Two years ago, my marriage imploded. Now, as I step into what people like to call “middle age” (and honestly, when does that even begin or end?), I feel something unexpected: momentum.
I don’t see this stage of life as a winding down. Quite the opposite. With a lot of lived experience behind me, I believe this is the moment to ramp things up.
Over years of conversations — in TV studios, supermarkets, online, at events, and with friends — I’ve noticed a pattern. So many women spend mid-life playing small. Putting everyone else first. Smiling through pain. Saying “I’m fine” when we are anything but.
I reached a point where I thought: enough. This is our time. Not in a selfish way, but in a joyful, arms-wide-open kind of way.
That’s easy to say — and much harder to do — especially when life throws its worst at you: divorce, illness, grief, loss. I’ve lived through all of them. And I’m still standing.
When the Life You Imagined Disappears
The breakdown of my marriage to Eamonn Holmes in 2024 has dominated headlines about me ever since. At one of the most painful moments of my life — when I wanted nothing more than to hide — I was confronted daily with speculation and commentary.
Some people want every detail. Others couldn’t care less. The truth is, I won’t publicly dissect something that involves other people.
What I can share is how it affected me emotionally — because I know many of you are walking a similar path.
In the early days, the overwhelming feeling was sadness. After 26 years together, the future I had imagined vanished. I had expected us to be together forever. Accepting that this wouldn’t happen was devastating.
I was shocked. Lost. Afraid.
What if I couldn’t cope alone?
What if I was lonely forever?
What if I got ill? Lost my job? Had no one?
Talking to others going through separation helped me realise these fears are universal — and often wasted energy when you most need strength.
I had to grieve what was lost. But I also had to look at the life still ahead of me.
Learning I Could Stand Alone
One night, early on, the electricity went off. I checked the circuit board, fixed it — and suddenly realised I’d always done these things. I didn’t need someone to rescue me.
When Eamonn and I first met, I had a toolbox. He didn’t.
That moment stuck with me.
By telling myself I couldn’t cope, I was really saying I couldn’t cope without a man. That wasn’t true — and it wasn’t fair on myself.
Time, as cliched as it sounds, really does help. You don’t rush grief. You wade through it. One day, without noticing, you laugh again. Memories sting less.
Support comes in many forms — friends, dogs, wine, and sometimes therapy.
