Midlife, Meaning & Moving Forward

This week I turned 55 and I've been reflecting on what it's like to be firmly in the second half of my life. Someone recently said, “If I’m lucky, I’ve got 30 good summers left.” I think I’d be lucky if I had 25. 

The key thing is that I’m looking forward to the rest of my life. 

Not because it’s going to be easy (I don’t have a final salary pension or financial security to back me up) BUT because I finally feel aligned. Grounded. At peace with the winding path that got me here and energised for what’s still to come and the contribution I still want to make.  

I had a “happy-ish” childhood, full of warmth, yes, but also weighed down by expectation. I was “the academic one,” and with that came the unspoken agreement that I’d behave, achieve, tick boxes, and make everyone proud. And I did. I was brilliant at being a good girl. Until I wasn’t.

By the time I completed my A-Levels, my parents had separated and the path I was being guided down- a career in electronic engineering - just didn’t light me up. I couldn’t see myself in a lab, fiddling with capacitors. It wasn’t who I was. I wanted something more creative, something more alive. I didn’t have the language for it then - just a feeling that I’d veered off course from myself.

I flunked my A-Levels (still passed, but not spectacularly), and it didn’t bother me. InsteadI found myself in a photographic studio, working as an assistant - and, for the first time, experiencing the erosion of confidence that can come from poor leadership. I shrank under the weight of it. Only afterwards did my boss tell me I was the best assistant he’d ever had. That praise would’ve meant so much at the time. But sometimes, life’s feedback loop arrives late.

What I did have was the chance to create and that got me a place on one of only five photography, film and video courses in the country at the time. Over a thousand applicants for 50 places but luckily I was one of those that got in. That moment taught me what happens when effort, instinct and the courage to pivot all align.

That took me into post-production - first in Soho, then as a business manager, and eventually, into the BBC. It was a high point in my career. We were doing work that mattered. There was innovation, impact, purpose. But beneath the surface? Politics. Power games. Hidden dynamics. I saw how much energy got wasted protecting egos and navigating unspoken rules.

One leader once said to me: “The problem with you, Ursula, is you lift up the stones and see the worms underneath.” As though my curiosity, my desire to solve root problems, was an issue. I took it as a compliment. I do lift the stones. And I believe that kind of leadership - the curious, human kind - is what creates lasting change.

From there, I was seconded into BBC Education, testing out a then-pioneering idea of helping audiences take their learning further online (such a new concept in the mid-late 90’s). I remember when I was interviewed I was asked where I saw myself in five years. I had no idea!  I pointed out that the job I was interviewing for didn’t exist five years earlier. That’s been a theme in my life - emergence over rigid planning. Following alignment, not checklists.

I later moved agency-side, working with legendary designer Martin Lambie-Nairn. The BBC became my client for the next four years. Exciting work. But behind the scenes, the culture was shifting. The business had been sold. The soul was leaking out. Ego, jealousy, power-hoarding - I saw it all up close. And I saw how leaders who feel threatened often try to keep others small.

So I stepped away, went into business with a former colleague… and we fell out. Self-belief was a key factor - she had it in spades; I didn’t. The saboteurs in my head, my own “ugly sisters”, told me I wasn’t enough. That I should stay small, stay safe - I am sure many of you will know those voices well.

So I kept learning. Trained as a reflexologist, then as a coach - one of the early wave, long before it became mainstream. I layered in NLP, hypnotherapy. These tools were, and still are, powerful. Transformative.

Then came another left turn. I moved to Spain with a partner, bought a cortijo up in the olive hills, and tried on a new life. I followed a feeling, not a strategy. My thirties were a time of immense growth, learning through experience, trial, error, and intuition. That life eventually ended, and I found myself back in the UK and within 18 months I’d met someone new, got married, had my beautiful son George, and re-entered corporate life as the breadwinner.

And still… something wasn’t right. The job was fine. The people were great. But I didn’t feel fulfilled. So when I was headhunted again, I said yes, even though something in me was screaming no. I overrode my intuition because we’d just bought a bigger house, and it felt like my responsibility to make it all work.

It was a disaster. Truly. I was eaten alive in a toxic culture. Undermined. Gaslit. Lied to. It was the Game of Thrones version of business. It made me ill.

Eventually, I left with a push - and with fear, yes - but also deep relief. No more two-hour commutes. No more pretending. When I told George I didn’t have any friends at work, he burst into tears and said, “That sounds awful, Mummy.” And it was. There’s no salary or pension in the world that can compensate for that hollow, joyless feeling.

The years that followed gave me some of life’s heaviest lessons. A serious family accusation shook us to the core. It took a year to clear the name - and reinforced that yes, there is such a thing as smoke without fire. Then, not long after, I had breast cancer - I was diagnosed with Paget’s Disease andI faced the frightening possibility of secondary breast cancer. The next three weeks - before the MRI confirmed it hadn’t spread - were full of soul-searching. If this was it… how did I want to spend my time? Who did I want by my side?

That time - seven years ago now - still lives in me. And yes, I’ve been known to get a bit complacent about it. But birthdays bring it back. The remembering. The gratitude. The reminder that nothing is promised.

The answer became clear: I had to move forward. On my terms. That meant ending my marriage and finally saying yes to the next phase of my own life.

And so I did. I invested in advanced coach training. Went through radiotherapy. Let my Harry Potter crazed son make me a magic wand to take into treatment. Took back my power, one small step at a time. We sold the house. I found a tiny cottage to nest in. And then, the universe tested me again: the tenancy ended early, and I had to move again.

It was the last straw. I was tired of being tossed around by life. But somehow, I found a place with a garden. Moved in. And six months later, the pandemic hit. And suddenly - it made sense. I was where I needed to be. Settled. Safe. Rebuilding.

In that house, I started to thrive again. I continued working with a progressive company, Hoxby. I started a Master’s in Applied Positive Psychology and Coaching Psychology. I spent over £50,000 investing in my learning - because I matter. My future matters. And my joy matters.

And here I am today - doing what might just be the hardest thing yet: building a business that feels meaningful. Doing it while navigating menopause, the changes in my body, the weight gain, the fog. Learning to strength train. Trying to fall in love with regular exercise (still not my favourite), and paying attention to gut health and rest. It’s definitely all work in progress!

But despite all of that - or maybe because of it - I feel really happy. I’m in a good place. And that, I don’t take lightly.

During this time, I also opened my heart to love again. Gently. Cautiously. But I followed the pull. I met Mike. And within weeks, we both knew. We married last year, and life has never felt so good.

Mike is my threshold guardian, he’s  the one who grabs my hand and helps me step into what’s next, even when I’m scared. And I get to be that for others. I get to walk beside people who feel lost, undervalued, or unsure, and help them find their way back to themselves.

And one last thing.

That cortijo I bought 20 years ago? The one I dreamed about, believed in, and put on ice?

Mike saw it too. He saw the vision. And now, we’re bringing it to life together.

Because sometimes, our dreams don’t disappear - they just wait for us to grow into them.