By Nicole Adey
Five years ago, I thought I knew what my life would look like. I didn’t. Burnout, divorce, single motherhood, cancer, and loss changed everything — and they also taught me how to begin again.
For most of my adult life, I did what so many women do: I kept moving and pushing through. From juggling corporate deadlines to childcare drop-offs (often with screaming kids), late-night telecalls, and school lunches made on autopilot—the daily challenge of trying to meet everyone else’s needs quietly took its toll.
But it wasn’t just the visible demands that wore me down. After my divorce, the mental load got even bigger as a solo mum—the endless to-do lists, the weight of past regrets and unresolved traumas, the constant worry about the future and all its “what-ifs”—was always humming in the background, quietly draining my energy.
Even after I left my corporate job, I still felt exhausted. I thought stepping away from the constant hustle would bring relief, but the heaviness lingered. I kept hoping that a change in circumstances would bring a change in how I felt, but the weight I was carrying was deeper than any job title or daily routine. I later learned that it was a deep layering of past trauma, guilt, resentment, and conditioning that I wasn’t even aware of.
It wasn’t until a breast cancer diagnosis that I was forced to stop and truly re-assess.
There was no single, dramatic turning point—just a slow unravelling: divorce, burnout, losing my dad, and then illness. Each challenge stripped away another layer of the life I thought I was supposed to have. What I was left with was exhaustion, fear, anger, and a sense of feeling lost in an unfamiliar place, with scars and stories I never imagined I’d carry.
The Truth About “Bouncing Back”
After my cancer diagnosis and treatment, people called me “brave.” But I didn’t feel brave—I felt raw and uncertain, moving through each day with more questions than answers. I noticed how often people wanted to reassure me that things would “go back to normal,” but deep down, I knew that normal no longer existed for me. The world had shifted, and so had I.
There’s a strange expectation that, once the crisis passes, you’ll return to who you were before. But for me, there was no going back—only the slow, sometimes uncomfortable process of learning to move forward.
Some days, that meant letting myself grieve for the roles that had changed, and the future I’d imagined. Other days, it meant finding small moments of hope and strength in unexpected places: a conversation with my children, a quiet walk, or simply noticing that I could breathe a little easier.
I realised that “bouncing back” isn’t the goal. The real work is in allowing yourself to grow into someone new, even when you’re not sure who that will be yet. It’s about acknowledging the messiness, the uncertainty, and the courage it takes to keep showing up for your own life—one step at a time.
What Actually Helped Me Move Forward
- Rest and Self-Care Became Non-Negotiable: I stopped treating rest like a reward and started seeing it as a necessity. Giving myself permission to pause was the first real act of self-care I’d ever practiced. Listening to, and honouring, my needs is now a non-negotiable.
- Boundaries Changed Everything: Saying “no”—to extra work, to old roles, to my own perfectionism—was uncomfortable at first, but ultimately freeing. Boundaries are self-respect in action. It takes practice, especially for people-pleasers like myself.
- Journaling Deepened My Self-Awareness:Putting my thoughts on paper helped me notice patterns, name what I was really feeling, and respond with more compassion instead of spiralling.
- Small Steps, Not Big Leaps: Healing didn’t come from one big decision. It was hundreds of tiny choices: reaching out for help, prioritising walks and fresh air, and celebrating small wins instead of waiting for a “transformation moment.”
- Somatic Healing: One of the most profound shifts came when I started listening to my body, not just my mind. Through somatic healing practices—breathwork, gentle movement, body scans—I learned to release tension and stored emotion, to reconnect with myself from the inside out. This wasn’t about “fixing” anything, but about honouring what my body was trying to tell me and allowing space for true healing.
- Asking For Help: This was the hardest lesson for me. For years, I prided myself on being self-sufficient, but I learned that real strength is knowing when to reach out. Whether it was leaning on friends, seeking professional support, or simply admitting I couldn’t do it all alone, asking for help made the weight I was carrying feel lighter—and reminded me that I didn’t have to walk this path by myself.
Why I’m Sharing This
If you’re feeling stuck, invisible, or like you’ve lost your place in the world, I want you to know you’re not alone — and you’re not broken. Life isn’t linear, and we all face challenges. And while it’s not always easy, moving forward with self-belief matters. This isn’t about “fixing” yourself. It’s about giving yourself permission: to rest, to ask for help, to start again, and to do it your way.
My story isn’t about triumph or perfection. It’s about realising that you don’t have to go back to who you were, and that building something new—one honest step at a time—is enough, and can even be refreshing and rewarding.
I might be making less money, have a quieter social life, and acquired a fake boob and a few scars along the way – but honestly, I’m happier, calmer, and more present than I’ve ever been.
About the Author
Nicole Adey is a Women’s Transition Coach and Transformation Specialist, and the founder of A Change of Seasons. Drawing on her own journey through divorce, burnout, loss, and breast cancer, Nicole now supports women as they navigate life’s toughest transitions—helping them rediscover their strength, rebuild with confidence, and create lives that feel authentic and meaningful.
Find out more at A Change of Seasons.
