New Beginnigs Are Hard

...but not as hard as forgoing your dreams.

I spent seven years training to be a barrister. Halfway through the Bar course, an uncomfortable and persistent thought kept entering my mind : “This is not for you”.

I pushed it away and threw myself into drafting opinions, advices and particulars of claim. I took on more pro bono cases and stepped into the real world of advocacy, representing clients at Fitness to Practise tribunals.

But it remained.

I graduated from the Bar course with a high distinction and relished every minute of my Call ceremony. There I was, all robed and wigged, standing in a moment I had worked so hard for - and yet still, the thought wheedled its way to the forefront of my mind.

After the Bar course, I threw myself into pupillage application season. It only comes around once a year, and I managed to secure several interviews. But with each invite, my heart sank. The possiblity of a life at the Bar was becoming a distinct reality.

I had also started a new role as a freelance advocate, representing clients in county court in small claims, possession, and injunction hearings. Rather than being an energising and exhilarating experience, I felt drained - dreading each hearing dispite doing well and achieving favourable outcomes for my clients.

“But I simply cannot step away”, I reasoned. I had spent a small fortunte on my professional training, not to mention the hundreds of hours of family and personal time sacrificed on the alter of ‘career change’.

Pupillage interviews went well. I was invited to the second round.

Dread. Not elation.

I determined that if I didn’t receive an offer this year, I would not pursue this path.

Elation! “Thank you for interviewing with Chambers but…”

I knew it was time to sit down and honestly evaluate what it was that I wanted to do “when I grow up”.

Can a midlife woman still be asking herself that question?

Absolutly!

Why this, why now

In my wrestling - it cannot be sugar-coated, for the introspective and explorative process is painful - I caught sight of nine-year old me: an avid reader and book-lover who lived in the imaginary worlds of my favourite childhood authors. So much so that my father nicknamed me ‘Horizontal Harriet’ because I was always lying on my bed with my nose stuck in a book!

Photo by Jonathan Francisca on Unsplash

I had submitted a story to a competition our local newspaper was running - and I won! My story was published in the newspaper: my first taste of author life!

At that point, I had never felt prouder. My writing was deemed good enough to be published! I determined then and there that I would be a writer - an author of wonderful stories that transported my readers into the worlds that I myself loved to inhabit, sharing in the adventures of the characters who became much-loved friends.

Midlife has a way of forcing you to confront yourself. It’s a season that brings deep, often uncomfortable questions to the surface: Where have I come from? Where am I going? Is the destination truly of my choosing, or have I simply been swept along by the current of life? These reflections can feel unsettling, but they also offer a powerful opportunity to pause, take stock, and begin to move forward with renewed intention.

Photo by gretta vosper on Unsplash

And that is how I’ve found myself here. I had packed away the dreams of nine-year-old me, tucking them into a box labelled ‘not practical’—because I needed a ‘real job’ in a grown up world. But I would venture to say that writing is a real job. In fact, I owe it to myself—and so does anyone else with a long-held creative calling—to pursue that dream. To immerse myself fully in the craft of writing: creating characters, plots, and sub-plots that, like an orchestral movement, builds towards a crescendo—showcasing the artistry and mastery of one's work.

2. Whereto from here?

While I’ve spent the best part of a decade ‘lawyering’, I have still kept my hand in on the writing front. I have regularly contributed to an educational nature based publication and I have kept a personal blog where I write about various musings.

Photo by Héctor J. Rivas on Unsplash

As I pursue my literary dreams I realise that I am essentially in the starting block. There is much to be done in growing as wordsmith and much to learn. This Substack space is my starting block as I immerse myself in the writing and literary life.

3. Will you join me on the journey?

Helen Redfern

recently wrote a three-year Anniversary Essay on her Substack which resonated with me. She said,

The advice at the time was to build up your subscribers before launching the paid element. Not one to live by creative ‘rules’, I turned paid on immediately because otherwise I knew I would have low-level anxiety about doing it ‘one day in the future’. I did it because then it was done. Three years later, I have no regrets about that at all. In fact, I think it helped me get over the whole, my writing isn’t worth paying for issue that I had. -

Helen Redfern

Her transparency with her own battles with impostor syndrom echo my own. Like her, I know that if I do not turn on the paid element immediatly, I will convince myself that my writing is simply not worthy.

I’m still refining my offerings so this may change slightly but here is what you can expect from me:

Free Subscribers

• Book Reviews/Recommendations

• Weekly Reflections

• Pages from my Nature Journal

Paid subscribers can expect to also get access to:

• Short stories

• Personal Essays (monthly or every second month)

• Behind-the-scenes glimpses of my creative work and process

This space is more than a newsletter—it's a declaration. A commitment to myself to no longer sideline the call to write. A quiet rebellion against the idea that it’s too late, or that dreams expire with age. I’m here to put pen to paper, to honour the voice of that nine-year-old girl, and to grow into the writer I was always meant to be. If you’ve ever felt the tug of an old dream, if you're standing at your own crossroads, unsure but curious—then I invite you to walk this path with me. Let's discover, together, what might still be possible in this brave and beautiful second act.

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