Starting Over at 35 Is… Different

I came back to London not for some grand reinvention arc, but because something in me wasn’t finished here. I wanted a fresh start, not in the cliché way, but in the maybe this time I’ll actually feel like myself way. 

I’m in my mid 30s, single, childless, and in a new city. I feel too old to go out every Friday and Saturday but how I’m supposed to meet my future husband if I stay home in my pajamas watching Love Island and ordering takeaway. 

I want marriage. I want a family. I want that messy, beautiful, partnership kind of life. But the sound of my biological clock is getting louder, and honestly, it’s stressing me out. And stress causes wrinkles. And gray hairs. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to attract a husband looking like I’ve just come off a three-year survival show. (Thank God for Botox. And that whole “beauty is on the inside” thing, right?) 

When I became single again, it felt like someone hit reboot, and I was suddenly back at square one. The problem? The last time I was single, I was 26, awww to be young again. 

Now, I’m navigating the weird gray space between who I thought I’d be and who I still have the chance to become. I’m learning how to let go of the life I planned and make room for one I might still love, even if it looks nothing like I imagined. And the best part, this time I’m doing it for me.

There’s no relationship I’m trying to preserve. No audience I’m performing for. No clock I’m racing against. Its my decision, on my time. 

Just me.  

And don’t get me wrong, it’s still hard. I still wake up some mornings thinking, what the hell am I doing here? But now I let that question exist without letting it derail me. I remind myself what I love about this city and why I made this move. 

So here I am. In London. Again. Rewriting my story one chapter at a time, and this time, I’m actually the main character.