Member since December 2024
I've been a bookseller, a journalist, a corporate communications manager—and one summer, a seamstress of "trick" costumes for magicians—all this before roles as a Organizational Development Consultant, Executive Coach and Public Speaker.
I thought I had mastered personal and professional change and transition.
Then I turned 60, stopped working and moved to Montreal care for my father. Shortly after his death, I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and simultaneously was losing movement in my dominant hand. All these lifequakes left me wondering who I was and what was next.
After some travel, home repairs and various projects, I was lost. Bit by bit, however, I found my way back to fulfillment, meaning and purpose, some of which involved returning to my earlier-in-life interests, but most of which was creating a new way of thinking about what retirement means—and specifically, how it's different for women.
Cue my own third act: leveraging my coaching expertise to help women navigate one of the most mentally, physically and emotionally challenging times of life.
Transition to retirement for Professional Women
Personal/professional growth
Women's Leadership
Non-financial retirement planning
Human Potential
Nothing can prepare you for caring for a parent with Alzheimer’s disease. And likewise, nothing can prepare you for the aftermath, when a complicated mix of sadness, grief and relief takes over your days, and leaves you feeling both at sea and guilty once your loved one dies.
The guilt, I have since learned is common. Was I there enough? Did I do enough? Could I have done more? — all questions that haunt you for a long time afterwards. Then there’s the loss of a meaningful role, of being a steady and loving presence in the face of so much unpredictability.
In my case, what was most surprising after the death of my father and the accompanying grief, was how much I missed being able to care for him, as hard as it was. Cleaning his apartment, doing laundry, buying groceries and making meals, coordinating medical appointments, managing bill payments, washing and cutting his hair, and just sitting with him — any caregiver will recognize how wide-ranging and involved all this is.
And because it takes up so much time, caregiving gives you an identity, a focus and a purpose, all the while being demanding, exhausting, frustrating and stressful. There’s no doubt it takes up a lot of mental, physical and emotional energy: you put aside parts of your life, such as work or your social life, to be there for your ailing parent or loved one.
I had starting cutting my hours of work as I approached retirement, and cut them further to make room in my week for his care. After his death, my caregiving role disappeared, and because I had mostly stopped my consulting work at this point, I no longer had much of a professional role either. This created a sense of emptiness, disconnection and loss that was separate from the grief. These feelings lasted long after my father’s death in part due to the loss of my caregiving identity, but also because my social network had shrunk and I was too exhausted to invest in activities outside the home.
Following a degree in Human Nutrition and Biochemistry, I walked away from academia to pursue a variety of literary interests, and eventually found myself back in school for my Masters in Education with a focus on Organizational Change. I added a professional coaching certification to this, having discovered the power of self-awareness and intentional behaviour change in helping people and organizations transform themselves.
Now, having experienced retirement and learning it's not about free time—it's a intense experience of rebuilding identity and purpose—I've shifted my coaching practice from leadership and organizational change to the personal transformation when transitioning to retirement.
Nothing can prepare you for caring for a parent with Alzheimer’s disease. And likewise, nothing can prepare you for the aftermath, when a complicated mix of sadness, grief and relief takes over your days, and leaves you feeling both at sea and guilty once your loved one dies.
The guilt, I have since learned is common. Was I there enough? Did I do enough? Could I have done more? — all questions that haunt you for a long time afterwards. Then there’s the loss of a meaningful role, of being a steady and loving presence in the face of so much unpredictability.
In my case, what was most surprising after the death of my father and the accompanying grief, was how much I missed being able to care for him, as hard as it was. Cleaning his apartment, doing laundry, buying groceries and making meals, coordinating medical appointments, managing bill payments, washing and cutting his hair, and just sitting with him — any caregiver will recognize how wide-ranging and involved all this is.
And because it takes up so much time, caregiving gives you an identity, a focus and a purpose, all the while being demanding, exhausting, frustrating and stressful. There’s no doubt it takes up a lot of mental, physical and emotional energy: you put aside parts of your life, such as work or your social life, to be there for your ailing parent or loved one.
I had starting cutting my hours of work as I approached retirement, and cut them further to make room in my week for his care. After his death, my caregiving role disappeared, and because I had mostly stopped my consulting work at this point, I no longer had much of a professional role either. This created a sense of emptiness, disconnection and loss that was separate from the grief. These feelings lasted long after my father’s death in part due to the loss of my caregiving identity, but also because my social network had shrunk and I was too exhausted to invest in activities outside the home.
Following a degree in Human Nutrition and Biochemistry, I walked away from academia to pursue a variety of literary interests, and eventually found myself back in school for my Masters in Education with a focus on Organizational Change. I added a professional coaching certification to this, having discovered the power of self-awareness and intentional behaviour change in helping people and organizations transform themselves.
Now, having experienced retirement and learning it's not about free time—it's a intense experience of rebuilding identity and purpose—I've shifted my coaching practice from leadership and organizational change to the personal transformation when transitioning to retirement.
