Divorced at 61: What I Learned About Starting Over After the Life I Planned Fell Apart

I didn’t expect to get divorced in my 60s. We met at 47, and this was our second marriage for both of us. I often described my husband as the most gentle and caring man I’ve ever known. We had an easy rhythm; conflicts were discussed, not yelled about. Our routines were not unusual. We walked the beaches of Maine. We cooked together, nothing fancy. Occasionally, we would eat popcorn for dinner while reading books by the fire.

We took care of each other, even in the most inconsequential things: me placing a water glass on his bedside table and him refilling my coffee as I wrote in the morning. Perry was attentive. We touched each other often, like shorthand. I’m here. I’m here. He wasn’t a big talker, and that was fine. The touch, I thought, does not lie.

After years of building a life, I’d imagined my husband and I together until the end, laughing and commiserating as we handled the shifts and tweaks that aging requires.

Instead, I found myself stunned, single, and standing at the edge of a future I hadn’t planned.

A Therapist… Who Needed Therapy

As a therapist, I have helped countless people navigate heartbreak and reinvention. I thought I knew how to handle emotional pain. But none of my training had prepared me for the abruptness of his leaving and telling me he wanted a divorce because he wanted to have babies.

I was a mess. I was lost. I wondered how could this happen to me!? I’m a therapist, after all. I am supposed to understand people. How could I have missed this? How could I have missed how unhappy he was? My whole sense of self shattered.

Writing Through the Wreckage

I began scribbling notes just to stay afloat. I kept every email and every text and transcribed all our phone calls. I titled it the Perry Leaving Journal. I didn’t understand what had happened or why it had happened, but that didn’t matter. I wrote it all down and hoped I could figure it out later. That journal became a memoir: If You Must Go, I Wish You Triplets. (Yes, that’s the real title. Humor helps.)

What started as a private project to understand my feelings and make sense of my life became a way to reclaim my voice, my story, and my strength. I wrote my way out of grief and into something new.

Why I’m Writing to You

Starting over in your 60s is not just possible – it’s powerful. It’s also messy, hilarious, painful, awkward, and liberating.

In this monthly space, I’ll be sharing what helped me, what hurt, and what I wish I’d known sooner. Think of it as a conversation between wise, complicated women – because that’s what we are.

You’re Not Alone

If you’re in the middle of your own unexpected chapter – or recovering from one – I hope these posts make you feel less alone.

Because reinvention isn’t just for the young. It belongs to all of us.

Also read, Creativity as a Path to Reinvention in Midlife.

Let’s Have a Conversation:

What event started your reinvention journey? Did you feel pushed toward it or did you genuinely embraced it?