A few years ago, I looked
forward to retirement with a quiet sense of anticipation. I imagined long
mornings with coffee and newspapers, afternoons filled with hobbies, and plenty
of time to travel and reconnect with family. But when I reached my state pension
age, something shifted. I wasn’t quite ready to step away. The routine, the
sense of purpose, the camaraderie at work—it still mattered to me. So, I made a
deliberate choice: I would keep going, and I did, working on until my late 60s
For a few more years, I carried
on—working through minor mobility issues, aches, adjusting my pace where needed. But
recently, osteoarthritis and a long-standing chronic back injury caught up with
me. The pain became unavoidable. The decision to stop working wasn’t mine
anymore. My body made it for me. And now, as I navigate this new chapter, I
find myself feeling not relief—but upset. Sad, even. Why?
At first, I struggled to
understand this emotional weight. Wasn’t this what I’d been heading toward? But
then it hit me: I’m not upset because I stopped working. I’m upset because I had to stop. There’s a
profound difference between choosing
to retire and being forced
to.
When we choose when to retire,
we retain a sense of control. We can plan, celebrate, and ease into the
transition. But when health issues force that door shut, it can feel like a
loss—not just of work, but of identity, independence, and self-worth.
Work isn't just about earning
an income. For many of us, it’s intertwined with who we are. It provides
structure, social connection, and a daily reminder that we’re contributing.
When it ends abruptly—not by our own plan—it can feel like a part of us has
been taken away.
I’ve spent decades building
expertise, nurturing relationships, and solving problems. Now, I find myself
wondering: Who am I, if not the person who showed up every day and gave their
best?
If you’re in a similar
place—facing an unplanned end to your working life due to health or other
circumstances—you’re not alone. And your feelings are valid.
But here’s what I’m learning:
retiring under difficult circumstances doesn’t mean the next chapter has to be
empty or meaningless. It may not look like the retirement we once imagined, but
it can still be rich and fulfilling.
Here are a few things that are
helping me reframe this transition:
1. Acknowledge the Loss
It’s okay to grieve. Grieve the career, the routine, the identity. Give
yourself space to feel disappointment or frustration. Pretending it doesn’t
matter only prolongs healing.
2. Redefine Purpose
Purpose doesn’t end with employment. It can be found in mentoring,
volunteering, creative projects, or simply being present for loved ones. What
small thing can you do each week that makes you feel useful or joyful?
3. Focus on What You
Can Control
While I can’t control my health, I can control how I respond. Gentle movement,
pacing activities, and managing pain with support from professionals—all these
help me feel more empowered.
4. Stay Connected
Isolation can deepen the sense of loss. Staying in touch with former
colleagues, joining a club, or finding a support group for people navigating
similar life changes can make a world of difference.
5. Embrace a New Rhythm
Without the 9-to-5 structure, life can feel unmoored. Creating a loose daily
routine—maybe including walks, reading, or a hobby—can bring a comforting sense
of stability.
Retirement didn’t end on my
terms. But healing and renewal can still begin on mine.
To anyone facing a forced
retirement: your value hasn’t decreased. You haven’t become less important.
You’ve simply arrived at a different path—one that may be narrower, perhaps
steeper, but still worth walking.
The work chapter is closed. But
the story isn’t over. In fact, in this quieter, more reflective space, there
may be new ways to grow, to give, and to live well—just differently.
And slowly, that feels like something I can look forward to again.
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