Nobody walks down the aisle expecting to walk away.

Nobody says ‘forever,’ thinking it might end in courtrooms and quiet grief. We all begin with the best of intentions — a fairy tale, or at least a version of ‘forever’ shaped by hope, effort, and belief.

 

But life, as it does, interrupts. And love, especially when layered with years, unmet expectations, children, careers, or silence, can shift. Sometimes it breaks. Quietly. Without drama. One day, you are side by side; the next, you are strangers sharing a postcode.

 

We often hear about women navigating post-divorce life — learning to sleep alone, parent solo, reclaim parts of themselves they surrendered, but we rarely speak of the quiet devastation men carry — how starting over means rebuilding from nothing. He may no longer have the family home, but still pays the mortgage. He may no longer tuck the children in, but their school fees still land on his desk.

And then comes dating again.

 

In your 40s or 50s, it’s no longer whimsical. It’s complicated. Everyone is carrying something — regret, baggage, a broken heart, or a custody calendar. The dating pool feels less like a sea of options and more like a cluttered loft – some hidden gems, a lot of dust, and things that no longer quite work.

 

There is chaff in abundance — performers, pretenders, placeholders, and predators. Especially for women. The world knows a woman alone still has needs, and some sniff out vulnerability like blood in water. But now — older, wiser, wearier — you sift with discernment. Because you know what is fleeting and what is real. You know the cost of loving blindly.

 

Still, sometimes, you find someone who does not want to fix you or finish you — just meet you. Someone who has also lived, lost, and learnt. Someone who understands the gravity of time and the beauty of presence.

 

In L is for Liminal, we met a couple reconnecting decades later. Their story unfolded in that sacred in-between — after loss, before love. Their conversations weren’t smooth, but they were real. They weren’t rushing in; they were showing up. The next week brought M is for Manifestation — a reminder that healing is not passive. New realities are not stumbled upon; they are created. Manifestation starts where grief ends — with the decision to believe again.

That’s what new beginnings are — a sacred, scary kind of space-clearing.

 

And let’s be honest — it’s far easier to stay. To settle. To keep the peace. Leaving is the harder option. It destabilises everything — finances, identity, children’s routines, family dynamics. It is choosing chaos over comfort. Which is why the people who leave are not weak. They are brave. This is not encouraging separation, it is acknowledging that spending the rest of one’s life flogging a dead horse in the hope that it may just be deeply asleep is unfruitful and by intuition, wisdom and acceptance, most times one knows the difference.

It takes strength to walk away from something familiar into the unknown. To trust that life can still offer meaning, even after devastation.

 

So yes, starting over is messy, but it is also bold and beautiful.

Because you are done with the crying, you have packed the boxes, signed the forms, survived the birthdays and drop-offs and Sunday nights. You have poured your love into healing, therapy, growth.

And maybe…just maybe… you are ready.

 

Ready for something softer. Something real.

So here’s to new beginnings — not just romantic ones, but the ones where you show up to your own life with an open heart – where you manifest something better from everything you have survived, where you let go of who you thought you would grow old with… so you can meet who you are becoming.  Here’s to the quiet hope that whispers, ‘maybe love still lives here.’ Because the truth is, new beginnings at any age are not only possible,

they are powerful.

 

Before we close, one more glimpse into the couple from L is for Liminal.

They met again the next week — this time, not in hushed uncertainty, but in a sunlit garden café. It felt lighter. There were no confessions. Just shared glances. Quiet laughter. A gentle leaning-in.

She reached for the bill. He stopped her.

‘You don’t have to pay,’ he said.

‘I know,’ she replied. ‘But I can.’

And in that simple moment was something extraordinary. They were not negotiating roles or wounds. They were just being. Two whole people, choosing to explore what this could be. Again. Differently.

 

Next week, we will find out what happens when new beginnings start to deepen and the past resurfaces.

Will Openness sustain them? Or will overthinking get in the way?

Let’s see.

‘See’ you next week.

 

Sally Chiwuzie
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IG Handle: @unshakable.is.a.state.of.mind