From the Cover: Faye Chapman Says "My Divorce Made Me Feel Like a Failure"

In 2014, I got married.
At the time, it felt right.
I’d just earned my degree, finished my master’s, bought a house, secured a respectable job.

Marriage felt like the natural next step—another box to tick. Not the reason I did it, but the rhythm I was following.

A few years later, I overheard a woman in her 60s speaking to a friend.
“I’m so unhappy,” she said, her voice carrying the weight of resignation.
“It’s too late for me now.”
Something about that moment pierced through me. It was like time froze.

I saw a possible future—one I didn’t want.
I wasn’t unhappy, exactly.
But I wasn’t alive either.
Life was just… fine.
And surely, we’re meant for more than ‘fine’.
I craved something deeper. More fulfilling.

It wasn’t enough to keep living by someone else’s idea of what a good life should be.
I didn’t know if I wanted children—he did.
I didn’t know if I could feel truly challenged and successful—something I desperately wanted.

But I knew one thing for certain:
I didn’t want to reach 60 and whisper to someone, “It’s too late for me now.”
I didn’t want to stay because others expected me to.
Or because I was afraid to hurt someone I loved.
Or too scared to choose myself.

When we ended things, the emotions were tangled.
Grief. Guilt. Shame.
I worried people saw me as the one who gave up.
I did hurt someone I once deeply cared for.

But staying would’ve been the true failure.
Leaving wasn’t giving up.
It was the bravest thing I’ve ever done.
I chose me.
I chose honesty.
I chose a future that had room for growth, joy, and maybe even magic.

That decision became the foundation of the courage I carry today.
The confidence I’ve built.
The woman I’ve become.

If you’ve faced a life-altering decision, you know the fear.
And if you’re standing at the edge of one now—ending a marriage, changing careers, moving to another country—
Or if life has chosen for you—redundancy, menopause, loss—
Please hear me:
It’s okay to be afraid.
But deep down, you already know what needs to be done.

To the woman I was back then: I’m proud of you.
And to you, reading this now: I’m proud of you too.
You’re not alone.

I’m walking this path with you—every brave, uncertain step of the way.