So you get married or settle into a long-term relationship for many years… and then, out of nowhere, you find yourself single. Bam. Everything shifts. And when this happens in your mid‑life (as my children lovingly remind me — “halfway to 80”), a crisis feels almost inevitable.

After a long marriage, suddenly being single again was like being hurled into a world I’d never actually lived in. I’d been engaged in high school and married at 18, so this was my first real experience of adult single life.

Dinner time: The plot twist I didn’t expect

I had no idea that removing one extra mouth to feed would completely change the nightly dinner routine. Anyone with kids – or a partner who gets hangry – knows the drill: fast, easy meals on the table in under 30 minutes. Chicken carbonara, savoury mince, spaghetti bolognaise… the classics.

But the one thing I still cannot master? Quantities.
My girls will happily tell you I cook enough to feed a small army. Leftovers would be great — except my youngest calls them “second-hand food.” So yes, sometimes there’s wastage. I’m working on it.

And then there was the realisation that I now had to cook all the time. My ex-husband and I used to alternate cooking and laundry every six months. Suddenly, there was no reprieve. It was me or no one. Over time, cooking became a task, not a joy. Maybe one day, when I’m an empty nester, I’ll fall in love with it again.

The Bed: So much space, so much weirdness

After 18 years sharing a queen bed with a tall man, the bed suddenly felt enormous. Empty. Strange.
Even now, I still sleep on “my side.” The right side remains pristine — something I’m sure housekeeping staff notice when I travel for work. It makes me laugh every time I leave the room.

I’ve thought about downsizing to a king single, but honestly… I can’t be bothered.

The freedom I never knew I didn’t have

This one shocked me: I didn’t have to check in with anyone.
If I wanted to stop for a coffee on the way home, I could just… do it.

After years of comparing calendars, juggling kids, and coordinating logistics, this tiny freedom felt enormous. Being single coincided with my girls becoming more independent and a move closer to school and basketball — the two places they practically lived.

For the first time in 38 years, my time was my own. Not completely — I’m writing this on three hours’ sleep after picking up my daughters from various Sydney clubs and festivals — but the shift was empowering.

Loneliness: The part no one warns you about

This was brutal.
As someone who doesn’t watch TV and thrives on company, the quiet of an empty house hit hard. The tears were frequent and intense, especially when carrying both the physical and emotional load alone.

No one to debrief with after work.
No one to lean on when sick.
No one to tag in when the kids were difficult.

Even now, when I’m unwell, that wave of overwhelm still hits. Not often — but it’s real.

Learning to enjoy my own company

As an extroverted extrovert, being alone felt unnatural. I’d always had someone with me — even for errands. Silence felt like a void to fill.

But nearly four years on, something shifted.
I took myself on a day trip to Sydney, sat in a pub for lunch, surrounded by people… and felt no urge to talk to anyone. I was content. Just me, my cider, the sunshine, and the view.

For anyone who knows me, this was monumental. Connection is my calling card — but now I also understand the strength in flying solo.

Dating: A Whole New World

Having never really dated before, I entered the modern dating world like a baby giraffe learning to walk. Online dating is… a game. A strategic, delicate, sometimes ridiculous game of chess.

Too cool? You seem disinterested.
Too keen? Stage 5 clinger.

No one gives you the rulebook, so I had to write my own. And the expectations people have these days — wow. As we get older, our lists get longer. Everyone is quietly ticking boxes.

I’ll save the details for another blog.

Grieving while your kids’ hearts are breaking

This was the hardest part.

Behind closed doors, I cried into my pillow more times than I can count. But my kids were adjusting too, and their wellbeing had to come before mine. All our hearts were breaking, but I was the adult — it was my job to get them through.

I made sure they had equal time with their dad. I stayed respectful. I kept things stable. Hearing through the rumour mill that he spoke kindly of me — that I’d “been so good throughout the breakup” — meant everything.

This is where I get on my soapbox:
Your kids should never carry the weight of their parents’ breakup.
Even if your ex isn’t respectful, you can still choose to be.

Everyone’s story is different

I know I’ve only scratched the surface. Your experience might look nothing like mine. But this was my journey — messy, painful, empowering, and ultimately transformative.