I’m 60 and about to turn 61 in two months—not a milestone birthday like 70 or 80, but it means a lot to me. I want to celebrate it properly: not with a hurried cake or a casual lunch, but with a real, well-organised party—an elegant dinner, beautifully set tables, decorated chairs, waiters, soft music. Something that will make me feel alive, appreciated, and grateful for everything I’ve been through. The problem is, my children don’t agree. I have two grown-up sons. Both live with me—with their partners and children. The house is always full: noise, TV blaring, children running, conversations, arguments. Of course I love them… but I have no quiet moments anymore. I’m never alone. Never. They work, but in truth, I cover most of the expenses. I have a pension, money my husband left me, and a small business I still run. I pay the bills, buy the groceries, pay for repairs, and often provide ‘temporary help’ that turns permanent. Helping never bothered me. What bothers me now is that my sons make decisions for me. When I told them I wanted to have a party, they claimed it was a waste of money. That, at my age, I shouldn’t spend it on tables, food, and waiters. That the money would be better given to them—for investments, for their own needs, for ‘something useful’. They spoke to me as if I were irresponsible with my own savings. I explained that I wouldn’t need to borrow and that I’ve been thinking about this for months. But they wouldn’t listen, insisting it’s an unnecessary expense. One of them said to me: — Mum, things like this aren’t for you anymore. That stung more than I expected. I started thinking things I never dared say aloud. That sometimes I just want to be alone in my own house. That I miss waking up to peace and quiet. That I wish I could come home to an empty living room. That I want to make decisions without having to justify myself. I’ve even considered telling them to find their own place—not out of spite, but because I feel like I’ve done my part. But then I feel guilty. I’m afraid of sounding selfish. I don’t want to argue. I don’t want to ‘kick anyone out’ for the night. I just want to know if I’m wrong for wanting to celebrate. For craving a bit of quiet. For wanting my money to be spent on me, too. I’m writing because I genuinely don’t know what to do—whether to stand my ground or give in. Whether to have the party even though they disapprove. Tell me, am I wrong to want to celebrate my birthday my way—and to want my home and my money not to be a ‘family decision’?

Im 60 years old, and in two months Ill be turning 61. Its not a milestone birthdaynot 70 or 80but it means something to me. I want to celebrate it. Not with a shop-bought cake eaten in haste or a lunch squeezed in among errands, but a real, thoughtfully arranged party: a dinner, tables set with care, chairs decorated, waiting staff, soft music playing in the background. Something that will remind me Im alive, valued, grateful for everything Ive carried with me through the years.

But theres a snag: my children dont agree.

I have two grown-up sons. Both of them still live with me, along with their partners and their young children. The house is always bustlingnoise, the telly blaring, children dashing about, voices raised in lively debate or minor squabbles. Of course I love them all, but I never seem to find a moments peace anymore. Im never alone. Not once.

My sons work, but truth be told, I shoulder most of the household expenses. Ive got my state pension, the money my late husband left, and a small business I still run on the side. I pay the bills, do the food shopping, cover repairs andmore times than I care to admitdip into my funds for what starts as a helping hand but somehow turns into a fixture.

Ive never really minded being there for them.
But whats unsettling me is how they seem to have taken charge of my life.

When I told them I fancied organising a proper birthday do, they insisted it was a waste of money. Said there was no sense splashing out on food and tables and waiters at my age. Itd be far better, apparently, if I just handed that money over to themfor investments, household needs, or something useful. They spoke to me as if I were being irresponsible with my own savings.

I tried to explain that I wasnt borrowing or being rash, that Id been thinking this over for months already. But they wouldnt listen. They kept repeating it was unnecessary.

Then one of them said,
Mum, thats not really for you anymore.

That phrase stung far more than Id expected.

I started thinking about all the things Ive never dared say out loud: that sometimes I want the house to myself. That I miss waking up to stillness. That, just once, Id like to come home and find the sitting room empty and peaceful. That I want to make decisions without having to justify them.

Its even crossed my mind to suggest they each look for their own place. Not out of spite, but because I feel my job is done.

But then the guilt creeps in.
I worry Ill sound selfish.
I dont want to argue, nor shove anyone out over a single night. I simply want to know if its really so unreasonable to want a celebration. To crave the occasional bit of silence. To want my money to be spent on me for once.

Im putting this to paper because, frankly, I dont know what to doshould I stand my ground and organise my birthday party, or just give in? Should I go ahead and celebrate, even if it upsets them?

I wonderam I wrong for wanting to mark my birthday the way I want, or for wishing my home and my money werent always a matter for family debate?

Today, as I write all this down, I realise that sometimes its alright to put yourself first, even if youre the one everyone leans on. If you never claim a bit of joy for yourself, who will? And perhaps thats the greatest lesson I needed to learn.