'I'm 54, single and recently lost my job. In 3 months, I might be homeless.'

I'm 54, jobless, and facing yet another considerable rent hike. My savings? Wiped out by medical bills, too much time off between projects and the terrifying rise in the cost of living. Forget smashed avocados; my diet looks more like canned tuna on cucumbers. If I don't get a job soon, in two months, I won't be able to afford rent, moving costs, or my mounting medical bills.

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I've worked in adult education for years—a job I love. It's the perfect blend of writing, designing, and teaching. Last year was brutal, with opportunities drying up faster than my menopausal vagina. The world of learning has changed with the introduction of AI, cheaper ways of creating learning experiences, and the younger generation, who cost less and provide more technical skills. In July, I finally landed a project that promised an extension. But the dreaded budget cuts hit in December, and my contract was axed.

Now, I spend my days scrolling through Seek and LinkedIn, wading through listings with hundreds of applicants for each role. Businesses are tightening budgets, and salaries are plummeting while rent and groceries skyrocket. And then there's ageism. At 54, I've got life experience, creativity, and wisdom, but will recruiters even see that? Or am I just another resume for their AI bots to toss aside? The reality is harsh, and I'm hoping someone out there values the unique qualities I bring to the table, even with silver hair.

Most days, I'm hit with waves of anxiety so intense I question if I'm having a heart attack, a menopause symptom, or just mercury poisoning from too much tuna. I'm in survival mode, but this isn't a game of Survivor—it's the harsh reality of navigating the world as a menopausal woman.

Thankfully, I have amazing friends who've offered spare rooms—and one even jokingly suggested her storage cage. We laughed about decorating it with fairy lights, but the reality of a storage cage sounds safer than the streets. I've volunteered with people experiencing homelessness, and many were in my exact position: a few payslips away from losing everything.

I know you are wondering: how did it get to this point? A series of setbacks—financial and health-related—that spiralled out of control. In many ways, I never really recovered from the years of Melbourne lockdowns. Once you're in the red, it's hard to claw your way back, especially when physically and mentally drained.

When you're single, everything falls on your shoulders—every bill, every broken appliance, every decision. And when you're unwell, life doesn't hit pause. You still have to walk the dog, pay the bills, and show up, even if your body is screaming, not today. At the moment, I can't help but feel the absence of a partner—a shoulder to lean on, someone to say, "It's okay, I've got you." That missing piece feels incredibly raw right now.

My health has been an assortment of issues: menopause, hypothyroidism, low iron, and vitamin deficiencies. Throw in brain fog, exhaustion, and insomnia, and I'm running on fumes. A doctor floated Fibromyalgia; a Chinese herbalist mentioned Chronic Fatigue. Dr. Google thinks I have high cortisol, a fatty liver, and a leaky gut. Getting better means juggling the costs of hormones, vitamins, and healthy food while maintaining a tight budget. It's a paradox: how can you possibly reduce stress when the constant need to buy medicines and health products only adds to the financial strain? If my body were a car, it'd be in the scrap yard.

Adding to the shame spiral is my fear of telling my parents. Asking for help is admitting failure, and all that comes with it. They're retired and deserve peace, not my mess.

I'm angry at myself for letting it get this far. It's a wake-up call to make changes, and if life has taught me anything, I'm resilient. I can do it.

Desperate to turn things around, I broke my piggy bank, gathered the coins, and signed up for Gabby Bernstein's 21-Day Manifestation Challenge. Yes, it's woo-woo but at this point, I'll take anything that feels remotely positive over doom-scrolling and endless rejection emails. If crafting a vision statement, meditating, and picturing my future self give me even a sliver of hope or makes me feel a little lighter, I'm all in. Sometimes, it's the smallest shifts that help keep you going.

For now, I'm focusing on the small things—daily walks, comfort from friends, holding onto hope, and reminding myself that new beginnings are possible—even when the path seems impossible. After all, I'm possible.

Feature image: Getty.