The Scornies and the Leavies: Two Sides of the Midlife Goodbye
Scorned or aching — or something in between — when women reach the quiet edge of no return.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
Being a wordsmith, I can taste that phrase like a zesty pineapple — it makes your saliva sting and your taste buds sing. That phrase holds so much oomph — the words scorn, fury carry such power, like a mallet hitting the mark with full force. If the phrase walked by me right now, I’d give it a whistle and an approving nod. I like it.
I feel like a woman scorned, and I think, when starting over at this age — after a life-draining relationship that went on for far too many years — many women do.
And that’s cool.
You’ve earned the right to feel scorned — and to show hell how it’s done.
Fury can be wonderful.
This can be the time to release all the buried anger. The boundaries crossed, again and again. The taken-for-granted-ness. The times when you felt crazy because they convinced you your agreements were just figments of your imagination.
We are the Scornies.
And our fury and anger can propel us to new heights — throw us into the arms of our uncharted, unexpected destiny.
The Secret Lives of Women in “Fine” Relationships
Another kind of woman takes action in midlife: the ones breaking out of relationships with men who do carry the mental and physical load. Men who might actually value their partner’s opinions. Men who are kind, who show up, and who push the start button on the washing machine.
But the women just don’t feel it anymore.
They get the ick when their man wants a little sexy-time. They feel ashamed that they can’t summon the delight they once felt — that warm rush of cuddling up, of body parts being offered and received during the act of physical intimacy.
My friends Tulip and Rose are in that situation — and have been for years. Like, more than 20 years.
You have the kids, the mortgage, a life, a partnership, the mutual friends — but no lover.
Tulip and Rose are strangers to each other, but they’re both dipping their toes in the same pool of lustless, sexless existence. They both have secret longings and desires for people who are not the ones sitting across the dinner table each night.
Had they been from an older generation, I guess they would have resigned themselves to Danielle Steel novels — daydreaming about the handsome stable boy sneaking up on them to give them a roll in the hay. Or maybe just ten years ago, they’d have binged Fifty Shades of Grey on a sleepless Thursday night.
But we have options now.
Tulip and Rose are the Leavies.
The Tug of War Between Safety and Truth
“Is this it?” Tulip asked me.
“He’s a great father, he puts me on a pedestal, but I see him as a friend. Should I choose our steady partnership? Should I have an affair? Should I leave? What if I never find someone else? What if no one will love me like he does? Is it okay to never feel butterflies in my stomach again? Is it too much to ask for that in my 40s? Yes? No?”
Rose was more determined. She had already decided on the affairs. She got her dose of excitement, romance, and butterflies in the dark corners, with various men — where her husband couldn’t see.
But how could she leave?
They both feared the leaving.
The what ifs.
The shattering of the world where the family resides.
But in the end, they will.
They’ve already broken the news to the men who hold them in high regard — but who have become more collaborators than lovers.
Women often find themselves, later in life, as unwilling participants in a tug of war between safety and truth.
Feelings Are Not Rational — and Neither Is Desire
You can judge all you want.
But feelings can’t be rationalized.
There are so many layers to this:
Who leaves whom. Who carries the blame. Why don’t they just get it together? Why expect fireworks when you have a steady, reliable partnership?
We’re told: infatuation fades. Suck it up.
Think about the kids. Your mother-in-law.
Your next-door neighbor who is in no mood to learn the quirks of a new house owner after you sell your house and move on.
And what about your Apple Family subscription, for Christ’s sake.
Is It Too Late to Want More?
This isn’t an opinion piece. It’s a question.
How late in life are we allowed to live out the Barbara Cartland novel?
Are women allowed to want more than just stability — to choose passion even when it costs them the safety of partnership?
Are we entitled to do what men have done for years — fall in love again after 40, chase heat over habit, and still tuck the kids in at night?
Women have so much love to give.
And all the women I know have the capacity to handle kids, jobs, and romance.
So why the hell shouldn’t they?
Hmm.
I guess this was an opinion piece after all.
About the author
Sisse Jensen has worked in war zones and now writes about life after 40—divorce, fear, love, to step into a new universe far from the 9-5 grind, perfect families, and politely dying inside.
Let’s talk
If this essay spoke to you, or if you’re walking through your own midlife fears and changes, I’d love to hear from you. Reply to this email or leave a comment below. We don’t have to face these moments alone.
Teaser for the next essay:
“The Least Rocken Roll Moment of All Time”
And how thinking about it 25 years later made me realize how the ’90s screwed up our chance for a healthy love life
It started with a memory — innocent, awkward, hilariously un-cool. But as I replayed the scene in my head, something else surfaced: the quiet, insidious messages that shaped a generation of girls. Messages about love, worth, and what we had to trade to be chosen.
This isn’t just nostalgia. It’s a reckoning.
And I bet you had a moment like this too …