Sara’s View of Life with Sara Troy, on air from May 18th
An honest talk around emotional fatigue, masking pain, burnout, and the liberation that comes from authenticity.
May is Fibromyalgia Awareness Month, and after living with fibromyalgia for over thirty years, I felt it was important to speak openly about the wearyness of living with a debilitating disease that so often goes unseen, misunderstood, or dismissed.
Fibromyalgia is not simply about pain. It is an exhaustion that settles deep into the bones, the muscles, the mind, and the spirit. It is waking up tired no matter how much sleep you have had. It is trying to function through brain fog, chronic fatigue, hypersensitivity, emotional depletion, digestive issues, and a body that can change from one moment to the next without warning. Some days, even the smallest tasks can feel like climbing a mountain carrying invisible weight.
What makes it even harder is that many people living with fibromyalgia become experts at masking it. We smile, show up, continue caring for others, continue working where we can, and continue trying to participate in life while silently calculating energy, pain levels, recovery time, and limitations. People often see the face we present, not the internal battle we fight every single day.
Living with a long-term illness also carries grief. Grief for the life you thought you would have, the energy you once had, the spontaneity lost, the misunderstandings from others, and sometimes even the isolation that comes from people not fully comprehending what chronic illness does to the body, mind, emotions, and identity.
But within that wearyness, there is also resilience. There is adaptation. There is courage in continuing on when your body constantly asks you to stop. There is wisdom learned through pacing, listening, adjusting, and discovering what truly matters. Living with fibromyalgia teaches compassion in ways many cannot understand unless they too have walked this path.
This conversation is not about seeking pity. It is about awareness, understanding, and giving voice to the millions of people who live daily with invisible illnesses. It is about acknowledging that behind many smiles are people carrying extraordinary burdens quietly and bravely.
And perhaps most importantly, it is about reminding those who live with fibromyalgia that they are not weak, not lazy, not imagining it, and not alone and you are so much more than the desease.
Self Discovery Wisdom is sustained by those who believe in conscious conversation. If this episode resonated with you, subscribe and, if you feel called, make a donation. Your support helps us keep amplifying voices that inspire growth, courage, and compassion. Thank you. Become an author on ouranthology Our Forgotten Seniors and help to bring this book to awareness.
Sara’s View of Life with Sara Troy, on air from May 12th
From sixty to seventy, I stepped fully into my purpose and into a life that finally felt like my own. This decade was no longer about searching—it was about living, serving, and sharing the wisdom that had been forged through every previous chapter of my life.
By this time, podcasting had already begun to anchor me. Starting in 2012, and truly building momentum from 2014 onward, I committed to this path of conversation, connection, and contribution. What began as a spark in my late fifties became a full expression of who I am. Week after week, year after year, I showed up—interviewing people from around the world, sharing their stories, their courage, their insights, and their purpose.
The years that followed brought profound personal change.
In 2015, my mother passed at the age of 95. She had been bedridden, and when the time came, it was as if the Angels came for her. With open eyes and open arms, she embraced them. It was a moment of peace, of grace, and of release.
My best friend took me to Mexico in March 2015 for two weeks, it was wonderful and and after Mums death a welcome divertion.
In 2016, I lost my beloved companion, Kokomo, my border collie she was 14.7 years old. To this day, I miss her deeply. She was love, heart, soul, and spirit, and she loved me in a way that was pure and unwavering, a bond that will always stay with me. January of 2017 our beloved cat Sativa left us at the age of 17.7 years old.
In 2017, my ex finally moved on, closing a long and difficult chapter. We had been living together, but the relationship itself had ended seven years prior. That same year, I left Vancouver. This was not just a physical move, it was a transition into a life more aligned with who I was becoming. Vancouver held many memories, both beautiful and painful, but I knew it was time to step into new spaces, both externally and internally.
Late 2017, I went to Toronto for a short time to be closer to my eldest daughter. It brought a very different energy, busy, loud, and demanding. It reminded me of the vastness of the world, the diversity of people, and the constant movement of life. It echoed the work I was doing through my podcast, connecting with voices from all walks of life. But I only stayed three months, it was simply too cold, and for me, perhaps forty years too late.
In February 2018, I moved to Victoria, where I would spend the next six years. Victoria became a place of reflection and integration. Its quieter pace and connection to the sea allowed me to breathe more deeply, to look inward, and to let the dust of previous decades settle. I lived with an extraordinary woman named Audrey, who was 84 at the time and a true example of how to live life fully. That chapter gave me space—not to escape my past, but to understand and integrate it.
Throughout this decade, Self Discovery Wisdom truly grew into what it is today. It became more than a podcast, it became a platform, a community, an Orchard of Wisdom a Self Discovery, where voices could be heard and wisdom could be shared. I was no longer just finding my voice; I was helping others find and share theirs.
Living with fibromyalgia remained part of my daily reality. The pain, the fatigue, the unpredictability—they never truly left. But I learned to live with it, to work with my body instead of against it. I learned to pace, to rest, and to honour what I could do rather than mourn what I could not. It became part of my rhythm, not my identity.
This decade deepened my understanding of knowingness, of listening, feeling, and trusting that inner guidance. Everything I had gone through—the trauma, the loneliness, the rebuilding, the illness, had led me here. I could see the threads clearly. Nothing had been wasted. Every experience had shaped my compassion, my insight, and my ability to hold space for others.
There were still challenges—financial struggles, managing my health, carrying so much independently, but my relationship to those challenges changed. I was no longer defined by hardship. I was guided by purpose.
I embraced my role as the Wisdom Weaver of the Airwaves. Through thousands of conversations, I witnessed the resilience of humanity, the courage of individuals, and the power of shared stories. I saw again and again that people are not broken—they are often simply unheard, unsupported, or disconnected from their truth.
Eventually, I moved to Nanaimo, where I now live just ten minutes from my daughter and grandsons. My life is beautifully divided between podcasting and grandparenting, and I feel full. I owe a deep sense of security and gratitude to my daughter and son-in-law, who helped provide me with a home where I truly feel at peace, and where my grandsons can come and play.
This decade taught me that sometimes we need to change our environment to truly see ourselves. Vancouver showed me who I had been. Toronto reminded me of the world I was serving. Victoria gave me space to feel and heal. And Nanaimo has given me a sense of home, family,grounding and belonging.
Through it all, I remained committed to my purpose, sharing stories, weaving wisdom, and reminding others, as I remind myself, that our journey is not defined by where we are, but by who we become along the way.
From sixty to seventy-one, I wasn’t just moving through places.
Self Discovery Wisdom is sustained by those who believe in conscious conversation. If this episode resonated with you, subscribe and, if you feel called, make a donation. Your support helps us keep amplifying voices that inspire growth, courage, and compassion. Thank you. Please support Our Forgotten Seniorsanthology and help to bring this book to awareness.
Sara’s View of Life with Sara Troy. On air from May 5th
In my mid-fifties into my mid-sixties, everything began to shift. After asking for the divorce at the end of my forties, I stepped into a chapter that was no longer about just surviving—it was about finding my way forward, even when I didn’t yet know what that path would look like.
The separation itself was not immediate or easy. He did not leave for two years, and during that time I was still navigating the emotional residue of the marriage while trying to carve out some sense of independence. But something in me had already changed. I had drawn a line. I knew I could not go back to who I had been, or how I had been living.
This became a time of rebuilding—emotionally, physically, and spiritually. Fibromyalgia was now firmly part of my life, and I had to learn to live with it rather than fight it. That meant listening to my body, pacing myself, and accepting that my energy was no longer limitless. Some days I could function well, and others I simply had to rest. It was humbling, frustrating at times, but also necessary. It taught me to honour myself in a way I never had before.
At the same time, I began exploring who I was beyond being a wife and mother. For so many years, my identity had been wrapped up in caring for others, holding everything together, and simply surviving. Now I had to ask: who is Sara when she is not defined by those roles? That question led me into courses like True Colours, which had a profound impact on me. They opened doors to deeper self-discovery and helped me reconnect with my own spirit.
I tried many things, not all of them successful, but each one was movement—and movement was something I had been denied for a long time. I began reclaiming my voice, trusting my knowingness, and standing more firmly in myself, even when uncertainty was still present.
My children were growing and stepping into their own lives, and that brought both pride and reflection. I could see how the previous decade had affected them, and I carried both love and regret. But I also understood that we were all now on our own journeys of healing and growth.
During this time, I became immersed in a new relationship—one that awakened my spirituality again and showed me that I was more than I had been led to believe. It was a journey of exploration, but also one of hardship and poverty, and it stayed with me far longer than it should have. Still, it played its role in my awakening, in helping me see more clearly who I was and what I deserved.
This was not an easy chapter, but it was a necessary one. It was the time where I began to come back to life—not all at once, not perfectly, but steadily. I was no longer completely lost. I was finding pieces of myself again, learning how to live within my body, and beginning to step into a life that was mine.
At 57 years old, I became a podcaster, and for that I am deeply grateful. It is my calling and my passion. There was a time when I had lost everything—even my dignity—and I did not know how I would move forward. But podcasting revitalized me. It gave me back my essence, my voice, and a renewed sense of purpose. It showed me that even after losing everything, there is still something within you waiting to rise.
As I moved into my sixties, that purpose became clearer and stronger. Podcasting was no longer just something I did—it became who I am. Through Self Discovery Wisdom, I created a platform not only for myself, but for others to share their journeys, their truths, and their wisdom. In holding space for others, I continued to heal and grow myself.
This chapter of my life has been about returning to self, stepping into purpose, and living with a deeper alignment. I am no longer searching for who I am.
Self Discovery Wisdom is sustained by those who believe in conscious conversation. If this episode resonated with you, subscribe and, if you feel called, make a donation. Your support helps us keep amplifying voices that inspire growth, courage, and compassion. Thank you. Please support Our Forgotten Seniorsanthology and help to bring this book to awareness.
Sara’s View of Life with Sara Troy. On air from April 28th
I’m your host, Sara Troy, and this is my fifth decade in the series of seven shows reflecting on my seventy-one years of life. Each episode looks at one decade, and this one is my forties into my fifties. If you want the wider life story, with more of the detail and perspective, that lives in my book, Sara’s Self-Discovery to Soul Living. But today, I want to share what this decade truly felt like, because my forties were a very tumultuous time, yet also the beginning of my liberation.
When I turned forty, we had a restaurant, but we simply could not sustain it. I had three children at home, and although I was only meant to work lunches, I ended up working evenings as well. Between the business, the partnership, the demands of family life, and the stress of trying to hold everything together, it became too much. We stepped away from the restaurant, and I went back to being at home full-time with the children, which in many ways was exactly where I needed to be. My children needed me, and I was always the mother who made home the gathering place. There was tea, biscuits, food after school, friends around the table, and usually one more child staying for supper than I expected. By then my children were in their teens, and anyone who has lived through teenagers knows that those years can be a roller coaster all of their own.
But while I was trying to be that constant for everyone else, my marriage was unravelling. From the outside, we looked like a happy family. People saw the surface, and they believed the surface. They did not see the emotional depletion happening behind closed doors. My husband never physically struck me, but he had a way of browbeating and draining the life out of me. I used to say it was like the Dementors in Harry Potter, sucking everything out until there was very little left the next day. I found myself constantly bracing for what mood would come home through the door. My mother used to say she could tell what kind of evening it would be by the way my father drove up the driveway, and I understood that all too well. I was living that same uncertainty.
This was the decade where loneliness truly settled in. Not the loneliness of being physically alone, but the far deeper loneliness of feeling unseen, unheard, and unsupported while surrounded by people. I was the one others came to for help, for insight, for support, for care. I was reading for people, counselling people, helping wherever I could. But I had no one I felt I could truly lean on. I was the help. And when the one who is always helping needs help, very few people know how to respond. So I retreated inward. I switched off in order to survive. There was still a genuine Sara there on the outside, but inwardly my soul and spirit had pulled back for protection.
And yet, in the midst of all that darkness, something began to stir. At forty-six, we got our first computer. It was the old dial-up era, when if someone picked up the phone, the internet died. But that computer brought something back to life in me. I started writing articles for my brother’s magazine, and for the first time in a long while, I realized I had a voice. Yes, he corrected my spelling and grammar, and thank goodness for that, but I insisted that he not correct my voice. I may be dyslexic and ADD, but the way I speak to people, the way I write from the heart, that mattered. And people responded. One article I wrote even helped save a woman’s marriage, because she recognized herself in it and chose to reconnect with her husband instead of escaping into fantasy. That was a revelation to me. Something I wrote mattered. My voice mattered. Sara mattered.
Still, the outer chaos did not stop. I was running the household, caring for three teenagers, volunteering at school, picking up the pieces of whatever crisis came next, and trying to keep everyone fed, clothed, and emotionally afloat. Financially, I was trapped. I had no real independence and had to ask for money for groceries, petrol, and whatever the children needed. If I wanted something for myself, I found it secondhand or on discount and worked it into the grocery budget. Every attempt to step into something independent seemed to collapse under the weight of family demands or circumstance. So there I was, trying to hold it all together while slowly disappearing inside it.
Then came the house fire. That alone could have broken us. We had already gone through a terrible renovation with people who took our money and left us in a half-finished, unsafe home. Then one night I heard something, jumped out of bed, and looked out the window just as flames shot up outside. I slammed the window shut in time. Had I not reacted in that moment, the curtains would have gone up and the fire would have raced through the house. We got everyone out, but the trauma of what followed was immense. We were moved from place to place while the house was rebuilt, and once again, I was the one dealing with the insurance people, the rebuilding, the replacing, the decisions, the daily management of it all. Every single day, I was there, handling what needed to be handled, while still trying to mother my children through it.
Around that same time, my body began to break down in a way I could no longer ignore. In 1997, I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, though I had likely already been living with it for some time. Not much was understood about it then. All I knew was that my body was in pain, my energy was collapsing, and my health was becoming one more thing I had to carry. Looking back, it was the great cosmic warning. It was life telling me, in no uncertain terms, that I could not continue living the way I was living. The stress, the suppression, the loneliness, the emotional abuse, the responsibility, the fear, the constant depletion, it was all taking a profound toll.
What was so difficult was that I thought I was protecting the children by staying. I thought if I could just absorb it myself and get them through school, then I could leave later. But they were feeling it too. They were living in the same house, breathing in the same repression, watching the same tensions, and being shaped by it all. I know now that the last years of that decade were hard on them, and I carry sorrow for not being able to be stronger for them. I was trying. I truly was. But by then I had so little left to give. I was depleted in every sense.
And yet, this was also the beginning of self-discovery. Spiritual work I had done earlier in that decade had already started to clear some of the inner walls I had carried for years, and I began asking the deeper questions. Who is Sara now? What is mine, and what has simply been imposed upon me? What am I here to do? What kind of life is this, if I am vanishing inside it? The more I began to reawaken to myself, the more conflict intensified, because what had once been controlled was starting to rise again. And when I finally asked for a divorce, just before my fiftieth birthday, the answer I got told me everything: that a spiritual woman had taken away the control he had over me. My answer was simple. That is exactly why I want the divorce.
So this fifth decade was the decade of survival, loneliness, awakening, illness, and the beginning of reclaiming myself. It was ugly at times. It was exhausting. It aged me. It wounded me. It forced me inward. But it also brought me to the threshold of my own return. It was the beginning of the self-discovery that would define everything that came next.
And that is why I encourage you to do your own decades. Write them. Speak them. Record them. Share them with family, or leave them behind as part of your legacy. Because when we revisit what we have lived through, we begin to see the courage we had, the resilience we found, and the strength that brought us to where we are today. Our decades matter. Our stories matter. And in sharing them, we not only understand ourselves more deeply, we give others permission to understand their own lives as well.
Until next time, when we step into the next decade, bye for now.
Self Discovery Wisdom is sustained by those who believe in conscious conversation. If this episode resonated with you, subscribe and, if you feel called, make a donation. Your support helps us keep amplifying voices that inspire growth, courage, and compassion. Thank you. Please support Our Forgotten Seniorsanthology and help to bring this book to awareness.
Sara’s View of Life, with Sara Troy, on air from April 21st.
In my thirties, life wasn’t something I was simply living—it was something I was holding together. On the outside, it looked like I was doing it all: raising my now 3 children, building businesses, clothing shop called Tabytha’s Wear Unusual, creating opportunities, moving between places, traveling back into England and the States. There was movement, there was momentum, there was creation. But beneath it all… there was a constant stretching of self.
This was the decade where two more children came into my life, Tyler and Natasha, Tabytha was born in my 20’s, and motherhood became not just a role, but a full immersion. My heart expanded, yes—but so did the responsibility. There was no pause button. No time to sit and ask, “How am I doing?” because life demanded that I keep going, keep providing, keep showing up.
Opening the dress store was an expression of something inside me that needed to come alive. It wasn’t just about fashion—it was about identity, about helping people feel seen, feel confident, feel something more in themselves. But behind the scenes, it was long hours, financial pressure, constant problem-solving, like a robbery that took all my stock. Then came the restaurant—another leap, another layer of responsibility. Feeding people, serving people, managing people… all while still being a mother first.
And that’s where the real story sits.
Because no matter what I built out there, I was always being pulled in here—home, children, needs, emotions. I was living in that constant tension between nurturing others and trying not to lose myself in the process. There were moments of exhaustion so deep that I didn’t even recognize it as exhaustion anymore—it just became normal.
There were questions… quiet ones… that didn’t always have space to be heard.
“Who am I in all of this?” “Where do I fit in my own life?” “Is this what it’s meant to be?”
“am I here only to serves others at my cost”?
But you don’t stop. Not when you have children. Not when people rely on you. So you keep going. You adapt. You become stronger—not because you choose to, but because you have to, and because your children were worth it.
And yet… within all that pressure, something else was happening.
I was learning resilience—not the kind that looks strong on the outside, but the kind that keeps you going when you feel like you’re falling apart inside. I was learning how to navigate people, how to read energy, how to respond, how to hold space—even when I didn’t know that’s what I was doing at the time.
I was also learning that doing everything… doesn’t mean you are fulfilled.
This decade taught me capability. It taught me endurance. It taught me how much I could carry. But it also quietly showed me the cracks—the places where I had abandoned myself in order to keep everything else afloat.
And that… is the deeper truth of my thirties.
It wasn’t just about raising children or trying to run a businesses or moving through life—it was about slowly realizing that somewhere in all of that doing… I had lost connection with me.
This one… this carries weight This is the “I held it all together… but at what cost?” decade.
And that realization… would become the doorway to the next decade.
Self Discovery Wisdom is sustained by those who believe in conscious conversation. If this episode resonated with you, subscribe and, if you feel called, make a donation. Your support helps us keep amplifying voices that inspire growth, courage, and compassion. Thank you. Please support Our Forgotten Seniorsanthology and help to bring this book to awareness.
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