Years ago, I had it all. I had a loving, intelligent, handsome husband who was fun to be with. I had three beautiful children. I had a dream home on a beautiful Island, plenty of friends, plenty to do, and I was fulfilling an ideal for which I had striven most of my life. I was a happily married woman, respectable and solvent.

I used to go to my husband and hug him, leaning against him gratefully and whisper, " I am so happy...so lucky..." and I really believed I was. In spite of the fact that one of my sons is autistic and I myself have multiple sclerosis, I still felt that on balance life was incredibly good.

We had an overgrown garden, chaotic but productive, a tiny cottage, dark, damp and cluttered, where much of our comfort was contrived as cheaply as possible, and most of the work had been done by my husband or my son, as creatively as they wished. Every where I looked there were the symbols of our shared values and our love.

When he left me at half-an-hour's notice to set up home with a younger woman, I was devastated. My perception of reality had been invalid. My husband and best friend was a heartless stranger. My safe and secure home was about to be taken away. My future had disappeared and in my own eyes I had suddenly changed from a desirable companion, loving and loved, to a worthless old woman, rejected by the one man who knew the very best I could be.

That was when I learned the lesson of the pivot.

As suddenly as if someone had swung a mirror to reflect a different view, my outlook on the world had changed. It felt as if the whole world had changed. My husband was a different man. I was a different woman. The past had lost its meaning and the future had ceased to exist.

But the pivotal focus was my own perception. Nothing else had changed. In fact, nothing had changed at all!

The reality of the past and the potential of the future were artefacts of my own mind. The man who loved me and the man who left me, the woman I had been and the woman I had become were constructs of opposing views of the same reality. I could choose one or the other, or even both. Both realities were valid. They did not have to be consistent.

Much of my pain arose from this myth of consistency. If he did not love me now, could he possibly have loved me then? Was my judgement so poor? He also had a drive to rationalise his behaviour and hurtfully insisted that he had never loved me as he loved her. I realised that he had to convince himself of this or face the possibility that his currently overpowering feelings could change again. Yet I tortured myself by reading his old love letters in which he had said to me the things he now was saying about her, and I tried to analyse the evidence of our lives together.

It was not easy. Although I was a practising therapist, I needed help to regain my balance. I hurt, beyond all reason. For the first few weeks I sat in the dark and rocked and wept whilst the house became a pig-sty and food mouldered and fermented untouched in the fridge.

Asked to describe how I felt, I choked out one word, "Destroyed" and fell to weeping again. My self-esteem had reached an all-time low.

Pivots and perception bring new points of view.

Seven years on, alone with my friendly ghosts in the house I fought successfully to keep, my life is rich and fulfilling.

I have it all. I have a number of caring, intelligent, handsome occasional escorts who are fun to be with. I have three beautiful children, all grown and independent. I have a dream home on a beautiful Island, plenty of friends, plenty to do, and I am fulfilling an ideal for which I have striven most of my life. I am a happily independent woman, a useful member of society, respectable and solvent.

In fact, my pursuits are more challenging, my family and friends are more intimate, my home and garden are more beautiful, my financial situation more promising, my health much better and my self-esteem much higher than they were BC - before the crash.

I frequently whisper a "Thankyou", to an unseen supporter of whom I am constantly aware, as well as saying to my children and my friends when we share a hug, " I am so happy...so lucky..." and I really believe that I am.

Life is incredibly good to me.

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