Retiring Young While Raising Adults: Our Unconventional Timeline

How We Got Here (a.k.a. The Math We Definitely Didn’t Do)

My husband and I met in our early thirties, when we were both already fully formed adults with careers and opinions. I worked in government, he taught grade school, and neither of us was wandering around “finding ourselves.” We found each other instead, which felt efficient.

We got married when I was in my mid-thirties and instantly became a blended family, welcoming his seven-year-old daughter (will son at that time, but that is a story for another time) into the mix. No pressure—just parenting on hard mode right out of the gate.

We knew we wanted kids together, and since biology does not care about your life plan, we moved quickly. I had my first daughter a year after we married and our second two years later. My husband was in his late thirties and early forties when our kids were born—older than most first-time dads in the delivery room, but not so old that the nurses looked concerned. So… still winning.

What we didn’t really think about back then was the math.
You know. Minor detail.

Starting a family later meant we’d be in our mid-fifties when our youngest graduated high school—almost perfectly lining up with our early retirement dates. At the time, retirement felt like a distant, dreamy finish line. So when we finally crossed it, we thought, We’re ready.
Narrator voice: They were not.

I retired at 55. My husband retired at 58. We are incredibly fortunate—excellent government pensions, solid financial security, the kind of stability people politely envy while asking, “So what are you going to do now?”

What we were actually doing was parenting.

At retirement, we had one child finishing high school, one in her second year of university, and my husband’s daughter from his first marriage navigating her late twenties and early career—also known as the “I’m an adult but still have questions” phase.

Our story doesn’t follow the traditional timeline. But really, whose does? Life rarely cooperates with neat sequences and colour-coded plans.

We’re one of those couples living in the overlap—retired but parenting, financially stable but emotionally confused, technically free but still packing lunches (not really. Lunch money was my new normal). This isn’t advice or a roadmap. It’s just the honest, slightly chaotic experience of navigating a life stage that refuses to stay in its lane. 😌

The Financial Blessing We Don’t Take for Granted (But Yes, We Hear About It)

Yes, we have two public sector pensions. And yes, people love to point that out—usually with a tone that suggests we won the lottery sometime in the late ’90s. “Wow, you’re so lucky!” they say. And sure, we are. No argument there.

But here’s the part that rarely makes it into the conversation: those pensions weren’t free. They didn’t fall from the sky. No pension fairy visited us in the night. We paid for them. For decades. Every. Single. Paycheque. Pension contributions came off the top, meaning our take-home pay was noticeably smaller than many of our private-sector friends who were out there enjoying bigger salaries and nicer lunches.

It was a trade-off. We chose future security over immediate gratification. Very glamorous at the time.

We also did the responsible thing and saved for our kids’ education while we were working. RESPs, ongoing support, part-time jobs—team effort. Nobody was handed a blank cheque, but nobody was abandoned to the student loan abyss either.

This financial setup now allows us to retire early without hyperventilating. We’re not lying awake at night choosing between our retirement and our kids’ education. We can do both. I fully understand how rare and privileged that is.

I also know many women our age are still working not because they’re deeply fulfilled, but because bills are persistent and pensions are mythical creatures. The kind of plans we benefited from are becoming increasingly uncommon, and that’s putting it mildly.

And let’s be clear—this wasn’t all hard work and virtue. Yes, we worked. But we also benefited from good timing, stable public-sector jobs, and plain old luck. I won’t pretend this was some heroic bootstrap story.

Here’s the twist no one talks about: even when the money is sorted, this life stage is still emotionally complicated. Turns out financial security doesn’t automatically come with a manual for letting go, redefining yourself, or figuring out what’s next. Who knew?

Identity Beyond Work and Parenting

For decades, my identity was neatly wrapped up in two very time-consuming roles: my career and motherhood. Between the two, they occupied most of my energy, brain space, and calendar. There wasn’t much room left for existential reflection—and honestly, I didn’t miss it.

Now, with my career officially ended and my children increasingly independent, I’ve had to face a question I’d been far too busy to ask: Who am I when I’m not needed by everyone, all the time?

I’ve always been the person with the schedule. The deadlines. The important meetings. The color-coded calendar. Suddenly, I had wide-open, unstructured time—which sounds dreamy until you actually have it and realize you don’t know what to do with it.

Turns out, I’m not great at “nothing.”

Within four months, I was restless. So naturally, instead of learning to relax, I accepted a six-month contract with a bank. After that, I took on a two-year government management role—because clearly I just needed one more job to really understand retirement.

Now, as this contract comes to an end, I’m finally starting to get it. Retirement isn’t about stopping. It’s about choosing differently. I still feel like I have something valuable to contribute—but the mindset is completely different when work is optional.

Working post-retirement isn’t about climbing ladders or proving anything. It’s about engagement, purpose, and knowing you can walk away if it stops being worth your time. And honestly? That might be the best part of all.

What We’re Learning (So Far)

Retirement is not a moment—it’s a moving target.
We didn’t retire and immediately settle into some serene, well-lit version of life. There was no magical “ahhh” moment. Instead, retirement turned out to be an evolving phase that keeps changing the rules.

What early retirement looks like for us now will be completely different in five years—when all the kids are fully independent. Or at least, theoretically independent. We’re learning to hold our expectations loosely and adjust as this stage unfolds, because rigidity and reality are not friends.

Financial security doesn’t cancel emotional complexity.
Two pensions solved the money part. Bills get paid. We can help our kids. Panic is off the table. Very solid, very grateful.

What it didn’t do was magically provide purpose, identity, or a sense of fulfillment. Apparently, those are still our responsibility. Money bought us options—but choosing how to use those options required a whole different kind of work.

Flexibility beats perfect planning.
We entered retirement imagining complete freedom: spontaneous trips, slow mornings, and doing whatever we felt like that day. Adorable, really.

Instead, I realized fairly quickly that I wasn’t ready to stop working entirely. Within months, I was back—first one contract, then another. My husband, on the other hand, has embraced retirement with an enthusiasm I find both admirable and mildly suspicious.

But here’s what we both gained: flexibility without desperation.

We’re available when our daughters need help with college decisions. When my stepdaughter calls while navigating a major life choice. We can say yes to what matters because our pensions mean we’re not chasing paycheques. Relationships take time, and the security we built gives us the freedom to actually show up—even if my version of retirement looks nothing like the brochure.

There is no “right” timeline.
Our path—late parenthood, early retirement, kids still half-in and half-out—doesn’t follow the traditional sequence. Friends our age have grown children and grandchildren. Some are still climbing career ladders. We’re standing awkwardly in the middle, wondering how we got here.

And honestly? This unconventional timeline is teaching us things we never would have learned if life had gone “according to plan.” Turns out the messy middle has a lot to say—if you’re willing to listen.

Advice We’d Give Our Younger Selves

If I could go back to our thirties, would I do anything differently?
Maybe.
Maybe not.

Would I have children earlier? Possibly. But then they wouldn’t be these children—the ones I can’t imagine life without—so that thought ends pretty quickly.

Would I plan retirement differently? Honestly? I don’t know. We made the best decisions we could with the information we had at the time. And let’s be real—hindsight is a luxury, not a strategy.

What I would tell our younger selves is this:

Save aggressively.
Not in a panic way—but consistently. Boring, responsible saving. The kind that quietly changes your future. Financial security doesn’t solve everything, but it makes almost everything easier.

Take the long view on career planning.
Titles fade. Paycheques fluctuate. But benefits and pensions? Those matter more than anyone tells you when you’re young and invincible. Whether you have a pension plan or you’re self-funding your retirement, future-you will be deeply grateful you paid attention.

Stay physically healthy.
Retirement is far more enjoyable when your body cooperates. Feeling good makes freedom feel like freedom instead of a recovery period.

And finally—stop comparing your timeline to everyone else’s.
There is no single right order for building a life. Some people do everything “on time.” Some do it sideways. Some redo the whole thing. All of it counts.

If there’s one real takeaway, it’s this: you’re doing better than you think. Keep going.

Looking Forward (With Cautious Optimism and a Raised Eyebrow)

In a few years, our youngest will graduate from college, and our oldest will finish her second degree. The house will quiet down. The calendar will open up. Our days will be… well, I honestly don’t know yet. TBD.

When I first left my career at 55, I thought I had retirement figured out. Freedom. Time. Choice. The holy trinity. And for a while, I really did have all three. It was lovely.

Now, as my current contract winds down, I’m facing questions I didn’t expect to still be asking: Do I actually retire—or do I extend the contract? What does retirement even mean when you still want to work? Is there a definition for this, or are we all just making it up?

What I’m slowly learning is this: maybe retirement isn’t about stopping. Maybe it’s about choosing differently. Working when it feels meaningful. Saying no when it doesn’t. Accepting that the next chapter doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s highlight reel.

Right now, I’m still working. The “freedom” I once imagined feels a bit more theoretical than practical. But here’s the key difference—I’m not trapped. I have pensions. I have a safety net. I can walk away whenever I’m ready.

And that knowledge alone changes everything—even if I’m not quite done yet.

Spoiler alert: I extended the contract.

So yes, after all that reflection, questioning, and philosophical pondering about the meaning of retirement… I chose the option that involved another calendar, more meetings, and a continued sense of usefulness. Apparently, I’m not quite ready for full freedom just yet.

But this time it’s different. I’m working because I want to, not because I have to. And that distinction matters more than I ever expected.

Retirement, it turns out, isn’t a finish line. It’s more like a dimmer switch. And mine is still sliding slowly toward “off.” 😌

My Family's Food Revolution

Seasoned with Youth

When my youngest daughter was nine, life decided to casually toss me a brand-new anxiety I never asked for. She was diagnosed with psoriasis. Red marks showed up across her torso and along her hairline. It didn’t seem to bother her physically, but emotionally? Oh, she was embarrassed—and that alone was enough to send me into full mama bear mode.

So off to the dermatologist we went, expecting maybe a cream and a “no big deal.” Instead, the doctor looked at me and said it was the worst case of pediatric psoriasis she had ever seen. Ever. Love that for us. Then she calmly explained all the evolving treatments my daughter would likely need for the rest of her life.

I nodded. I smiled. I held it together like a champion.

Inside? Absolute panic.

The idea of increasing medications and lifelong treatments for my child was terrifying. I didn’t want that road for her. I didn’t want her growing up thinking her body was something that needed constant fixing.

And because the universe has a sense of humor, that wasn’t the only thing keeping me up at night. Around the same time, I was also worrying about my oldest daughter, who was a competitive dancer. A well-meaning co-worker casually mentioned that dance could affect the curvature of her spine and lead to back problems later in life.

You know—just a light, breezy comment to casually destroy your peace.

So there I was, lying awake at night, mentally juggling chronic skin conditions, spinal curvature, and the overwhelming responsibility of keeping tiny humans safe in bodies that apparently came with fine print.

Parenting: it’s not for the faint of heart. 💕

In my quest to keep both my daughters healthy well into their adult years—because apparently worrying is my full-time job—I stumbled across an osteopath who completely changed how I looked at health. Instead of just treating symptoms, she talked about supporting the body through diet and movement. Revolutionary, I know.

She recommended a documentary called Forks Over Knives, and that was it. One documentary turned into five. Five turned into a full-blown rabbit hole of food, health, and healing. Suddenly I was questioning everything I thought I knew about what we eat and how our bodies actually work. These documentaries opened my eyes to the connection between food and healing in a way no doctor ever had.

So we decided to try a whole food, plant-based approach. No big expectations—just a “let’s see what happens” experiment.

And then something happened.

As we started eliminating certain foods, my youngest daughter’s psoriasis began to clear up. Like… noticeably. Naturally, I was shocked and cautiously hopeful. When I went back to the specialist and shared this, expecting maybe a “huh, interesting,” she became angry. Not skeptical—angry.

She insisted it had nothing to do with diet. It was the ointments she had prescribed. And the summer sun. Definitely not food. She raised her voice, dismissed everything I had done to help my daughter, and told me—very confidently—that I’d be back in a few months because “that’s when I see all my psoriasis patients.”

She also insisted I keep the SickKids appointment she had referred us to, which I did. For three years.

Here’s the kicker: the doctors there never once saw any psoriasis on my daughter’s body.

Fast forward twelve years. My daughter has never needed—or sought—any additional treatment for her skin condition.

And that moment? That was when I truly learned to trust my instincts as a parent. Because sometimes, you really do know your child better than anyone else. 💚

Let me be very clear before anyone comes for me with pitchforks and peer-reviewed studies: I am not saying food was a miracle cure. What we experienced was just that—our family’s experience, not scientific proof.

Current dermatology research doesn’t confirm a direct cause-and-effect relationship between diet and psoriasis. It does, however, acknowledge that certain foods can help reduce inflammation. All I know is this: something kept the psoriasis away.

For a few years, we really tried to focus on what my daughter was eating. And let me tell you—this was not easy. She has a mega sweet tooth, and her high school diet could best be described as “nutritionally questionable.” So no, it wasn’t perfect. Not even close.

We never became fully plant-based saints. But for many years, we made a conscious effort to eat well most of the time. And that’s kind of where I landed on the whole food thing: eating healthy isn’t about perfection. It’s about balance.

Because let’s be honest—if we couldn’t enjoy a few treats here and there, what would even be the point? A little indulgence isn’t going to ruin your health. Sometimes it’s the only thing that gets you through the day, and I fully support that.

Everyone seems to have their own very strong opinions about what the body needs to stay healthy as we age. While I’m definitely not a health professional, my daughter’s experience sparked a lasting interest in nutrition and aging well.

So, after years of reading, watching, learning, and living it… here’s what I’ve learned about eating well after 50:

What I’ve Learned About Eating Well After 50 (a very non-medical opinion)

1. Protein is no longer optional.
After 50, muscle loss starts speeding up like it’s late for an appointment. To keep what you’ve got, protein becomes more important than ever. How much you need depends on your activity level, body size, and overall health, so this is one of those do-a-little-research-for-yourself situations. Annoying, yes—but worth it.

2. Some nutrients deserve VIP status.
Potassium, calcium, vitamin D, fiber, and vitamin B12 all become increasingly important as we age. Fun fact no one tells you: your body’s ability to absorb B12 can decline over time, sometimes thanks to underlying health issues.
And calcium? Women over 50 especially need more of it—and not just for bones. It also supports heart health, nerves, and muscle function. Basically, calcium is doing way more behind the scenes than we give it credit for.

3. Fiber is wildly underrated.
Most people don’t get nearly enough fiber, even though it’s doing the unglamorous but essential work of keeping digestion running smoothly. It can also help reduce the risk of type 2 diabetes. Fiber isn’t flashy. It doesn’t get headlines. But it absolutely shows up for you.

4. Color on your plate is always a good sign.
Those natural reds, blues, and yellows in fruits and vegetables? That’s your clue that heart-protecting antioxidants are at work. Dark leafy greens like kale, arugula, broccoli, and spinach are especially powerful—loaded with fiber, supportive of muscle function, and great for heart health.
Bottom line: if your plate looks beige, we might need to talk.

5. Keep an eye on the usual suspects.
Sugar, saturated fat, and sodium—yes, those three. Being mindful of them helps reduce the risk of high blood pressure, diabetes, and heart disease. This isn’t about perfection. It’s about awareness and small choices that add up over time.

After 50, most of us know what works—and what absolutely does not—for our bodies. Eating well isn’t about rules or extremes. It’s about paying attention, aiming for balance, and enjoying life while taking care of yourself. And yes, that includes dessert. 🍰

What is one simple, non-negotiable healthy food or habit you swear by for energy and feeling great?