Hi Reader

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 decades 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 happens to almost everyone, usually somewhere between month three and month nine. I call it Day 182... the most dangerous day in retirement (look out for more in this in the coming weeks)

You're sat there on a Tuesday morning - might be Wednesday, does it even matter anymore - you've got your coffee, you've read the paper or scrolled the news or whatever it is you do now, and you look up and think...

"Right, now what?"

Not in an exciting "the world is my oyster" way, more in a "who am I supposed to be today" kind of way.

John - thirty years as a head teacher - said it to me last month, he goes:

And I'm sat there nodding because I've heard this exact thing about loads over the last few years..

Sarah, senior nurse, she said:

Look, here's what I'm seeing - people don't struggle with retirement because they miss their job, most people are genuinely delighted to be shot of the commute and the office bollocks and Derek from accounts who microwaved fish every bloody Thursday.

What they're struggling with is something nobody prepared them for, they miss being useful, having a purpose, being necessary to the world in some tangible way that actually matters.

We spend months - sometimes years - planning the money side, making sure the pension's sorted, the numbers work, doing all these projections and stress tests, 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 forty years, just FYI that might sting a bit."

And then you're six months in wondering why you feel so weird about the whole thing.

WHAT I THINK IS REALLY GOING ON

Okay so I've started calling this The Identity Hangover.

Stay with me on this.

You know how a proper hangover isn't really about the alcohol still being in your system, it's about what's gone - the water, the sleep, all the stuff your body needed, you feel absolutely dreadful because you're out of balance even though the thing that caused it left hours ago.

Retirement's a bit like that, bit of a reach maybe but hear me out.

The job is gone, good, you probably wanted it gone, you were counting down the days, but what's also disappeared is this whole framework that's been quietly telling you who you are for decades - what you're worth, that you matter, how to fill your days, where you fit in the world.

Your role gave you all of that didn't it, teacher, accountant, nurse, manager, engineer, whatever, that wasn't just what you did - it was a massive chunk of who you were.

And here's the bit that makes it worse, our entire culture is absolutely obsessed with being productive and useful, your worth gets tied to what you produce, what you contribute, what you achieve, it's everywhere, you can't escape it.

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 Christ that feels strange doesn't it.

Even if you hated your job - even if you were literally counting down the days on a calendar like a kid waiting for Christmas - there was still something deeply solid about being needed, about having a role, about mattering in a way you could actually point to.

This is why that question becomes so awkward, you know the one, "what do you do?" because in our culture that question isn't really asking what you do, it's asking "what makes you valuable, why do you matter, what's your point?"

And "I'm retired" doesn't answer that does it, it just marks you as someone who used to have an answer, someone who's done their bit and is now just sort of... here.

Some people try to fill this gap immediately, like within the first month they've lined up volunteer work, taken on the grandkids three days a week, started consulting, joined every committee going, they're basically trying to rebuild that feeling of being needed and having a role and being useful.

Sometimes that works brilliantly, sometimes it just recreates the exact same pressure you thought you'd left behind which is a bit depressing really.

Other people go completely the opposite way - they reject the whole idea that they need to be "useful" to have worth, they lean hard into rest and leisure and finally just being instead of constantly doing doing doing.

Sometimes that works brilliantly too, sometimes it leaves them feeling like they've completely lost the plot of their own life and they're just drifting around wondering what the point is.

Here's what I reckon is actually happening though - you're not just retiring from a job, you're retiring from an entire identity, and you haven't built a new one yet, you don't even know what the new one looks like.

And that's not something you sort out in week one, or month six, or honestly even year one for most people.

It's a transition, a proper messy uncomfortable one where you're grieving who you were while simultaneously trying to figure out who you're becoming, and our culture gives you approximately zero help with this because we're absolutely rubbish at talking about identity shifts that don't come with a promotion or a pay rise or something you can stick on LinkedIn.

The people I see who handle this best, they're not the ones who immediately find some shiny new "purpose" to replace the old one like they're swapping out car parts, they're the ones who give themselves permission to be in the weird in-between bit for a while, to feel a bit lost, to try things without knowing if they'll stick, to experiment with different versions of themselves without needing to commit to any of them yet.

They're building a new relationship with worth, one that isn't about productivity or usefulness or having a role that sounds impressive at dinner parties, and that's slow work, really slow, hard work, because it goes against literally everything we've been taught since we were about five years old about what makes a person matter.

But it's the work, there's no shortcut around it, you can't productivity hack your way through an identity crisis it turns out.

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.