**Diary Entry 12th March**
For years, I lived only for my childrenuntil, at forty-eight, I finally discovered what life truly meant.
Emily sat on the faded sofa in her flat in Manchester, staring at the peeling wallpaper she hadnt bothered to change in two decades. Her hands, worn from years of washing, cooking, and cleaning, rested limply on her knees. She was a mother of three, a wife who had always put her family first. But at forty-eight, it struck her: her entire life, she hadnt been a mother or a wifeshed been a servant. A servant in her own home, where her own desires and dreams had dissolved into an endless routine.
Her childrenWilliam, Sophie, and Charlottehad been the centre of her universe. From the moment they were born, Emily forgot what it meant to think of herself. She rose at five to make breakfast, dressed them for school, checked their homework, washed their clothes, while her own dresses gathered dust in the wardrobe. When William fell ill as a boy, she stayed awake night after night at his bedside, forgetting sleep. When Sophie wanted ballet lessons, Emily scrimped on everything to pay for them. When Charlotte begged for a new phone, she took odd jobs to buy it. She never once asked what *she* wanted. She believed her role was to give until there was nothing left.
Her husband, Edward, was no better. He came home from work, slumped in front of the telly, and expected dinner as if it were his due. *”Youre a motherits your duty,”* hed say when Emily dared mention her exhaustion. She swallowed her tears and carried on, spinning like a hamster in a wheel. Her life had one purpose: to make others happy, even if she got only crumbs of attention in return. The children grew, became more independent, yet their demands never lessened. *”Mum, make me something nice,” “Mum, wash my jeans,” “Mum, can I have money for the cinema?”* Emily obeyed like a machine, blind to her own life slipping away.
At forty-eight, she felt like a shadow. The mirror showed a woman with tired eyes, greying hair she never had time to dye, hands rough from work. Her friend, Margaret, once said, *”Emily, you live for everyone else. But where are *you*?”* The words stung, but she shrugged them off. What else could she do? She was a mother, a wifeher duty was to care for her family. Yet deep down, a tiny spark had begun to smoulder.
The breaking point came without warning. That day, Sophie, now a young woman, tossed out carelessly, *”Mum, youve ruined my clothes in the washtheyre ruined!”* Emily, whod spent the night ironing them, froze. Something inside her snapped. She looked at her daughter, the scattered laundry, the sink piled with dishes, and realisedshed had enough. That evening, she didnt make dinner. For the first time in twenty years, she locked herself in her room and weptnot from sadness, but from the crushing truth that her life had slipped through her fingers.
The next morning, Emily did the unthinkable: she went to the hairdresser. Sitting in the chair, watching her dull locks fall away, she felt the weight of the past lift. She bought a dressthe first in years, without worrying if her family would approve. She signed up for painting classes, a dream shed abandoned long ago. Each small step was a gasp of air after years underwater.
The children were stunned. *”Mum, youre not cooking anymore?”* William asked, used to her devotion. *”I will, but not always. Learn to manage,”* Emily replied, her voice trembling with fear and resolve. Edward grumbled, but she no longer feared his disapproval. She learned to say *”no,”* and that word became her freedom. She hadnt stopped loving her familybut for the first time, she put herself first.
A year later, Emily saw the world differently. She painted canvases she sold at local markets. She laughed more than she cried. Her flat in Manchester was no longer a dumping ground for everyone elses messit was *her* space, filled with the scent of coffee and paint. The children began helping, though theyd resisted at first. Edward still complained, but Emily knew one thing: if he couldnt accept her as she was now, shed leave. She was no longer a servant. At forty-eight, shed finally found herself.
**Lesson learned:** A life spent only serving others is no life at all. Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is choose yourself.
