Have you ever considered walking away from it all to start anew? This thought was a constant companion for me over the years. My corporate career had become a source of disdain, its fiercely competitive atmosphere growing more toxic by the day.

No longer was a reliable paycheck enough to satisfy me. I yearned to carve out something for myself. Isn’t that a common ambition for many women as they reach their 50s?

Finally, in April 2023, I took the plunge and resigned from my position, hopeful that this was the beginning of a more fulfilling chapter in my life. After years of feeling unappreciated, I was eager to pursue something meaningful, confident that it would lead to great success.

However, the reality has been startlingly different—marked by financial setbacks, a bruised ego, and a diminished sense of self-worth. Most troubling of all has been the strain this decision has put on my marriage.

For years, I was the primary breadwinner in our household. I had quickly climbed the corporate ladder within the financial sector, supporting both my husband and myself throughout our 30s while Kevin, my husband, gradually built his career in the insurance industry.

In my last position as a high-pressure project manager in financial services, I earned £89,000 annually, supplemented by commission and a significant bonus, bringing my total income into the six-figure range. Meanwhile, Kevin’s stable job in insurance brought in a respectable yet smaller annual income of £60,000.

As a family of four – our daughter Sam is now 28 and son Jake, 22 – we were able to afford a good lifestyle: two big holidays a year and a semi-detached house on the outskirts of Oxford, not far from where Kevin grew up. 

Despite the salary difference, I considered us equals, and we managed the domestic burden between us with the help of childminders and a cleaner.

When I finally gave up my job in April 2023, writes Marion James, I felt certain it was the start of a happier phase of my life

I did sometimes have to travel for work, which put extra pressure on Kevin when the children were younger. But while he was sometimes grumpy about it, he also seemed to understand my absences were a necessary evil for us to maintain a good lifestyle.

But I grew to despise my job. In truth, my career mojo had never fully recovered after being sidelined on returning from maternity leave. I’d only stuck it out for the money and stability and the hope things would improve. 

Increasingly I hated the exhausting commute to London and when a much younger colleague was promoted over me and became my boss, it was the final straw. I took voluntary redundancy in April 2023.

Giving up that big wage didn’t feel like a risk back then. I met so many women who seemed to be making a good living as sole traders, it felt like a no brainer to join them.

In fact, women aged 50-59 make up the largest segment of the female self-employed population and in my case, at 53, it certainly felt like the right time for a fresh start. I planned to train as a life coach – a long-held dream to do something more meaningful and less stressful.

Kevin expressed some reservations, but I was totally on a mission and wouldn’t be dissuaded. And I had a generous redundancy payout of more than £40,000. What did I have to lose?

It was an exciting time. After treating my girlfriends and daughter Sam to a spa break in Morocco to celebrate my new lease of life, I signed up for an online life coaching course. Costing nearly £3,000, it was a long-term intensive programme with inspiring teachers, and I was studying alongside kindred spirits from all over the world. I felt like I’d found my people – and my purpose. 

A few years previously, I’d had some sessions with an incredible life coach, so I knew it really worked, and I loved the idea of escaping the cynical corporate world to help ­people live better lives.

So, training complete, I was all geared up to make it happen and, on the advice of a friend, signed up with her business coach to learn how to make a success of it. 

The coach advised me to get professional photos, and this along with the course itself, membership to a life coaching community, business cards, website design, marketing and attending business events came to nearly £15,000 in the first year.

At 53, Marion felt like that is was the right time for a fresh start. She planned to train as a life coach – a long-held dream to do something more meaningful and less stressful

Yet I was networking and meeting feisty, successful women living life on their own terms, and felt I was learning about a whole new world. It would all be worth it, right?

I loved the thought of being my own boss and enjoying the freedom that came with it, like my self-­employed friends seemed to.

But, after some initial success, the response to my new business hasn’t exactly been overwhelming.

Indeed, the gradually dawning reality of my situation has been quite a shock. I love my new profession but the pressure to keep finding new clients is relentless. I’ve managed to find a few – mainly through family and friends – but my income is patchy at best.

In fact, I’m mortified at how little I’ve earned. I have had the odd burst of success and boost to my income, but most months I make no more than £350.

Having no sick or holiday pay has come as a blow too. I’m used to a wage going into my account at the end of the month and taking time off when I’m ill. 

When you’re self-employed, you can’t take a break without feeling anxious, because when you’re not earning, you’re under pressure to keep marketing and networking to find more income opportunities.

The result is that my redundancy cash dwindled far too quickly, and I now rely financially on Kevin almost entirely, which has caused a huge shift in our relationship. And this is the biggest shock of all.

Until I left my job, I had always been financially independent, keeping my own bank account well in the black as well as contributing my share into the joint one for household costs. But now? I’ve just had to transfer the remaining £1,000 left over from my redundancy to our household account. This means Kevin will start to cover all the bills and household costs.

As Marion’s redundancy cash dwindled quickly, she came to rely on Kevin financially, which has caused a huge shift in their relationship, which has been the biggest shock of all 

I feel I have to ask his permission if I need anything. Even when I’m careful with my cash, I’m left with about £40 at the end of the month. 

Expensive beauty products, pedicures, manicures, facials and Botox sessions are a thing of the past – I now manage with the best face creams I can afford online or from my local high street chemist. I’ve learnt to live without my regular highlights and blow-dries – I have a trainee hairdresser friend of Sam’s colour and cut it for me.

I haven’t bought any clothes, apart from knickers, in the past year – me, who was used to adding designer gear to my wardrobe on a frequent basis, no questions asked.

I’ve got good at tightening my belt, but what’s unsettling is how Kevin is clearly enjoying having the upper hand, questioning every purchase. He even embarrassingly reminded me in front of our friends that he queried the wisdom of me giving up my corporate job. I can’t deny this – but I can’t believe he’d be so disloyal.

Resentfully, he paid for both our holidays last year – skiing in Italy in January and two weeks in Crete in September – but has said we’ll have to do without in 2026. 

This makes me cross – he isn’t short of cash and certainly manages to afford his twice-yearly golfing holidays in the Algarve with his friends. And haven’t I subsidised him all these years? It’s my income that’s allowed him to build up the nest egg he now has, after all.

The fact is, what I’d hoped would give me a new lease of life has succeeded only in making me feel like a failure. The impact on my mental health has been huge. After the excitement of starting afresh 18 months ago, convinced I’d be a huge success, my confidence is dwindling rapidly.

The irony is, I’ve swapped one form of relentlessness for another. Corporate life was exhausting, but at least there wasn’t this soul-­destroying need to constantly market myself on social media.

Of course it’s also deeply ironic that I’m coaching a couple of long-term clients (the few I do have) as they reevaluate their lives while my own ‘life transformation’ has barely got out of first gear. I feel like a fraud.

The sense of panic and dread I wake up with every day over my financial situation, says Marion, while my husband rolls his eyes or mutters disparaging comments, is making me a burnt-out mess

The sense of panic and dread I wake up with every day over my financial situation, while my husband rolls his eyes or mutters disparaging comments, is making me a burnt-out mess. And it’s all made worse, of course, by the fact I’m going through the menopause at the same time. 

Kevin is now openly critical of me and there have been some screaming rows. At times he pretends to be magnanimous and understanding, but I feel like he’s also using my struggles as leverage to throw his weight around. Sometimes he talks to me like I’m stupid and seems to enjoy putting me down.

He’s made a point of letting our son know that the rent he’s paying us while he looks for his own flat is compensating for my financial failures. At this rate I’m not sure my marriage will survive.

Of course, I understand how annoying it must be for Kevin to have to bail me out. He will have to pay most of my next tax bill, for example, though he’s already said this is the last year he can cover it. I suspect that will force me to find consulting work back in the financial industry – if I can. But it’ll feel like a huge step backwards and an admission of failure. I could ask my parents for financial support, but that feels humiliating at my age.

The worst thing is feeling like I have to compensate for my financial situation by doing all the housework and washing. I’ve always prided myself on being a feminist – or at least being able to afford a cleaner.

I know I’ve been naive about the realities of self-employment, but marriage is meant to be ‘for richer, for poorer’, and Kevin knew how miserable I was before I quit my job. This situation has shown up the flaws in our marriage and I’m now seeing a side to him that I don’t like. In fact, resentment cuts both ways – but I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to. What would I live on?

I’m used to having a great social life, but the Christmas party season was hell as I kept having to make excuses to friends because I simply couldn’t afford to pay my way. Some of them know I’m not doing well financially, but none realise just how bad it’s got.

My life has been reduced to staying at home and spending all my time on social media. I’m also self-medicating with far too much cheap wine in the evenings. Even when I was a student, I wasn’t this broke, and, with the cost of living soaring, it’s miserable to have to count every penny.

If you’re feeling gloomy as you return to work after the holidays and are tempted by the thought of leaving to launch your own venture, my advice is – don’t. Without ample savings, a supportive spouse and some kind of back-up income for the lean months, you could be falling into a financial trap like I have – and once you’re in it, you’re stuck.

According to an accountant friend who works with the self-employed, many wet-behind-the-ears business founders end up in this mess – in fact one-fifth of self-employed sole traders don’t survive one year, and the majority don’t survive five.

A lot of the ‘feisty, successful women living life on their own terms’ have a rich husband to back them – or a second income. Everyone makes out they’re so successful on social media, but once you look behind the smoke and mirrors of marketing posts, many are struggling like me.

I wish I’d never left my job, where I earned a good wage and had a great network and social life. Applying for jobs in financial services now, I don’t even get a reply, probably because I’m considered too old. So, I’m trying to get some contract work and crossing my fingers I won’t be this broke for ever.

My life has gone into free-fall since I quit my job. Yes, the environment in that company was toxic, but I’d happily embrace it again to avoid facing a new year without two pennies of my own to rub together.

• Marion James is a pseudonym.