Beginning Again: Starting Over in Midlife

On starting over in midlife, the loneliness of a new life, and finding the courage to become known again.

How many times are we asked to begin again in one lifetime?

Sometimes we choose it. We move to a new city, change careers, fall in love, or realize the life we have been living no longer fits the person we are becoming. Other times, beginning again is handed to us through circumstances we never would have chosen: divorce, loss, illness, retirement, an empty nest, a job ending, or one of those turns that divides life into before and after.

However it arrives, beginning again is rarely one simple thing. It can be hard and confusing, exciting and beautiful, frightening and full of possibility, all at the same time. It asks us to leave the comfort of what we know before we have had enough time to feel at home in what comes next.

I find myself in one of those in-between places now.

“This is a happy chapter of my life. I know that with my whole heart. It has also been more emotionally complicated than I expected.”

A few months ago, I moved to a new city to build a life with a man I adore. I am deeply loved, supported, and safe. I wake up in a peaceful home, drink my morning tea, and feel grateful that the life I once hoped for is now the life I get to live. There are new trails to hike, places to explore, and experiences waiting just beyond my front door.

This is a happy chapter of my life. I know that with my whole heart. It has also been more emotionally complicated than I expected.

For weeks, I could not shake a sadness that seemed to settle over me without an obvious explanation. Nothing was "wrong." There was no crisis to solve, and I did not regret the choices that brought me here. Still, I felt lonely and emotionally overwhelmed, and I kept asking myself: Why do I feel this way? What is missing? What more do I need?

I had the loving relationship I had hoped for, a peaceful home, meaningful work, and an entire new town waiting to be explored. I had also worked hard to heal from the chapters that hurt me and was ready to receive this kind of love, peace, and security.

Yet I did not feel settled, and I was being really hard on myself for feeling this way.

I wondered whether I was homesick, expecting myself to adjust too quickly, or feeling the isolating effects of working remotely full-time more than I realized. I can spend my entire eight-to-five workday in meetings and still close my laptop feeling as though I have been alone all day. I had underestimated how much the small, unscheduled interactions of an office supported my sense of connection and community.

The sadness kept asking me to pay attention. Eventually, I became quiet enough to hear what my heart had been trying to tell me.

I Wasn’t Missing a Place

“I wasn’t longing for a town. I was longing to be known”

At first, I thought I missed the place I had left behind. The place I called home for more than 20 years.

Of course I missed my family and friends. I missed familiar roads, favorite places, and knowing where I was going without consulting my phone. But the more honestly I sat with the feeling, the clearer it became that I was not longing for a town or trying to return to a former version of my life.

I was longing to be known.

I missed proximity to people who understand the backstory before I finish the first sentence. I missed friends who know my history, my family, my sense of humor, and the chapters that changed me. I missed walking into a room where someone could read my face and know whether I needed advice, laughter, or simply someone to sit beside me.

These are women who have known me for decades. They helped carry me through some of the hardest years of my life. They know what has broken my heart, what has made me brave, and what it took for me to become the woman I am today.

There is an ease that comes with being deeply known. You do not have to provide the context. You can begin a conversation in the middle because the other person already knows how it started.

Becoming anonymous after spending years being known has been one of the most disorienting parts of this transition.

I thought being ready for a new chapter meant I would immediately feel at home inside it. What I did not understand was that emotional readiness and familiarity are two different things. Even peace can feel unfamiliar when we have not lived in it long enough to recognize it as home.

Naming the Feeling

After a few weeks of feeling lost and down, I finally told my fiancé what had been happening inside me. I explained that I loved our life and did not regret moving, but the isolation and unfamiliarity were affecting me more deeply than I had expected. I did not need him to fix it. I needed to name the feeling and let someone who loved me understand what I was carrying.

“Romantic love and female friendship nourish different parts of who we are.”

He sat with me, listened, and encouraged me to begin showing up for the events I had been tracking on social media since moving. I had joined the groups, saved the posts, and watched other women gathering for runs, hikes, and networking events, but I had remained safely on the outside looking in.

That conversation also helped me understand that romantic love and female friendship meet different needs in my life. My fiancé is my partner and the man with whom I am building a home. He makes me feel loved, secure, and encouraged. But one person cannot be an entire community, nor should we expect them to be.

I still need women in my life. I need friendship, laughter, shared experiences, and someone to meet for lunch or join me for a walk. I need relationships that belong to this chapter, not because anything is missing between us, but because romantic love and friendship nourish different parts of who we are.

I needed connection. But more than that, I needed to help create it rather than waiting for it to arrive. So I prayed for the courage to walk into unfamiliar rooms, introduce myself, and remain open to whoever might be waiting there.

Moving Through the Discomfort

Something shifted when I accepted that I might never feel completely ready. Beginning again was going to require me to move through the discomfort rather than waiting for it to disappear.

“The discomfort of the unfamiliar is not proof that we are in the wrong place. Sometimes it simply means we are early in the story.”

No one wants to walk into a social setting alone. There is always that moment in the parking lot when going home suddenly seems perfectly reasonable. You imagine everyone else already knows one another and wonder whether showing up might somehow make you feel even more alone.

But we can do hard things. Sometimes the hard thing is simply getting out of the car, opening the door, and walking into a room where you do not know anyone.

One day, I promised myself I was going to get out of the house. I took myself to lunch at a place I had wanted to try, ordered a fancy coffee and a fancy meal, and worked for a while surrounded by the sounds of people living their ordinary lives. Afterward, I explored a few local shops and then went to a run club I had followed online for months.

Lucci Blues Social Cafe, Fuquay-Varina, NC

I showed up alone, and I made some new friends.

A few days later, I refused to let the rain talk me out of a group hike with women I had connected with online. Somewhere along the trail, I had an incredible conversation with a woman from Africa. Our backgrounds were different, but for that stretch of the hike, we connected through the simple act of sharing our stories.

Neither outing delivered an instant lifelong friendship. That is not how meaningful relationships are built. But they gave me something I desperately needed: possibility. I felt more connected to the place where I live because I had finally begun participating in it.

Then I attended a Women in Networking meeting by myself. Nearly every woman in the room was an entrepreneur, while I work in the corporate world. As they shared about the businesses they had built, I wondered what I would say when it was my turn and whether I truly belonged there.

The more I listened, the more I saw pieces of myself in them. Our work did not necessarily look the same, but the courage, uncertainty, and desire to create something meaningful felt familiar.

When it was my turn, I shared what I do professionally. Then, with considerably more vulnerability, I told them about Been There, Babe. My corporate work is important to me, but the blog holds something more personal: my experiences, my questions, and the lessons I am still learning from some of the hardest chapters of my life.

Women in Networking - Fuquay-Varina, NC

Earlier, one woman had asked for prayers for her 21-year-old son, who was struggling to find his way. I connected with the heart behind her request and found myself thinking, Heck, I am almost 50, and I am still finding my way. Maybe we never completely stop. We simply become beginners in different ways.

At the end of the meeting, that same woman stopped me. She told me she had read one of my blog posts just a few days earlier! I couldn’t believe it! And now here we were, face to face!

It felt like a God thing.

I had walked in wondering whether I belonged. By the time I left, I had recognized part of my story in someone else, shared a vulnerable piece of myself, and discovered that my words had reached one of those women before I ever knew her name.

For months, I had been missing the comfort of being known. That meeting reminded me that being known has to begin somewhere. Sometimes it begins when one person is brave enough to share what she is carrying and another quietly thinks, I understand.

Becoming Known Again

So this is where I find myself now: in the discomfort of the unfamiliar, learning how to welcome strangers into my life.

“The friends who have carried me through the last 20 years were once strangers, too.”

I still miss the women who know the history behind my words and can read my face before I say anything. That kind of friendship cannot be recreated in a few months. The friendships I build here will not replace the people who have loved me for decades. There is room for both the women who know where I have been and the women who may become part of where I am going.

The friends who have carried me through the last 20 years were once strangers, too. Every inside joke began with a first conversation. Every friend who knows my story once knew only my name. Every place that eventually felt like home was unfamiliar in the beginning.

I do not know which of the women I am meeting now will become part of my life. Some may remain friendly faces. Others may share one meaningful conversation, one rainy trail, or one season with me. Maybe one will eventually become the friend who can read my expression before I speak.

I cannot rush that kind of familiarity, but I can cultivate it. I can keep going to run club, accepting invitations, reaching out to new acquaintances, and walking into rooms even when part of me wants to remain safely in the car. I can share honest pieces of myself and make space for other women to do the same.

Beginning again does not ask us to forget the life that shaped us or replace the people who already know us. It asks us to remain open to the people and possibilities waiting in the next chapter. The discomfort of the unfamiliar is not proof that we are in the wrong place. Sometimes it simply means we are early in the story.

I am still becoming known here. I do not have this transition figured out, and I am not sharing my experience as an expert. I am sharing it because I know I cannot be the only person standing at a crossroads, grateful for what is ahead and still grieving the ease of what was left behind.

Maybe you are beginning again, too. Maybe you chose your new chapter, or maybe life chose it for you. Either way, you are allowed to feel excited and unsettled, hopeful and lonely, grateful and overwhelmed. Complex feelings do not mean you are failing at change. They mean you are human.

And somewhere nearby, another person may be sitting in their new home feeling exactly the same way—hoping for someone to invite them to lunch, meet them for a walk, or understand what they are carrying.

Maybe we are not as alone as we think.

Maybe we just haven’t met each other yet.

Are you beginning again in some part of your life? I’d love to hear what this season has looked like for you—and what has helped you feel less alone in it. We may be finding our way in different circumstances, but we can support one another through the unfamiliar.