A letter from Margaret
There was a time when I thought I had my life figured out.
I had spent years being a wife, a mother, and the person everyone could depend on. My days were filled with raising children, keeping a home together, and making sure the people I loved had everything they needed. And somewhere along the way, without even realizing it, I had stopped asking myself what I needed.
Then, almost all at once, everything changed.
My children grew up and started building lives of their own. The house that had once been filled with noise, laughter, and little everyday moments became painfully quiet. And the marriage I had spent so many years believing would last forever came to an end.
I was 57, standing in the middle of a life I barely recognized, wondering how on earth I was supposed to start over.
I remember the evenings most. Sitting alone in a house that suddenly felt too big. Looking at the empty chairs around the dinner table. Reaching for my phone to call my children, then stopping myself because I knew they were busy living their own lives.
And asking a question I was almost ashamed to say out loud: If I'm no longer the wife I used to be, and my children don't need me the way they once did... who am I now?
Nobody had prepared me for that kind of loneliness.
People told me to stay strong. To keep busy. To enjoy my freedom. To see it as a new beginning. But how do you celebrate a new beginning when you're still grieving the life you never wanted to lose?
The truth is, I didn't feel strong. I felt lost. For a long time, I believed everyone else had somehow figured out how to move forward, and I was the only one still standing still.
Read Margaret's full letter
But slowly, through difficult mornings, sleepless nights, honest reflection, and a lot of small steps, I began to find my way back to myself. Not to the woman I used to be. To a woman I was only just beginning to know.
I learned that missing my children didn't mean I couldn't build a meaningful life of my own. That the end of my marriage didn't erase the love, the effort, or the years I had given. And that starting over at 57 wasn't proof that I had failed. It was proof that my story wasn't finished.
That's why I created The Empty Nest Divorce. Not because I have all the answers, and certainly not because the journey was easy. I created it because I remember desperately wishing someone would sit beside me, understand what I was feeling, and gently explain why everything hurt so much.
I wanted to put into words the things I couldn't explain back then: the confusing emotions, the loneliness, the fear of growing older alone, and the quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, there was still a beautiful life waiting for me. This guide is what I wish I'd had during those first difficult months.
If you're reading this while questioning your worth, feeling invisible, or wondering whether it's too late to be happy again, I want you to know something: you are still a whole person. You are still worthy of love, peace, laughter, and a future that feels like yours.
You have spent so much of your life showing up for everyone else. Maybe now, gently and one day at a time, it's your turn to show up for yourself.