing forces you to answer those questions quite like a husband walking out on you when you’re 58. It’s 4 months ago today since he told me he was…

‘Who am I?’ and ‘Where am I going with my life?’ and ‘What the hell happens next?’ – nothing forces you to answer those questions quite like a husband walking out on you when you’re 58. It’s 4 months ago today since he told me he was leaving, and it also happens to be our wedding anniversary. So this seems like a pretty good day to start blogging about it.

I’m not going to go into the details of why he left – that’s his story. Let’s just say that I’m left with what he left behind – and this is my story.

We were pretty well off – we had a big house, two decent cars and a nice little classic sports car for days out in the summer. Big holidays – Australia, most recently. If we wanted to go out for a meal, we went out for a meal. To complicate things a little, we were (still are) running a successful limited company together.

And then, well, then it wasn’t like that anymore. And I’m faced with the reality of not just life without my husband, but potentially having to sell my house and lose my job as well. And as for big cars and big holidays and meals out – forget it.

Please don’t feel sorry for me – I booked the removal van for him. But nevertheless, between thoughts of  ‘How very dare he!’ and sighs of  ‘Thank God for that’, I need to get on with all the stuff. Get on with MY life.

So – first, I needed to get organised. It’s what I do, it’s how I cope in a crisis. I made lists, I made spreadsheets. I needed to save, and I needed to find new sources of income, and I needed to do it quickly. I started to work out how much my life was costing me, and what I could reduce and what I could jettison completely. But before I did any of that, I bought myself a bunch of the brightest coloured flowers I could find, and I gave them to myself.

I’ve no idea how things will turn out. I don’t know if I’ll be able to find a job, or afford a holiday, or when the house will have to go on the market – but there’s a little part of me that is relishing the challenge. This woman will rise again. I will survive. Come with me for the ride – let’s see where it takes us. I’m 58, and I count.

Have a look at my other posts, to see how things are going!

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