A Beautiful Midlife Crisis — I Highly Recommend One

By Jacque Visagie · Midlife & Life Direction

Shit had to break. And I thank God it did.

If things had kept going “well”, I would probably still be doing exactly what I knew how to do. Building the business. Training. Providing. Chasing the next goal. Keeping everything moving.

I was good at that stuff. I loved a lot of it, too. And the daily grind gave me a very convenient reason to keep my eyes on the road ahead and away from a few things I really needed to look at.

Then my life started imploding from several directions, and no amount of working harder could put it back the way it was.

Let me paint a picture for you.

Imagine a huge rock chained to your leg while you're sitting in a boat. You keep moving. You've built a good boat, and it carries the weight beautifully. Most days you barely notice the rock.

Then the boat springs a leak. A small one at first. You work harder, bail out the water and try to keep it moving. Because that's what you do. You solve problems. You keep going.

Eventually, the boat sinks and you have to swim.

That's when you discover how much weight you've been carrying all along.

That was my beautiful midlife crisis.

And before you start thinking I'm recommending divorce, emotional chaos and dramatically reinventing yourself in your forties, please, dude. I'm not. I wouldn't wish that kind of pain anyone.

What I recommend is what I finally found on the other side: the courage to look at your life properly, get to know and truly develop the man who's living it, and make some deliberate choices about the extraordinary years you still want to build.

I knew how to work. I wasn't nearly as good at knowing myself.

For more than 16 years I've helped thousands of people transform their bodies, habits and lives. I've built a business, taken risks, worked ridiculous hours, and experienced the tremendous privilege of seeing people achieve things they once thought impossible.

I LOVE this work. I still do. In fact, I now love it more deeply.

There were years when I worked hard and things went incredibly well. I did the marketing, showed up, made decisions, followed through, and got the results. I gave myself quite a lot of credit. At times (Like most young men) I really thought I was "HIM"... Ridiculous. 🤣

Then came periods when I worked just as hard, sometimes harder, and things didn't go according to plan. And suddenly I was blaming myself for everything.

A good month made me feel like a capable man. A bad month could leave me questioning whether I was one.

Think about that for a moment. I'd allowed a business result to tell me what I was worth.

Psychologists Jennifer Crocker and Lora Park wrote about the costs of tying our self-worth to achievement. When succeeding becomes the way we prove we're worthy, setbacks start threatening more than the goal itself. That idea landed hard with me.

Of course the business mattered. Of course providing mattered. I took those responsibilities seriously, and I still do. But I had mixed up two entirely different questions: How is the business doing? and Am I enough as a man?

One can have a disappointing answer without the other needing to follow it down.

I'd spent years teaching people how to develop discipline, build better habits and follow through. Yet there I was, struggling to apply some of those lessons in my own life while everything familiar was changing.

That was humbling as hell. And it taught me something important about coaching, leadership and being human: knowledge doesn't exempt you from having a life.

Sometimes the man who can explain a hundred ways forward needs somebody in his own corner, helping him see the next one.

Then 2024 happened.

I fell in love at 21. I married, built a business, and became a father to the most incredible boy, Luke. I had a life full of things I loved, responsibilities I valued and people who mattered enormously to me.

In 2024, my marriage came to an end and I came out as gay.

It's a short sentence for a bloody enormous change.

There was the separation itself. There were difficult conversations, a great deal of uncertainty, and painful reactions from people I'd expected to have in my corner. Relationships changed. Some fell apart. My business went through a very difficult period too.

And through all of it, I was still Luke's dad. There was work to do, a business to run, commitments to honour, and a little boy who needed his father.

I loved the life I'd built. I needed to grieve the future I thought it would become. Coming out didn't erase the love, the memories or the responsibilities that had shaped it.

Karla is Luke's mom, and she's one of the most important people in my life and will always be. I care deeply about her and the life we've shared. That love and respect matter in the way I move forward.

And being gay didn't hand me a ready-made identity, a new group of friends or an instruction manual for the rest of my life. Turns out there's no magical “Congratulations, you've come out, here's your complete future” package.

I still had to decide what kind of man I wanted to be.

I'm gay. I'm also a father, a coach, an athlete, an entrepreneur, a man of faith, and someone who believes deeply in commitment, responsibility, kindness and keeping his word. All of those truths have to live together in the one life God has given me.

I've written more about building a life after separation or coming out, because finding your feet after a change of that magnitude deserves more than a tidy inspirational sentence.

What I can tell you here is that I didn't come out of 2024 with everything worked out. I came out with an opportunity, some very real grief, and a responsibility to live more honestly.

The man on Table Mountain didn't have a plan.

The photograph at the top of this article was taken on Table Mountain in Cape Town, at one of the lowest points of my life.

I remember choosing a new direction there without having the faintest idea what that life was going to look like.

There was no heroic soundtrack. No sudden moment where all my fears disappeared. I desperately wanted certainty. I wanted to fix things, stop hurting and find my feet.

Looking back, I can see how important that moment was. At the time, I could barely see beyond it.

Today I'm 41. I'm grateful for the life I'm rebuilding. I'm also careful about how I tell that story. The beauty came later. Much later. In the middle of it, I couldn't simply decide to be grateful and make the pain disappear.

I thank God for what I found through that season. That doesn't mean I believe every painful thing needed to happen, or that hurting other people is somehow part of a great transformation story.

Real life is more complicated than that. Our choices affect people we love. We have to own those choices and their consequences, even as we try to find a better way forward.

Somewhere along the line, hope returned. And with it came something I hadn't felt in a long time: genuine excitement about the man I could still become and the life I could still build.

No more macho bro shit.

I've spent a great deal of my adult life around men who work hard, lead, provide, train, build businesses and shoulder enormous responsibility. Those can be beautiful expressions of being a man.

But somewhere along the way we can get very good at being needed and surprisingly bad at admitting we need anything ourselves.

For me, strength often looked like keeping things moving. If something hurt, work harder. If something scared you, make another plan. If you didn't know what to do, at least look like you did.

I had to learn to say, “I don't know.” To admit when I was struggling. To ask for help. To sit with a problem long enough to understand it before trying to conquer it with a new routine.

And yes, I still believe in discipline. I still lift weights. I still love doing difficult things. I still expect men to take responsibility for their lives.

I just don't see any honour in pretending you're invincible while the people you love pay for the performance.

There's research behind this, too. A meta-analysis of masculine norms and mental health found that some norms, including rigid self-reliance, were associated with less favourable help-seeking and mental-health outcomes. That's an association, and men aren't all the same. But the finding deserves our attention.

It took more courage for me to be honest about my limits than to tell myself to push through another week.

That's the kind of courage I respect more now: the man who knows what he stands for, can admit when he gets it wrong, asks for help when he needs it, and still shows up to do the work.

My son deserves to know the man behind the provider.

Being Luke's dad is the greatest privilege of my life.

I want to provide for him. I want to create opportunities for him. I want him to know, deep in his bones, that his dad loves him and will always no matter what be there for him to come home too.

But some of my favourite moments with him happen when we're doing something completely ordinary. Working on something together, going about our day, and suddenly having one of those conversations that starts with a tiny question and becomes something I'll remember forever.

Man, I LOVE my kid.

I think a lot about the values I want him to learn: courage, grace, kindness, faith, responsibility, integrity. And that means I have to look at whether he can actually see them in me.

Can I admit when I'm wrong? Can I keep my word when it's inconvenient? Can I treat myself and other people with respect when I'm disappointed? Do I make room for him now, or am I always waiting until the business is a little less busy?

Because here's the thing: he is growing up while I'm working all of this out.

There will never be a perfect future moment to start being present.

I'm still ambitious. I've got big goals, man. But the life I'm building has to make room for the people I'm building it for. The way I spend an ordinary Tuesday with my son matters as much as any result I hope to achieve years from now.

I wrote more about that in what I want my son to learn about being a man. Fatherhood has made me far more thoughtful about what my version of success should look like.

I had to stop confusing responsibility with control.

My relationship with God became deeply personal through all of this.

I used to believe that if I worked hard enough, studied enough and made the right decisions, I could make the outcomes happen. The good months made me feel very super clever. The bad ones made me feel like a complete failure.

And then life reminded me how much is beyond any man's control.

I had to learn to bring my fears, my ambitions, my family and the future I couldn't see to a loving God. I had to become more honest in prayer, more willing to listen, and more comfortable with the fact that I won't get to understand every part of the story.

For me, the word is stewardship.

I have abilities. Experience. Responsibilities. Opportunities. I want to use them exceptionally well. I want to dream big, prepare properly, work diligently, treat people with integrity and pay attention to what I believe God is asking of me.

And then I have to loosen my grip on the result.

That doesn't make me passive. Hell no. I've got work to do and a life I'm excited about. But I can pursue a massive goal without asking the outcome to decide whether I'm worthy of love, respect or a place in the world. I'm here and that could only be by God's will. GOD LOVES ME. What a humbling truth.

I'm still learning this, by the way. Some days I'm excellent at surrender. Other days I seem determined to give God detailed instructions. 🤣

What has changed is that I no longer want to confuse being a good steward of my life with being in control of everything that happens in it.

So why the hell am I recommending a midlife crisis?

First, a little accuracy. Research doesn't suggest that every man inevitably goes through a midlife crisis. Psychologist Margie Lachman's review of midlife development describes a period that can include real pressures and losses alongside growth, capability and opportunity. A crisis isn't some compulsory birthday present when you turn 40.

I'm using the phrase with a smile because I think the question behind it is worth taking seriously.

What happens when a man finally stops living entirely on the momentum of who he's been and starts choosing, consciously, who he wants to become?

At 25, many of us are trying to establish ourselves. We want to earn a living, build a name, find love, prove we can make something of our lives. Fair enough. There's nothing wrong with wanting any of that.

By 40 or 50, you've gathered a hell of a lot of experience. You've made decisions that worked beautifully and others you wish you could redo. You've discovered what matters to you, what costs too much, which people are worth your time and how quickly the years move.

Now imagine directing all of that experience towards a vision you genuinely believe in.

Psychologists Edward Deci and Richard Ryan's work on self-determination and motivation offers a useful distinction: we can pursue goals because we personally value them, or because approval, pressure and guilt are steering us. An ambitious goal doesn't become shallow because it involves money, business or recognition. The question is whether you actually own the reasons behind it.

When I think of a healthy midlife reckoning now, I think of a man looking at his life and asking: Whose definition of success am I following? What do I really want to build? What kind of man do I want to be while building it? And who will benefit from the life I choose?

Those questions can change everything, even when nothing on the outside appears to be going wrong.

Midlife and onwards are where men build empires.

Oh man, I believe this with my whole heart.

And by “empire”, I don't mean everybody needs to build a massive company or make millions. If that's your dream, wonderful. Let's see what you're capable of.

Your empire might be a beautiful family life. Becoming an exceptional father. A business that employs people and creates something valuable. A healthy, capable body that lets you enjoy your adventures. A marriage or relationship you invest in properly. A community you serve. A body of work you leave behind. A faith and a character you can stand on when things get difficult.

For some men, it's all of those things woven together in a way that makes sense to them.

And there is so much to look forward to!

At 41, I have more experience, more perspective and a much clearer idea of the man I want to be than I did at 21. I still have a lot to learn. I've got ambitions that excite the hell out of me. I want to build, train, love, raise my son, make memories, enjoy the life God has given me and contribute something worthwhile while I'm here.

I'm also learning that the person I become while pursuing a goal matters more than the goal itself.

Because what would it be worth to reach the top of your mountain and realise you weren't there for the people you love? That you neglected your health, compromised your values or spent decades trying to impress people who never mattered much to you? Eish...

I've got no interest in doing all that work just to arrive at a life I don't actually want to live.

So I still dream big. Perhaps bigger than ever. But the vision comes from a different place now. I want to be proud of what I build and the way I built it.

That's a hell of an exciting way to look at the second half of life.

And if your boat is still floating? Good. Start steering.

You do not need to lose your marriage, change your sexuality, walk away from a career or watch your life fall apart to examine it honestly. If you can, catch it in the whisper my guy!

Seriously. Please don't create a crisis to prove that you've grown.

You can start tonight, in the middle of a perfectly ordinary life.

Ask yourself what you're working so hard for. Whether your days reflect the things you say matter to you. Whether your goals excite you or mostly reassure other people. Whether the man your family knows is the man you really want them to know.

Look at your calendar. Your conversations. Your health. Your relationships. The promises you've kept, and the ones you keep making to yourself and postponing.

Then decide what deserves more of who you really are.

Maybe you need a bold new goal. NICE! Maybe you need to become more present at home. Maybe it's time to rebuild your health, have an overdue conversation, start the business, take the adventure, rethink how you're working or finally become serious about your values.

And once you've chosen, begin. One honest decision. One action you can follow through on. And then another.

You can create a vision for your life without waiting for the worst day of it to arrive.

The beauty came later. The ambition is here now.

I couldn't see any of this when I was standing on Table Mountain, frightened and uncertain about the future.

I couldn't see the conversations I'd have with Luke, the relationship with God I'd begin to understand more deeply, the new friendships I will build, the things I would learn about myself or the excitement I'd eventually feel about building my life again.

There are still difficult days. Some chapters don't close as neatly as we'd like. I'm still a work in progress and I suspect I always will be.

But I LOVE my life. I LOVE my son. I LOVE my work. I LOVE that I can dream about the future again, and that there's still so much I want to do with the years I've been given.

So yes, I highly recommend a beautiful midlife crisis. The kind where a man takes a serious look at his direction, stops pretending he has all the answers, takes responsibility for what he can change and gets excited about what's still possible.

And if life has already knocked the wind out of you, you don't owe anyone an inspiring story while you're in the middle of it sir. Get the support you need. Find your feet. Give yourself room to be human.

I didn't thank God in the middle of the sinking and shaking. I thank Him now for how much more honestly, gratefully and deliberately I get to live.

If you're ready for a greater life, I'd love to be in your corner.

There's a reason I love working with men.

I've spent more than 16 years helping people change their bodies, habits and lives, and what still excites me most is watching a man begin to see what's possible for himself. The moment he starts taking his own ambitions seriously. When he makes the tough decision, follows through and discovers that he can trust himself to do the work.

I love ambition. I respect the responsibility men carry. I believe in honest conversations, good planning, practical action, and the kind of accountability that continues long after the motivational speech is over.

And I'll tell you when I think you're selling yourself short. I'll ask you questions that deserve more than the easy answer. I'll celebrate your progress, and I'll expect you to take ownership of the life you're choosing.

I won't pretend I have a magic answer to everything. I've lived enough life to know better. But I will bring my experience, my attention, my values and a genuine investment in the work we're doing together.

Whether you're standing in the wreckage of an old chapter or looking at a life that's already good and thinking, man, imagine what else I could build, that's a conversation I'd love to have.

My Exploration Call is a 20–30 minute online conversation (R695) where we can talk about your ambitions, where you are now, and whether working together would be worthwhile. You can also explore my other coaching options there.

Life is an extraordinary privilege, my dude. Let's do something remarkable with it.