Poor Tess Daly and Vernon Kay. Their split, announced last week, sounds amicable but nonetheless, ending a 23-year marriage is no easy decision, even if it is a mutual one.
It will inevitably involve some sadness and upheaval for the couple and their two daughters, aged 21 and 16. I feel nothing but sympathy, especially for Tess, 57.
As a woman in your fifties, it is tough to suddenly find that all your assumptions about the life ahead, as part of a couple, have been destroyed.
I should know, having got divorced last year after 24 years of marriage. It is destabilising to realise that you won’t grow old or become grandparents together, that you will be living alone for the first time in decades.
It leaves you with blank pages in place of the future chapters you had sketched out.
But uncertainty, by its nature, comes with a silver lining of opportunity.
According to some reports, Tess had wanted the couple to take a “grown-up gap year” following her departure from Strictly Come Dancing, to do something a bit “selfish” after years of hard graft in showbiz. But Vernon couldn’t commit to taking too much time away from his Radio 2 show.
Whether that impasse had anything to do with their split, or was a symptom of their diverging paths, Tess is now free to take a grown-up gap year on her own. And I strongly recommend that she – and anyone else facing a mid-life crossroads – seizes that chance if they can.
Two years ago, I did exactly that. Not in the wake of divorce but when my marriage was heading for the rocks, like a ship with a hold full of dynamite. Neither of us was ready to concede that it was over, and we were still making efforts to correct our course, but as we later admitted to each other, it had been doomed for a while.
Tess Daly, who has announced her separation from her husband Vernon Kay, is said to be keen to take a year off and go travelling (Photo: Dave Benett/Getty)Yet we clung on, fearful of what lay the other side, unwilling to upend our children’s world, particularly with A-levels and university exams looming. It wasn’t all misery. We often made each other laugh, but our social lives were becoming increasingly separate, our views and values were deviating, and I felt hurt and resentful. As a result, I was little fun to live with.
Perhaps, I thought, if I could just escape from the domestic pressure cooker, I would get the time and perspective I needed to think.
Some people might have gone on a meditation or yoga retreat, but these have never appealed. I prefer exploring. I worked out that it would cost me the same to spend 10 weeks backpacking in Southeast Asia as a week in a swanky wellness retreat in Europe drinking green juice and chanting “Om”. With a small pot of savings, I could still pay the mortgage. And as a self-employed writer, I didn’t need to negotiate time away from work.
My husband was not thrilled that I didn’t invite him to share any of it, but as no fan of heat, humidity or backpacking, he would have loathed it. Besides, he had a book to finish.
Some friends thought it was a brilliant plan and decided to join me for two or three-week stretches. Others, unaware of the strains behind our public facade as a happy couple, were surprised. Was this a mid-life crisis? Wasn’t it a bit selfish?
Well, yes, it was, but it was essential for my sanity. I’d always scoffed at the idea of people going travelling to “find” themselves, but I realised that was exactly what I needed to do.
Over the years, like many people, I felt I had lost a bit of who I had been. The adventurer who hitchhiked through eastern Zimbabwe, laughed in the face of danger and made friends everywhere had become submerged by domesticity and work. I could never be that person again, but I wanted to retrieve some of that fearlessness and openness.
The timing was good: my son was in his final year of university and my daughter was embarking on her own post-A-level travels. So, a few months after turning 50, I headed for Heathrow.
Over 10 weeks, often with friends, but sometimes alone, I explored Cambodia, Laos and Thailand. I trekked in jungles, kayaked down rivers, swam in sparkling seas and under waterfalls, climbed hills to watch the sunrise, and met some wonderful people including several women who were also travelling solo, some after a divorce or bereavement, as well as couples taking extended holidays, sabbaticals or early retirement.
The whole experience was exhilarating, revitalising and utterly joyful. Instead of a worried frown, I wore a permanent grin and slept better than I had for years, even in a hammock in the jungle.
I also talked over my domestic situation with my friends. It felt easier, less disloyal to confide in them when far from home. The relief at unburdening myself was intense. They helped me see that I was not as trapped as I felt. That life was for living, not enduring, that an unhappy marriage was ultimately not good for me, my husband or my children.
Even so, when I returned home, it took another six months before I finally filed for divorce.
I have no doubt that it would have taken even longer – or I might not have done it at all – had I not taken my mini gap year.
I hadn’t climbed Everest, saved lives or done anything particularly admirable, but for me it was enough. I had proved to myself that I had the independence and courage to go it alone, and that while I had failed to find, or create, lasting happiness in my marriage, I was adept at finding it elsewhere – in travel, in nature, in friendship and adventure.
And this has been the case. I am a hundred times happier than before. My ex-husband is too. We divorced amicably and remain friendly. The children have coped admirably and think that we made the right decision.
Tess Daly strikes me as a resilient, resourceful person. I hope she takes her grown-up gap year, not the one she had originally planned, but an even better one. And I hope it brings her joy, peace and optimism as it did for me.
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