The Seasons of a Woman – Between Two Peaks

At almost 62, I find myself in a period of transition. A time when some certainties disappear and new questions arise. The upcoming end of a stable job, my children leaving to build their own lives, and a desire that has grown stronger over the years: to take back control of my own existence.

For a long time, my life was structured around clear responsibilities. Working, ensuring financial security, taking care of my children, maintaining a stable environment for my family. These responsibilities gave meaning to my actions and shaped my daily life.

But there comes a time when these roles begin to change.

The children grow into adults. They take flight, build their future, make their own decisions. This departure is natural and necessary, but it also creates a new space. A space that can be both liberating and unsettling.

What do we do with this space when, for years, we have lived mostly for others?

Today, I face a possibility that would have seemed improbable a few years ago: returning to university to pursue a degree in social work. This choice does not come with certainty. It carries many questions.

Is this a reasonable choice at this age? An act of courage or simply a late illusion? An attempt to bring meaning to my life or a way to flee the unknown that opens before me?

Fear is very present. Fear of losing financial security. Fear of leaving a familiar environment. Fear of making a choice that could turn out to be a mistake.

For years, work represented stability: a regular income, a routine, a clear role. Leaving that framework, even when circumstances push us, forces us to confront great uncertainty.

At this age, society often encourages us to slow down, secure what we have built, and prepare calmly for retirement. Returning to studies, considering new projects, or dreaming of travel can seem contrary to this logic.

Yet another question arises: when do we stop having the right to choose our own life?

I am not trying to show that change is easy. It is not. Doubt, fatigue, and fear are part of the process.

Adding to this is a more intimate dimension. Recently, childhood memories have resurfaced. Painful experiences that I had long kept in the background. These wounds are part of my story and influence the person I am today.

For a long time, I believed we could move forward by setting certain things aside. But sometimes, what has been buried seeks to be acknowledged.

I do not believe we can simply erase the past. Our experiences, even the most difficult, contribute to our identity. The question then becomes: can we learn to live with these memories without letting them take over?

I believe we can, but it requires inner work and the willingness to keep moving forward despite everything.

Stoic philosophy, particularly the teachings of Epictetus, offers an idea that resonates deeply with me: it is not always the events themselves that make us suffer, but the place we give them and the way we choose to respond.

This does not mean denying the pain. It may mean accepting that certain things are part of our story and deciding, despite that, to continue building what remains to be lived.

Today, I also feel a deep desire to travel. Not as a simple distraction, but as a way to explore the world and confront new realities. Travel can become a form of personal inquiry, a way to step out of familiar boundaries and rediscover oneself.

I do not yet know where this path will lead. Some choices may prove difficult. I may need to adjust my plans along the way.

But one thing I know: I do not want the rest of my life to be dictated solely by the fear of losing what is comfortable or by the idea that certain decisions are no longer permitted at my age.

This blog is not meant to present an exemplary journey. It is simply a space for reflection, a place where I can put words to the questions that arise during this period of transition.

I write not because I have all the answers. I write because I am in the process of searching.

Perhaps some of these questions will resonate with other women who also find themselves between two stages of life. Perhaps sharing them will simply remind us that it is still possible to ask questions, explore new directions, and continue to build our own path.

Life is made of seasons. Some are devoted to building, supporting, and protecting. Others invite reflection, transformation, and redefining what truly matters.

I find myself today in one of those seasons.

A season situated between two peaks: the one I have already climbed, and the one I still have yet to invent.