There I was, walking the same familiar streets I'd wandered decades ago, and honestly? I was a mess of emotions. Amsterdam does that to me - it always has.

You see, when I lived here in my late thirties and forties, I was a completely different woman. I'd moved countries for love - left Cape Town behind to build a life with my husband in this beautiful, bewildering city. I was drowning in Dutch lessons twice a week, goldsmith classes on the other evenings, trying to forge an identity in a place where I could barely order coffee without stumbling over the language.

But the real battle wasn't with Dutch grammar or learning to navigate a bicycle in the chaotic traffic. It was with my own body, my own dreams of motherhood. Three fertility doctors - in South Africa and the Netherlands - had delivered their verdict with clinical certainty: I couldn't have children. “Use a donor egg or adopt” they said.

Well, for those of you who know me, know that I was going not going to accept that lying down. In my typical determined fashion, I raged ahead anyway. And at 40, against all medical odds, I held my miracle baby in my arms. Sometimes the universe rewards audacity with grace.

Walking these streets again now, in my mid-fifties, I'm struck by the parallels. Then, like now, I was in the midst of monumental change. Then, like now, I was having to summon courage I wasn't sure I possessed. The difference is that now I know what I'm capable of.

Amsterdam gave me more than just my child and a second language. It gave me soul sisters - women who walked into my life like gifts from the universe and who remain some of my dearest friends today. The bonds we forged over shared struggles and small victories have weathered decades and continents.

And that's what makes leaving so bittersweet. Again.

Because here's what I've learnt about reinvention in midlife: it's never just about the place you're going to - it's about honouring all the places that shaped you along the way. The geography of our becoming isn't linear. Sometimes we need to circle back to collect the pieces of ourselves we left behind, not to remain stuck in nostalgia, but to integrate our hard-won wisdom with that original spark of possibility.

I have incredible friends in Johannesburg and Cape Town too, and therein lies both the blessing and the burden of a life well-lived across borders. You accumulate these precious connections everywhere you plant roots, and leaving always feels like tearing a piece of your heart away.

But perhaps that's the point. Perhaps having your heart scattered across continents is proof that you've lived boldly, loved deeply, and refused to play it safe.

Amsterdam in those earlier years taught me that I was stronger than I knew. Amsterdam in my fifties is teaching me something even more valuable: that strength without softness is just armour, and I no longer need to protect myself from my own tenderness. I am soft and tender and vulnerable underneath all the coping capabilities that I’ve developed my entire life. Now, uncovering my most vulnerable part of myself which I will share with you in the coming weeks - my mother wound, has brought all of everything from the depths of my soul to the surface and here I am, at 56, becoming the woman I was always meant to be. Deliberately searching for and uncovering the root of all my pain and anger has been the most radical thing I’ve done to grow and develop both emotionally and spiritually.

Sometimes the most radical act of reinvention isn't about becoming someone new - it's about returning to the places that first cracked you open, and discovering you're brave enough to stay open.

Where might you need to return to move forward?

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