Advance Praise for ‘The Gap Year(s)’
“An eloquently brutal look at all the messy bits about being a woman. Gaffney grabs you from the first line and shakes you up, rattling all sorts of lost things from you - tears, laughter, gasps of recognition and solace. Brilliant.”
—Nikki McWatters, Author
“The Gap Year(s) is a book that makes you realise you have to live with guts and gumption. A story for anyone who feels that something might be missing and wants to go and find it.”
—Rose Herceg, Chief Strategy Officer WPPAUNZ
“A thoroughly entertaining alternative to the often-trite self-help ‘this is what you should do to be like me – 10 tips toNirvana’ genre that has overtaken our bookstores. Nathy Gaffney’s ‘Gap Year(s)’ manages to be funny, raw, heartfelt and brutally honest all at the same time. I will be prescribing this book to both my clients and friends as the perfect high strength dose of humanity we all need more of in our lives.”
—Martine Beaumont, Therapist, Coach, Counsellor
“One is left wondering how Gaffney has packed so much into one life, while at the same time getting the feeling that in her 50’s, she really is only just getting started.”
—Anthony Klan, Journalist
“I was hooked from the first page. ‘The Gap Year(s) will resonate with every woman who has ever loved unconditionally, endured divorce, raised a child, made bad decisions, and been through all the other shit in between. Honest, gritty and funny! You will hold your breath, shed a tear, and sigh with relief as you fall in love with Nathy’s story. An ad- dictive read!”
—Marcia Abboud, Author “Every Shitty Thing”
Gap Year– Official Definition:
“A year of experiential learning, typically taken after high school and prior to career or post-secondary education, in order to deepen one’s practical, professional and personal awareness.”
(www.gapyearassociation.org)
Preface: Note from the (First Time) Author
There are two things you need to know before you dive into this book. I’m a hugger, and life is messy. You might already know the second thing from your own experience, and if so, that’s great – then charting your way through the messy (and sometimes chaotic) machinations of my story may feel strangely familiar.
If this were a simple story, it would unfold simply, perhaps even gracefully, step by step. But life, as I havediscovered over my 50-plus years (although perhaps I knew it right from the start), is anything but simple. It is at times painful, ridiculous, and often convoluted. I’m hoping this book does not prove to be too much of the above foryou – my reader – to read and enjoy.
My story meanders from present to past, then lingers a while and comes back again – perhaps this is a nod to the vagabond spirit I inherited from my family… it certainly makes sense for my story, as it’s how I make sense of theworld.
That brings me to my other point – the bit about me being a hugger. Another thing I inherited from my family. We were all (and continue to be) big, mad, affectionate huggers. My friends know it and expect it of me. Even my colleagues and co-workers get hugs (as, occasionally, do people I’ve only known for 5 min- utes), though it’s always consensual.
I needed lots of hugs when I was writing this book, and I suspect that if you’ve shared any of my experiences, you might need one, too. So, consider this a big word-fuelled hug. If we ever meet in person, I’ll give you a real one – unless of course you’re not a hugger, in which case you just let me know and I’ll happily settle for a handshake.
So, why has a 55-year-old woman who needs hugs decided to strip herself bare, and share the details which mostpeople might consider so private that ‘taking them to the grave’ would be a more appropriate course of action? A fewreasons, and they have to do with you, dear reader:
If you’re wondering whether or not to leave a marriage that, despite all efforts, has run its course, I hope that by shar- ing my experience, you will feel not so alone – as a chroni- cally unhappy, dysfunctional relationship is a very lonely place to be. Perhaps you’ve already ripped the Band-aid off and ended your marriage (or long-term relationship), and now you’re at the ‘What the fuck do I do now?!’ stage. If so, maybe you will gain some reassurance by seeing that from nothing, with self-awareness, desire, and determina- tion, you can build yourself a bigger, brighter life for both yourself and your children.
If you have ever wondered ‘Where am I going to find some- one who will love me for me?’, or ‘Where are all the good men/women?’, then maybe by me providing a glimpse into the inner workings of my unexpected union, you’ll find some inspiration to open yourself to the possibilities of finding love outside the square.
Finally, if you’ve ever suffered from body image issues or an eating disorder, then pull up a chair. If you’ve ever felt in some measure not pretty enough, smart enough, slim enough, sexy enough, rich enough, or good enough. If you’ve ever wondered as to the origins of any of the crazy self-limiting beliefs and stories you carry around locked inside of you and allow to hold you back – then I hope you will find in this book some comfort in that you are not alone, and that despite the belief that these things might define you forever, it ain’t necessarily so.
Prologue: In the Bosom of My Bitches
When I split from my husband, I fell headlong into the arms of my friends, certain in the knowledge that they would cushion my fall.
One group of women in particular carried me not only through my divorce, but triumphantly into singledom. My core group of long-term girlfriends. We’ve been friends for over 25 years, having met in our 20s whilst living inLondon, with some of us knowing each other so far back as university and even high school. The rest of us werepicked up under a mirror ball at dance parties that were our stomping ground in the early 90s.
We partied together throughout the 90s, with only one of us pausing to have babies. The rest of us were too busybuilding ca- reers, travelling the world, and working out our shit. Partners and progeny came later, along with a modicum of restraint (no more Bloody Marys for breakfast!). Today, this core group of women, numbering abouttwelve, still make up my inner sanctum of besties. For close to thirty years now, we have been having a regulardinner we call “The Women’s Room”. It began when we were liv- ing in London in the early 90s. Back then – as we do now – we had many gay male friends with whom we lived, worked, travelled, and partied. At the time, there were a handful of clubs the boys frequented that had a ‘No Women’ policy. The Women’s Room be- gan as a tongue-in-cheek ‘girls only’ night, a time to get together and have an estrogen download.
Over the years, we’ve workshopped each other’s career op- portunities and challenges, taken delight in each other’s sexual conquests, counselled one another through sticky relationship moments, shared the latest wrinkle-busting, age-defying trends, and generally gossiped about anyone who wasn’t in the room.
In the early days, there was even an agenda that (surprisingly) was adhered to. We took minutes, which wererecapped at the top of the next gathering in case anyone had missed the last one and needed to be caught up. (This was pre-Facebook days, clearly.)
After about the 4th bottle of champagne though, it pretty much descended into up to a dozen women laughing, shrieking, and talk- ing over each other in a booze-soaked free-for-all until the wee hours of the night (and beyond). Time did not matter. We were young, strong, opinionated, unstoppable, and utterly fabulous.
The Women’s Room endures to this day. The regularity of the dinners has ebbed and flowed over the ensuing decades, but we commit to at least four get-togethers every year. Several years ago, we added ‘Women’s Room on theRun’ – weekends away and the odd offshore adventure. This was introduced as a much- needed periodical decompressor from partners and kids. We love each other fiercely. We’ve each walked our own paths in life, but