Re Fired, Not Retired

I’m sixty-eight, not out, and to me, that means I’ve been through the hoops, jumped a few hurdles, taken a few knocks, and I’m still going. I prefer to say I’m re-fired, not retired. Life hasn’t slowed down. It has simply changed shape, and I’ve changed with it.

People often ask how we discover who we really are. I’m still figuring that out.

Becoming her, becoming the woman I was meant to be, has been a lifelong process, full of twists, turns, surprises, and lessons I didn’t always recognise at the time. Looking back now, I can see that life was shaping me all along. The trouble was, I couldn’t see it while I was in the middle of it.

I grew up on a farm in Scotland, a shy wee girl who was afraid of just about everything. Going to school on the big bus was scary. Meeting new people was scary. Speaking up was definitely scary. I spent many years feeling insignificant, unheard, and unseen. I never quite felt I fit in.

My happy place was a book, and truth be told, it still is.

As an introvert, books were my escape, my adventure, and sometimes my hiding place. Hidden inside that shy little girl was a dream of becoming a teacher, but I never believed I had much to offer.

For a long time, I thought something was wrong with me because I wasn’t like the louder, more outgoing people around me. It took years to realise that becoming her didn’t mean becoming someone else. It meant becoming comfortable with who I already was. That took time.

My working life began early, at age twelve, in my aunt and uncle’s caravan park shop. Then came supermarket retail on Saturdays and after school. Even after gaining an Associate Degree in Computing, I somehow ended up in banking, initially terrified of calling people to the counter.

Life has a funny way of stretching us when we least expect it. Moving from Scotland to Australia at twenty-five stretched me in ways I never imagined.

Today, I can stand in front of an audience and speak publicly without batting an eyelid. Interestingly, I’m still an introvert. Becoming her didn’t mean becoming an extrovert. It meant learning to show up without losing myself.

Forty-six years after arriving in Australia, my husband and I have two children, five grandchildren, and countless reasons to be grateful. But somewhere along the journey of being a wife, mother, employee, volunteer, and helper, I seemed to lose sight of myself.

I remember sitting with someone one day when they asked me a simple question:

“What does Linda want?”

Without thinking, I replied, “I don’t mind. Where do you want to go for coffee?”

The question came back again.

“No, what does Linda want?”

I was completely stumped.

Years of fitting in, keeping the peace, and pleasing people had left me disconnected from myself. Somewhere along the journey, I’d lost my own voice.

So I began the process of finding myself again. I learned about boundaries. I learned that having an opinion wasn’t selfish. I learned that saying no didn’t make me a bad person.

Most importantly, I learned that my voice mattered too.

These days, I can actually answer the question.

Not every season of becoming is exciting. Some seasons are exhausting. I spent many years in pastoral care, multiple roles, much learning, and paddling like a duck to stay afloat. Somewhere in the mix of working as a career counsellor for five years, I hit a wall.

Compassion fatigue, stress, and burnout caught up with me. I’d spent years helping other people find direction, yet suddenly I wasn’t sure where my own direction lay.

I remember feeling lost.

Then one day, I had a lightbulb moment, one of those “Aha!” moments that arrive.

“If I were a client sitting across from me right now, what would I tell them to do?”

The very advice I’d spent years giving others came flying straight back at me.

Rather than feeling sorry for myself, I started a blog called Inspired2Shine. It gave me a creative outlet and helped me keep moving forward.

I discovered resilience.

I also discovered something else:

We are human beings, not human doings.

For years, I’d attached much of my value to what I did, how much I achieved, how useful I was, and how much I helped others. When those things were stripped back, I had to ask myself a deeper question:

Who is Linda?

One of the worst things is not believing you have anything worthwhile to offer. Imposter syndrome is very real. For years, I assumed other people were smarter, more capable, and more qualified than me, while overlooking the wisdom and resilience life had been building within me.

These days, I’ve learned to do it afraid.

Write the book afraid. Create the course afraid. Put myself out there afraid.

I’ve also learned to be okay if something doesn’t work. At least I tried. At least I stepped forward instead of wondering, “What if?”

There is something incredibly liberating about that.

Eight months ago, something unexpected happened. On Boxing Day 2025, I had a vivid dream that stayed with me long after I woke. In the dream, I saw a mural with the words “Love in a Cup.” I couldn’t shake it.

Looking back now, I can see that dream marked the beginning of a new season, a season of writing, creating, believing again, and hoping again.

Totally unexpected!

The creative floodgates opened. Courses, frameworks, visual resources, and my first self-published book flowed from a lifetime of experience I hadn’t fully appreciated.

I realised I wasn’t starting from scratch.

I was starting from experience.

I love encouraging older women not to put themselves on the shelf. It’s okay to start again. It’s okay to create again. It’s okay to dream again.

At sixty-eight, I find myself in one of the most creative and purposeful seasons of my life.

Who would have thought?

Certainly not that shy wee Scottish girl with her nose buried in a book, hiding from customers behind a counter.

If there is one thing I hope you take from my story, it is this:

You are enough. Your story matters.

Your experiences matter. Your voice matters.

You may not see it yet, but there is a storehouse of wisdom, strength, and potential within you that has been built through every season of your life.

Don’t dismiss it. Don’t compare it. Don’t hide it.

Share it.

At sixty-eight, I’m still becoming her.

In my fifties, I studied again to gain new qualifications. Don’t be afraid. Celebrate your uniqueness and diversity, and jump a few hurdles.

Physically, I’m a wee bit old and stiff for that, but I say:

“Go you! Become the gift you’re created to be in this world.”

Linda Brown