**Diary Entry**
I’m 67 years old, and I live alone. My husband passed away long ago, and I don’t know how to fill this emptiness. I’ve begged my children to let me move in with them, but they refuse. I don’t know how to carry on… In bustling cities like Manchester, loneliness feels heavier than ever. Crowds of strangers on the streets bring no comfort, especially to someone my age. Making new friends seems impossible now, and sadness has become a stubborn companion.
Today, I’m reflecting on loneliness in later life and what a psychologist might say about it. Perhaps putting this into words will help someone else find the courage to change their own story.
I’m 67, living alone in a small flat on the outskirts of Manchester. My husband died years ago. I still work—it’s the only thing that keeps the boredom at bay. But lately, I’ve been going through the motions, as if on autopilot. Nothing brings me joy; everything feels dull and pointless.
I don’t have any hobbies, and I’ve stopped trying to find one. Maybe I’m just too old for that. I asked my son, Thomas, and his family—he has three children—to move in with me, but my daughter-in-law, Emily, said no. I suppose she doesn’t fancy sharing a home with an old woman.
I thought about staying with my daughter, Charlotte, but she has her own family, and she doesn’t want me living there either. Though they’re always happy to see me when I visit. They make tea, cook a lovely dinner, listen to my stories. But the more I visit, the harder it is to return to my empty flat. Yet I always do…
Margaret—that’s me—doesn’t know how to break this cycle. Even at 67, life shouldn’t feel this bleak. The one glimmer of hope is that I’ve started considering change, wondering how to ease this loneliness. That’s something, at least.
A lack of hobbies—or worse, the unwillingness to find any—could be signs of depression. Margaret ought to see a neurologist, psychologist, or therapist, a specialist suggested.
They say 67 isn’t old these days. The issue isn’t that her children won’t live with her—grown children value their independence, their own routines. You can’t force them to rearrange their lives.
Margaret needs to let go of the idea that happiness only exists near her children. She can reshape her life herself. Manchester is full of possibilities: events, places she’s never been, new people to meet. Fresh experiences are what she needs now.
The psychologist is right. If her children are busy with their own lives and don’t want to live together, she shouldn’t push. Especially since they’re otherwise kind and welcoming. Why not try to find meaning elsewhere?
At this age, with time and energy still left, she could chase dreams she put aside years ago. Some take up painting, others join dance classes, some even travel. The worst thing is letting days blur into the same routine: telly, the doctor’s, the shops… That only feeds the loneliness, trapping her further.
Today, opportunities exist for every age, and it’s a shame not to seize them. Some find love again, even with grown grandchildren. Others discover new passions after retirement.
But the younger generation plays a part too. Children and grandchildren can help their elders stay engaged with life. Sometimes, a simple gesture—a phone call, an invitation to dinner, a walk together—can be a lifeline. A small effort that makes all the difference.
