Hi Reader

A few months after you retire, someone asks how it's going and you say "yeah brilliant, loving it" because that's what you're supposed to say.

But inside there's this tiny voice going "God I actually miss bits of it" and you feel like an absolute idiot because you're not supposed to miss work, you spent years moaning about it, and now you've got all this freedom and you should be delighted shouldn't you.

Except nobody warned you that leaving your job isn't just leaving a job, it's losing this massive chunk of who you thought you were, and that's a bit rough actually.

So let's talk about the bit nobody mentions.

THIS WEEKS SUBJECT IS...

WHAT I'VE NOTICED

There's this moment that seems to happen to almost everyone. Usually hits somewhere between month three and month nine and it's the moment I call Day 182... The most dangerous day in retirement!

You're sitting there on a Tuesday morning. Could be Wednesday. Honestly, does it even matter anymore? That's sort of the point.

You've got your coffee. You've read the paper, scrolled the news, whatever. And you look up and think:

"Right. Now what?"

Not in an exciting way. More in a "who am I supposed to be today?" kind of way.

John, who spent 30 years as a head teacher said it to me last month: "I used to wake up and I was needed. Every single day. Dozens of decisions that only I could make, problems that needed solving, people waiting for my input. Now I wake up and... nothing. Nobody needs me for anything. I just feel... optional."

Sarah, who was a senior nurse, told me something similar: "I used to say 'I'm a nurse' and people got it immediately. It meant something. Now when someone asks what I do, I say 'I'm retired' and the conversation just dies."

And look, here's what I'm noticing. People don't struggle with retirement because they miss their job. Most people are genuinely delighted to be shot of the commute, the office bollocks, the targets, all of it.

What they're struggling with is something else entirely. They miss being useful. Having a purpose. Being necessary to the world in some way that actually matters.

We spend ages planning the money side... making sure the pension's sorted, the numbers work, all that. But nobody sits you down and says: "By the way, you're about to lose the main way you've understood who you are for the last 40 years. Just so you know, that might sting a bit."

WHAT I THINK IS REALLY GOING ON

I call this the Identity Hangover.

You know how a hangover isn't really about the alcohol still being in your system? It's about what's gone - the water, the sleep, everything your body needed. You feel rough because you're out of balance, even though the thing that caused it has long since left.

Retirement's a bit like that.

The job is gone. Good. You probably wanted it gone. But what's also disappeared is this whole framework that's been telling you who you are for decades:

• What you're worth
• That you matter
• How to fill your days
• Where you fit

Your role gave you all of that. Teacher, accountant, nurse, manager, whatever. That wasn't just what you did, it was who you was!

And here's the bit that makes it worse... Our entire culture is obsessed with being productive and useful. Your worth gets tied to what you produce, what you contribute, what you achieve.

Then you retire and suddenly... you're not producing anything that society thinks is "valuable." You're not earning, not climbing, not building toward anything. You're just... being.

And my god, that feels strange.

Even if you hated your job, even if you were counting down the days, there was still something solid about being needed. About having a role. About mattering in a way you could point to.

This is why that question "What do you do?" becomes so awkward after you retire. Because in our culture, that question is really asking: "What makes you valuable? Why do you matter?"

And "I'm retired" doesn't answer that. It just marks you as someone who used to have an answer.

Some people try to fill this gap straight away. They line up volunteer work, take on the grandkids, start consulting, join every committee going. Trying to rebuild that feeling of being needed, having a role, being useful.

Sometimes that works brilliantly. Sometimes it just creates the same pressure you thought you'd left behind.

Other people go the opposite way, they reject the whole idea that they need to be "useful" to matter. They lean into rest, into finally just being instead of constantly doing.

Sometimes that works brilliantly too. Sometimes it leaves them feeling like they've lost the thread of their own life.

Here's what I reckon is actually happening.

You're not just retiring from a job. You're retiring from an identity. And you haven't built a new one yet.

That's not something you sort out in week one. Or month six. Or even year one, honestly.

It's a transition. A proper messy, uncomfortable one. You're grieving who you were while trying to figure out who you're becoming. And nobody gives you any help with this because we're absolutely rubbish at talking about identity shifts that don't come with a promotion.

The people I see who handle this best? They're not the ones who immediately find some new "purpose" to replace the old one. They're the ones who let themselves be in the weird in-between bit for a while. Feel a bit lost. Try things. Experiment with different versions of themselves without needing to commit.

They're building a new relationship with worth, one that isn't about productivity or usefulness or role. And that's slow work. Hard work. Because it goes against everything we've been taught about what makes a person matter.

But it's THE work. There's no way around it.

IF YOU WANT TO GO DEEPER

I wrote something recently that digs into the specific things people miss about work... the stuff you'd never admit at a dinner party but that's absolutely there under the surface.

It's called "The Things You Miss About Work That You'll Never Admit Out Loud" and it gets into the invisible glue that was actually holding your life together - the gossip, the chaos, the version of you that felt competent, all of it

Missing parts of work doesn't mean you want to go back, it means you're human and you're trying to figure out where those needs get met now, and honestly that's half the battle right there, just naming what's actually gone instead of pretending you're loving every minute of endless freedom.

A QUESTION(S) TO SIT WITH

Here's what I want you to think about this week, properly think about, not just skim past:

Not the money, not the obvious stuff, the invisible things... like feeling needed, being good at something, having a reason to get up and get dressed, being part of something, mattering in a way you could point to.

And here's the follow-up, the harder bit:

Not about replacing your career or being productive again or any of that, just honestly looking at what's missing and whether there are small ways those needs might be getting met or could be without recreating the same pressure you left behind.

Sit with it for a bit, maybe jot some thoughts down if that helps, because once you can name what you actually miss instead of just feeling vaguely off about the whole thing, you've got something to work with.

You're not trying to go back, you're trying to figure out who you're becoming, and that starts with being honest about what's gone.

P.S. - If you fancy sharing what you realised you miss most about your role, hit reply, I'd genuinely love to know, sometimes the things we miss are the ones we never thought to name until they weren't there anymore.