How I Rebuilt Motivation After 50 When My Spark Was Gone

There was a stretch of about five years in my life where everything felt heavy.

Both of my parents passed away within that time. In between those losses, I went through breast cancer and the surgeries and treatments that come with it. By the time I came out the other side, I didn’t feel like the same person anymore. I needed some motivation after 50.

My body didn’t feel the same. My energy wasn’t the same. Even my outlook on life had changed.

I wasn’t just tired. I felt emotionally overloaded.

There were details to handle, decisions to make, and grief that seemed to come in waves. Some days I felt sad. Some days I felt overwhelmed. And many days I just felt unmotivated to do much of anything.

Not because I didn’t care about life.

But because I felt worn down by it.

When You Don’t Feel Like Yourself Anymore

My dad died of cancer in 2016. Eight months later I was diagnosed myself.

I want to sit with that for a second because when I say that five year stretch was heavy, I want you to understand what was actually in it. Watching my dad go through cancer and passing away and then finding out I had it too. Then spending all of 2017 in treatment. Then 2018 in what I can only describe as hibernation mode, just trying to heal and figure out who I was on the other side of all of it. Then losing my mom in 2019, just a few weeks after we had all been together at Christmas.

That is a lot of loss compressed into a very short window of time. And grief does not wait its turn. It stacks.

By the time I came out the other side I was not just tired. I was tired in a way that went all the way down.

My body did not feel the same after surgeries and my chest muscles felt tight and withdrawn, almost like my body was trying to protect itself from everything it had been through. Emotionally I felt exactly the same way. Motivation was the last thing on my mind. Most days I was just trying to get through everything that needed to be handled.

The Moment Something Shifted

The turning point didn’t come from a motivational speech or a sudden burst of energy.

It came from water.

I have always loved swimming and being in the water. One day I went to the neighborhood pool and slipped into the deep end.

I started by simply treading water.

Nothing intense. Just keeping my body afloat while slowly pulling my arms through the water.

As I moved my arms back and forth, something started happening in my chest. The tight muscles that had felt locked up for so long began to open.

The feeling was incredible.

For the first time in a long time, my body felt like it could stretch and move again.

And simply moving in the water, weightless and surrounded by quiet, I started crying.

Not from sadness.

From relief.

The cool water, the silence, the simple movement of my arms—it all felt so good. For those few moments I wasn’t thinking about everything that had happened.

I was just experiencing the moment.

Curiosity Came Back Before Motivation

That day didn’t fix everything.

But it reminded me of something important.

I still had things in my life that brought me joy.

Swimming was one of them.

Knitting was another.

During those difficult years, I had also started learning how to livestream. I created a knitting show on the internet where I would knit and talk with viewers who joined me each day.

At the time, it helped me stay connected with people while I physically felt very sick.

What surprised me was how much I enjoyed learning the technical side of it.

I was figuring out livestream software, cameras, lighting, and how to grow a small online audience. Then I started applying those skills to my knitting world.

I realized I could build a knitting business without having to sell the physical items I made.

Learning those new skills sparked something in me again.

An Unexpected Discovery

Here is something I have not talked about much. I got monetized on my livestream the day before chemo started.

I had been building that audience for over a year. Working toward that milestone, learning the technology, showing up every day, building something from nothing. And the day before my first chemotherapy treatment, it happened.

So I kept going. Not just because I wanted to but because I had worked too hard to let the momentum die. I would sit in my chair, knitting, talking to my community, sharing what I was going through. The treatment, the side effects, the fear, the dark humor that gets you through things you cannot talk about any other way.

That community gave me something I did not expect. People started telling me they went and got their mammograms because of something I said on a stream. Women who had been putting it off. Women who were scared. Women who did not have anyone else encouraging them to go.

I was going through the hardest year of my life and somehow I was also helping people. That meant something. It still does.

Knitting was the thread through all of it, literally and otherwise. My hands kept moving even when everything else felt stopped. There is something about the rhythm of it, the counting, the focus it requires, that quiets the other noise. It was my happy place when I did not have many of those left.

Motivation after 50 Looks Different Now

Today, I’m still learning new things.

I’m figuring out how to grow my knitting YouTube channel. I’m learning how to be an Amazon Influencer. I’ve started blogs and continue experimenting with ways to build something meaningful online.

I don’t feel like I have everything figured out.

But I no longer feel stuck.

Motivation doesn’t show up for me as a sudden surge of energy. It shows up as curiosity.

Trying something new.

Learning a skill I didn’t have before.

Building something slowly over time.

And making room for the things that genuinely make me happy—like knitting and spending time in the water.

What I Would Tell Someone Who Feels Stuck

Here is something I have not talked about much. I got monetized on my livestream the day before chemo started.

I had been building that audience for over a year. Working toward that milestone, learning the technology, showing up every day, building something from nothing. And the day before my first chemotherapy treatment, it happened.

So I kept going. Not just because I wanted to but because I had worked too hard to let the momentum die. I would sit in my chair, knitting, talking to my community, sharing what I was going through. The treatment, the side effects, the fear, the dark humor that gets you through things you cannot talk about any other way.

That community gave me something I did not expect. People started telling me they went and got their mammograms because of something I said on a stream. Women who had been putting it off. Women who were scared. Women who did not have anyone else encouraging them to go.

I was going through the hardest year of my life and somehow I was also helping people. That meant something. It still does.

Knitting was the thread through all of it, literally and otherwise. My hands kept moving even when everything else felt stopped. There is something about the rhythm of it, the counting, the focus it requires, that quiets the other noise. It was my happy place when I did not have many of those left.

More to Read: Achieving Goals Beyond Age 50

Keep reading stories from my experiences: discover how I went through an Identity Shift after turning 50. Or my article about Taking Naps in unexpected places.