I was having coffee with a friend the other day when she opened her cutlery drawer. “I sorted it out,” she exclaimed. “I took out the whole drawer, cleaned it, then put everything back again.”

“A morning well spent,” I replied. We laughed.

Really, I wanted to cry and run out of her house screaming. The reality of her boredom and frustration hit home hard. I feel it, too; in fact, I feel like I’m drowning.

In September, my last “baby” started school. I have had 10 gorgeous years of full-time motherhood with four children. Now I am redundant. I’ve lost my day job, the thing that has defined me for so long, and it’s miserable. I don’t walk around the house in pyjamas, sobbing and sniffing the kids’ pillows. I pick them up at 3pm, so it’s not quite empty-nest syndrome — God help me when they start college. But empty does sound about right.

This isn’t how I thought I’d be. I am educated, ambitious and dynamic. I have a great life. I have managed to raise four children and two dogs, without completely losing my marbles. I have the potential to do anything I put my mind to. Yet, now that I have time, that “anything” seems to be eluding me.

I have plenty of jobs I could be doing if I wanted to be busy. I could clean the kitchen. Ditto, the hoovering and dusting. In fact, ditto laundry. Fulfilment as a full-time housekeeper, though, is never going to be me, even in my own house. I can’t drink any more coffee or discuss the school run, plan lunches or go to another home-based cashmere party. Shopping and eating out every day, even if I could afford it, would do nothing for my shoe addiction, credit-card debt or widening girth. This can’t be what my free days have to offer.

Of course, this is a change-of-life moment; a time for re-evaluation; just another hurdle to leap. I need to develop a new identity. I need to see a future that works around the school runs and holidays, gives me mental stimulation and fun, attainable goals, and that is lucrative: it’s simple, really.

I am not alone. There are plenty of women in their late thirties and early forties in exactly the same boat. They do a course, take up Pilates in a big way and have meetings with interior designers. Some women, I’m sure, are happy to enjoy their freedom after years of hard work and full-time motherhood. Others struggle.

The thing is, when I had my first child at 26, I thought I’d do the kids first and the career later. But I am coming to realise that life doesn’t really work like that. While friends got promotions and bought property, I had another baby. Now they are having babies and going on maternity leave, negotiating their well-paid jobs to part-time or working-from-home positions. Glass ceilings? I can’t get my foot in the door.

After my degree, I had just four years of working in PR and marketing before I got married. It was barely enough time to build up a deposit for a flat, let alone a meaningful career. So if I want a job, what kind of work could I go back to? Nobody wants a thirtysomething mother as a trainee. There are, of course, a plethora of “working mums” websites that offer lots of flexible jobs. The problem is, with 10 years out of the job market and a rather brief CV, the kind of jobs I could get would barely cover childcare. I could retrain, study for another degree or do a course. But with mortgage costs, school fees and a tribe of children to feed and clothe, now is the time I need to be earning, not spending on more education.

It is hard not to be negative and just give up; embrace middle age as it looms, pot the chutney and get more involved with the schools. I know I have to let go of my unrealistic City-job-and-salary fantasy. I just don’t want my life to be defined by which spelling group my children are in or whether they have been picked for the Firsts. Ultimately, as well, they will leave. Then what?

My 10-year-old daughter said that when she grows up she wants a “proper job”, not what I do. I remember thinking the same thing about my stay-at-home mum. I swore that if I ever got married, I’d never be dependent on my husband. Funny how things work out, isn’t it?

Luckily, my husband is very supportive. He would love me to earn some money and help towards the mounting bills. But he does get fed up with my angst — he can’t solve it and he can’t live my life for me. I’m the one who needs to stop whining and get on with it, and I’ve made a start. I’ve written something down. I feel better already. Now, where’s that cutlery drawer?

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