The Time Mum Got Mad and Took Off

Life rarely follows a linear script.

When I realised ‘mid-life’ was where I now resided, an urgent desire – no, a need – for space started to bubble. Not the “I just need to sit on the couch with a cup of tea” kind of space, but the kind where you rediscover yourself after decades of parenting, caring, and juggling everyone else’s needs. Now, I am acutely aware this statement smacks of privilege, so please bear with me. 

In writing  A Grown Up’s Gap Year, I’ve been at pains to proffer information in soundbites – offering practical, handy hints – accessible to many.  This guidebook is not another tome of fluffy mantras and expensive potions. It is a back to the basics’ discovery of what floats your boat. Our current stock of mid-lifers may be blessed with a longer runway than previous generations, advancements in healthcare and research around longevity predict this. Let’s aim to approach all this in rude good health, and with a side order of joy!

Studies show that taking intentional breaks (and yes, running away counts as that) can have profound benefits for both mental and physical health. In fact, a study by the Journal of Happiness Studies found that taking breaks to clear your head can improve life satisfaction by as much as 30%. 

For me, escaping wasn’t about abandoning responsibilities, it was about making sure I didn’t lose sight of who I was underneath it all.

I wasn’t looking for a new life; I was looking for a refreshed version of my own. 

If you’re tired from juggling, tired of feeling like the ‘doer’ for everyone else, you may just need A Grown Up’s Gap Year.

It could be the key to unlocking a whole new chapter.

Put YOU in the picture!

A Grown Up’s Gap Year excerpt

Journey

noun: something suggesting travel or passage from one place to another.

verb: to go somewhere.

Someone may have told me (I certainly didn’t listen), that mid-life might come with a side of quiet rebellion. That one day you could wake up with a suitcase packed and the dog wondering if they’re coming too.

I’ll confess, I resisted the label ‘mid-life’, ensuring a 50th birthday came and went with little to no fanfare. A few years passed amid a household stacked to the rafters with hormones. In hindsight my peri-menopause symptoms hovered for years – with no verbiage at the time I’d put the ‘feels’ down to hot summer nights, an irritating husband bouncing around in a euphoric career renaissance, and teen sons. Then end of school life for the youngest, my professional life in the loo –  a sense of ‘what the hell is going on’, and, is ‘this it’?

Something shifted – with it, a sense of whooshing time.

Seemingly overnight, the sinking realisation that I was 54 years old and remained at the top of everyone’s ‘people we need’ pyramid and the bottom of my own. No surprise then that one morning I woke with a yearning for space. Figuratively and literally. I dreamt of soaring. Of my own expanse. Resilience (always my safety net) – well, she was nowhere to be found. At first, I figured a stern self-talk and a brisk jog would snap me back. Nope. I started looking around, convinced I was missing something. Still, no clue. The feelings kept piling up until I barely recognised myself. No-one seemed to grasp it when I said I’d hit my limit – truth be told, I probably didn’t have the words to articulate how drained I was.

“Untethered-you is a dangerous state,” said sister Michelle, my sage and caution. She was correct. I was utterly without direction. Sad, sweaty, feeling passed over, and perpetually pissed off.

With this in mind, I eventually did what any self-respecting middle-aged woman would do – I ran away from my husband, my kids, my mum, even our sweet puppy.