Well, I’ve made it. Into the murky depths of middle age (and when does that start and end, I wonder?).
And you know what? I reckon this is just the beginning, because I believe with all my heart (and quite a bit of lived experience) that this isn’t the winding-down bit. Now is the time to ramp it up.
In all my chats with women over the years – in TV studios, at events, during a food shop, on social media, and with my friends – one thing kept coming up: so many of us spend our mid-life playing small.
Putting others first. Saying ‘I’m fine’ when we’re anything but, and I just thought, enough is enough. It’s our time. Not in a selfish, throw-our-toys-out-of-the-pram kind of way, but in a joyful, fantastic, arms-spread-wide way.
I realise that this is easier said than done, particularly in the face of the most difficult times like divorce, illness and loss, but I have learned a lot as I’ve navigated those terrible periods.
Empty nests, job loss and divorce all figure highly on the list of most stressful life experiences, along with the illness and death of someone close. I have had all of these, and I am here to tell the tale.
While it is awful, devastating and can feel impossible to survive, you can, and you will. Trust me on this.
The breakdown of my marriage to Eamonn Holmes in 2024 has been the focus of almost every media story about me for the past couple of years. At one of the hardest points in my life, when I wanted to run away and hide in a cave, I was faced with regular updates about what people thought was happening.
I know some people will want the full story of our marriage split in gory detail, while other don’t give two hoots. The truth is, I am not going to delve publicly into something when it involves other people.
Ruth Langsford: I reckon this is just the beginning, because I believe with all my heart (and quite a bit of lived experience) that this isn’t the winding-down bit
What I can talk a little about is how the separation affected me emotionally, because I know those who are going through this may find it helpful. It’s also important to me that I can pull out the positives from an awful experience and encourage others to do the same.
The biggest emotion that threatened to swallow me up in the early days was sadness. When you have been with somebody for a long time – 26 years in our case – and had imagined what your future would look like, there is a sense of deep loss.
I expected Eamonn and me to be together for ever and knowing this was not going to happen was incredibly hard to come to terms with. Suddenly, life was different, with no clue what the months and years ahead would look like.
I was devastated in the beginning. We had gone from being a couple, traversing the usual ups and downs of a marriage, to an abrupt end. This was how it felt to me, and it was a huge shock.
So many concerns whirled around my head. What if I couldn’t cope on my own? What if I were lonely? What if I never met anyone else again? What if I lost my job? What if I got ill and there was nobody to care for me?
In talking to others going through break-ups, I knew I wasn’t alone in my fears, and this reassured me. It helped me realise that worrying about things before they happen or that are unlikely to happen is a waste of energy at exactly the time you need to be firing on all cylinders.
Yes, I needed to grieve for what was lost and could have been – but I had to look at the life I still had and how I could make it whatever I wanted.
In short, I gave myself a stiff talking to and not just once, but many times. By worrying I couldn’t cope, what I was really saying was I couldn’t cope without a man, and that was ridiculous. ‘Pull yourself together, Ruth!’ I sternly instructed myself.
The breakdown of my marriage to Eamonn Holmes, right, in 2024 has been the focus of almost every media story about me for the past couple of years
One night, in the early days of being alone, I was watching TV and all the lights went out. There was a moment of confusion and then I thought, it’s bound to be the circuit. I knew where the circuit board was and I knew what to do and I realised that I had always dealt with this. I didn’t need a husband to gallop in on his white charger. Eamonn and I would laugh about the fact that when we first met, I had a toolbox and he didn’t. He said if something small went wrong in his flat – a broken door handle or a rickety shelf, for example – he would call someone to mend it.
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘When it’s just a screw needed. Where’s your toolbox?’ He looked nonplussed.
‘Oh, hang on, I think I have one in the car,’ he said. He came back with the socket set.
‘That’s not a toolbox!’ I laughed. ‘I’ll bring mine next time I come over.’ My dad was the most practical man ever and had given me everything I needed, including a screwdriver and hammer, and taught me how to change a plug.
Now, I know what I am about to say is another cliché, but it is also the truth. Time is a great healer. No amount of rushing will get us to safe ground; we have to wade through the swamp first.
One day, almost without realising, we will feel a little better, a little brighter. We will find we can laugh easily again and remembering something poignant will make us smile rather than cry.
While we are stuck in the swamp, we can find therapy and support in all sorts of places, whether this is with a trained counsellor, a bunch of girlfriends over a couple of bottles of wine on a Friday night or a dog sleeping at your feet.
All these things work, or at least they did for me. I didn’t want to go to a therapist, but a friend of mine who had been dealing with a similar experience said she wouldn’t have got through her divorce without a bit of professional help.
I didn’t think I needed it. I didn’t need a counsellor to tell me what I already knew. Put simply, I was incredibly sad that my marriage was over, and I needed to come to terms with it, so I resisted the idea for a while, thinking I’d get through it just fine, thank you.
My friend kept trying to persuade me, saying I could do one Zoom session and if it didn’t feel comfortable or I didn’t gel with the therapist then I could stop. ‘If it’s not for you, then I will shut up,’ she said.
Curiosity and my determination to get better meant that eventually she did manage to persuade me. One session, I thought, then I can say I gave it a shot. I knew it wouldn’t be for me.
I loved the first session, and I loved the therapist. Nobody was more surprised than me! So I kept going back even though I was sure I wouldn’t need it for long. For the first three Zoom appointments, the therapist only saw the top of my head because I was crying so much.
She said to me, ‘Ruth, this is grief. This is trauma and you are in shock. Let it all out.’ It was as if I had been waiting for permission to be upset and acknowledge the monumental fallout from the marriage break-up. I found there was a big difference talking to someone impartial rather than speaking to my loyal, wonderful girlfriends, who are always on my side. It didn’t feel fair to keep offloading on them either.
Adapted from Feeling Fabulous by Ruth Langsford (Hodder & Stoughton, £22), to be published February 26
Therapy gave me a more measured view of the situation and the tools I needed to be able to deal with it.
I was in no rush to give it up, but there came a time when I knew I didn’t need a session every week, so we did every fortnight and then we went down to one a month.
This was another reason I liked my therapist so much – because she understood what I needed and when I was ready to try standing on my own two feet.
I am not happy my marriage is over, but I have accepted it. I think this has been the biggest turning point for me because fighting against the inevitable is exhausting and pointless.
For anyone going through similar, I would urge you to find your peace with it because this is about creating a new, but just as worthwhile, life as a single, independent person. It doesn’t mean you aren’t hurting, but you have a choice. You can fall apart and not get out of bed in the morning, or you can get up, have a little weep and keep going.
There was often a moment on waking when I would forget what had happened before reality came rushing in. My time to cry was in the shower in the morning, when I would sob loudly and snottily. Once I was out, it was time to pull myself together and say firmly, ‘That’s enough now, Ruth.’ Nobody had died. This was another new day. Get in the car. Off you go to work.
Then, later, come back from work. Have a little cry in an empty house. Cuddle the dog. Cook dinner. Watch the soaps on TV.
That’s how I dealt with it, and I don’t know of another way because I have no desire to take three months off and go trekking in Thailand to find myself eat, pray, love, style!
Instead, I didn’t make any major plans. I took it slow and steady. Running away from things only means that you have to face them when you get back.
The pain, anguish and frustration are all still there, just like the bins that need to go out and the laundry that has to be done.
Best to hunker down and find a way through; and now I am out the other side, maybe
I will go to Thailand for a holiday and visit my best friend. Why not? I can see a new, exciting chapter of my life stretching out ahead.
I can still be caught out by the emotion of the last couple of years. I’m not sure you can live with someone for that long and not be. It can floor me, and when this happens I take a few deep breaths and a moment to gather myself before getting on with the day, my job and family stuff.
Some people have said how tough it must have been to go through this while I had to put on a smiley face on telly, but it would be no different if I worked in a bank or a supermarket, for example. It’s my job and there are many times I have been grateful for the distraction. Thank God for work.
As I move into this new phase of my life, I’m doing so without a lot of people, particularly my adored older sister Julia. In 2019 I received the worst phone call I have ever had. My darling sister had taken her own life at the age of 62.
I can’t pinpoint the moment I knew Julia had severe depression. It was more of a growing understanding. After a particularly tough period, she had seemed to be doing better, so receiving that terrible call was a complete shock to me.
The biggest unanswered questions that ricochet around my head – and will for ever – are: Why did she take her own life? Why didn’t she talk to me about how she was feeling? Why did I not know she felt like that? Why? Why? Why?
I could carry the guilt for ever, if I could just have an idea of why she did it. And then from confusion came the anger. How could she? How could she do this to the people she loved most in the world? And then I fell into the deepest well of sadness.
Julia had a lovely husband, a beloved daughter and good friends, and she seemed happy in her career as a gardener. It was hard to see from the outside what had gone so wrong, but I know that’s not how depression works.
My adored border collie cross Maggie was snoozing in her bed and the day stretched out luxuriously in front of me with no plans. I realised that this feeling I had was contentment
I think of her all the time and I wish, wish, wish she was here, but I now understand that she didn’t want to be and I respect that. It’s taken me a long time to feel like that.
I miss her and the sisterly relationship we had, but now the memories make me smile more than they bring tears. I hope she is happy, wherever she is. I like to imagine she is with our adored late father sailing somewhere sunny and warm, as they loved to do.
Talking about her really helps and my counsellor friend told me to make sure I didn’t lock Julia in a box. Mum and I shared memories and looked at photos before her dementia made that too difficult.
The world was a much better place with my sister in it and I could cry about her loss every day, but I know she wouldn’t want that for me. I made a silent promise to us both that I would try to live the best and happiest life I can in her memory.
Where do I see myself in five years from now? I haven’t a clue. As organised as I am in my day-to-day, I am not someone who maps out the rest of their life. It’s enough for me to focus on the next month, indeed even the next week. I hope I will still be working, doing what I love, and that I will be fit and healthy.
Quite early on, my counsellor said, ‘Ruth, your marriage is over, and you won’t be able to see the light and move forward until you accept that.’ And she was right, but I had to go through the grieving process first. Like they always say, after the darkness comes the dawn. Heartbreak is heartbreak, but it’s not going to kill you.
I have impressed myself. I know I shouldn’t say this, but I look at myself now and what I have been through, and I say, ‘Do you know what, Ruth? Bloody well done!’
Several times recently I have been asked if I’m back on the dating scene and it bemuses me, because why would I want to jump into a new relationship when I’m still dealing with the emotional fallout of the old one?
Someone asked if I was looking for Mr Right and I thought, isn’t that a rather old-fashioned concept? Plus, I thought I had found my soulmate, my Mr Right, and look what happened there.
I didn’t expect to be single aged 66, but here I am. I didn’t expect not to have my sister, either, or for my wonderful mum to have Alzheimer’s. There is no changing it and I’m not making any big, bold moves or significant plans.
While I don’t think that a woman needs a man to be happy, it’s important to say that I have not been put off relationships or even marriage, but neither am I out there looking for a new partner.
The other morning, I was standing in my kitchen looking out of the window. It was a beautiful day, the sun was streaming in, filling the room with its positive warmth. I had music on in the background and the coffee machine was gurgling away.
My adored border collie cross Maggie was snoozing in her bed and the day stretched out luxuriously in front of me with no plans. I realised that this feeling I had was contentment. I was happy.
This hadn’t been a conscious thought; it came over me in a quiet moment of reflection and peace. It has been hard won, and yet here I am. And I can’t wait to see what will become of me.
My mid-life survival tips
Life doesn’t finish in middle age. It can begin. Whether you are 40 or 60, in a relationship or not, working hard or heading to retirement, settling in at home or ready to travel, every single day is precious. Sometimes we just need a little nudge or a few wise words to keep us steady. These are things I say to myself that may help you:
- Don’t panic. I never look like I am panicking, but I can feel it in my gut and I have to remind myself it’s wasting energy.
- No sudden moves. In my experience, a kneejerk reaction will give you the wrong result. Don’t cut your hair, change career or sell your house until you’re sure you are making those decisions for the right reasons.
- Don’t look back – nothing is to be gained from going over the past, raging against what could have been and where things went wrong. The same goes for being stuck in a time when we were happiest. We need to forge ahead to find the next joy.
- Carry on with what you are doing – let’s not spend our lives looking left or right at what others are up to.
- This is your life – it’s not your children’s, or your partner’s or your parents’. It’s yours.
Adapted from Feeling Fabulous by Ruth Langsford (Hodder & Stoughton, £22), to be published February 26. © Ruth Langsford 2026. To order a copy for £18.70 (offer valid to 07/03/26; UK P&P free on orders over £25) go to www.mailshop.co.uk/books or call 020 3176 2937.
