I’m 45 and I No Longer Host Guests in My Home: Why I Chose Restaurants Over House Parties and Put My Comfort First

Author Walton MerrittReading 3 minViews 2

Im 45 years old, and I no longer welcome guests into my home.

Some people, when they visit, completely forget they are guests. They act rudely, offer unsolicited advice, and show no hurry to leave.

I used to be very hospitable, but my outlook changed quickly. Once I turned forty, I stopped inviting people round. I just dont see the point anymore. Having such guests is simply exhausting.

For my last birthday, I celebrated at a local pub. I really enjoyed it and now, its become my tradition. Let me explain why.

Hosting a gathering at home is expensive. Even for a simple dinner, you end up spending a fair bit. If you’re hosting for a holiday, the cost can easily go up. Guests tend to arrive with modest little gifts after all, times are tough. Then theyll stay chatting until late, and by the end, I want nothing more than to unwind, not to start tackling a mountain of washing up and tidying.

Now, I dont wait for anyone within the walls of my flat. I clean and cook when it suits me. Years ago, after hosting Christmas or other celebrations at home, Id feel drained and low. These days, when the holidays are over, I have time to take a bath and go to bed early.

I have much more free time and spend it wisely. Friends are welcome to drop by for a cup of tea, but I dont feel bad if I havent put on a fancy spread. Im now honest about how I feel. If I need some peace, Ill politely hint that the evenings over. It may sound blunt, but I no longer worry about appearances. My own comfort comes first.

The most surprising part is that those who most enjoy visiting others are never the ones to return the invitation. Its much simpler for them to enjoy themselves in someone elses home, without the hassle of cleaning or preparing food.

Do you still have guests round these days? Would you call yourself a hospitable person?

In the end, Ive learned that its perfectly okay to put myself first. True happiness comes not from pleasing everyone else, but from creating a life that brings me peace. Its not selfish to value your well-being sometimes, its simply wise.

This Is Not Your Home Alena gazed sadly around the house where she’d grown up from childhood. At eighteen, she was already completely disillusioned with life. Why was fate so cruel to her? Her beloved Nan had died, she’d failed to get into university not because she didn’t know the answers, but because a girl at the next desk had cheated from her paper and whispered something to the examiner when she handed it in. He frowned, demanded to see Alena’s answers, and then announced she was disqualified for cheating. She couldn’t prove anything. And it turned out that girl was the daughter of a local bigwig. How could you fight people like that? Now, after so many misfortunes, her mother had resurfaced, together with two brothers and a new husband. Where had they been all these years? Alena had been raised by her grandmother, her mum leaving before she even turned four. She had no pleasant memories of her mum from those few years. While Dad was at work, Mum left her alone and went out for fun. Even married, she never stopped looking for a “real man” and made no secret of it, either then or later, when Alena’s father died suddenly. Her mum, Tamara, didn’t grieve long. She packed her things, dumped her four-year-old on Grandma’s doorstep, sold the flat left by her late husband and left for parts unknown. Grandma Raya’s appeals to her conscience were in vain. Tamara visited now and then, but Alena was of no interest. She showed up again when Alena was twelve, bringing along her son, seven-year-old Svyatoslav, and demanded the old lady sign the house over to her. “No, Toma! You’re getting nothing!” Grandma flatly refused. “Sooner or later you’ll die and then it’ll be mine anyway!” snapped Tamara, glancing irritably at her daughter, packing Svyatoslav and slamming the door on her way out. “Why do you always argue when she turns up?” Alena asked her gran. “Because your mother is a selfish woman! I raised her badly. Didn’t discipline her enough!” Grandma retorted angrily. Grandma Raya fell ill suddenly. She’d never complained of her health, but one day, when Alena came home from school, she found her usually busy grandmother pale, sitting idle on the balcony. Alena had never seen her like that. “What’s wrong?” she asked, worried. “I’m not feeling well… Call an ambulance, darling,” her gran said calmly. The next days were a blur—hospital, drips, and then… death. Grandma Raya spent her last days in intensive care, where visitors weren’t allowed. Desperate with fear for her only real family, Alena dialed her mother. At first Tamara refused to come, but when Alena said Grandma was in ICU, she finally agreed—arriving only in time for the funeral. Three days later, she thrust a will under Alena’s nose. “This house now belongs to me and my sons! Oleg will be arriving soon. I know you don’t get along with him—so why not stay with Auntie Gally for a while?” Not a trace of grief in her voice. She actually seemed glad that Grandma Raya was gone—she was now the heir! Crushed with grief, Alena didn’t resist. The will was clear. For a time, she really did live with Auntie Gally, her father’s sister—a scatterbrained woman, never giving up hope of finding a rich husband, always surrounded by noisy, tipsy guests. Alena couldn’t stand it, especially when some started paying her unwanted attention. Terrified, Alena told her boyfriend, Pasha. “Enough of those sleazy old men eyeing you up!” he said. Then, decisively—remarkable for his nineteen years—he added: “I’ll talk to my dad. We have a flat on the edge of town. He promised I could have it when I started university. I’ve kept my end, now it’s his turn.” “I don’t really see how that helps me…” Alena stammered. “It means you and I will live there. Together!” said Pasha. “Will your parents ever agree to that?” “They have no choice! Consider this a proposal—will you be my wife and live with me?” Alena nearly cried with happiness. “Of course—yes!” Auntie Gally was thrilled, but Alena’s mother nearly ground her teeth to powder—“Getting married, are you? Look at you! Couldn’t get into university, so you found another way! Don’t expect any money from me! And that house is mine. You’re getting nothing!” Her mother’s words hurt deeply. Pasha could barely make sense of her tears, but he took his weeping fiancée home, where his parents tried to comfort her. Andrei Semyonovich listened to all Alena had suffered—more in a few months than many get in a lifetime. “You poor girl! What sort of woman is your mother?” exclaimed Pasha’s mother. “But what puzzles me,” said Andrei, “is why your mum is so desperate for the house if she has a will and keeps using it to threaten you…” “I don’t know…” sniffled Alena. “She always argued with Grandma over that house. First wanted her to sell it and hand over the money, then pushed her to sign it over. Grandma wouldn’t, said then we’d end up out on the street.” “Strange,” Andrei said thoughtfully. “Did you go to the notary after your gran died?” “No, why would I?” Alena asked, confused. “To process inheritance rights.” “But my mother’s the heir—it says so in the will! I’m just the grandchild. And Mum showed me the will.” “It’s not that simple,” said Andrei. “We’ll go to the notary after the weekend. For now, rest up.” Later, her mother tried to make her sign some documents, but Pasha intervened. “She’s not signing anything!” “Who are you to say?” Tamara snapped. “She’s an adult, she decides!” “I’m her future husband, and I think it would harm her. She won’t sign a thing.” Tamara screeched but had to leave empty-handed. Andrei’s suspicions only deepened. A few days later, he accompanied Alena to the notary. “Listen carefully, but check everything before signing!” he advised. The notary was scrupulous. Alena lodged her claim, and the next day they were told that a case had been opened for Alena’s inheritance. There was a savings account, left by Grandma Raya to pay for her education—of which Alena had known nothing. “What about the house?” Andrei enquired. “A deed of gift for the house was signed in the girl’s favour some time ago. No other documents exist.” “A deed of gift?” Alena gasped. “Yes. Your grandmother signed it to you several years back. Now you’re eighteen, you have full rights to the house.” “What about the will?” “It was written long ago and later cancelled. Your mum probably doesn’t know. The house is yours—you can live there as you wish.” Andrei’s suspicions were confirmed. “So what do I do now?” Alena asked, lost. “Tell your mother the house is yours—and she’ll have to leave.” “She’ll never do that! She’s already packed my things to throw them out!” “That’s what the police are for.” When Alena broke the news, Tamara exploded: “You little cow! Chucking your own mother out, are you? You can clear off! Who told you this rubbish? That fiancé of yours? I have a will!” “Exactly! Now get lost, or I’ll break your legs for good measure!” Oleg joined in. Andrei Semyonovich stood firm. “You should know, threatening behaviour is a criminal offence,” he said, polite but firm. “And who are you to tell me what’s what? We’re selling this house. Buyers are coming today!” Oleg sneered. But instead of buyers, the police arrived. Seeing proof of Alena’s ownership, they ordered Tamara and company to vacate, warning of prosecution if they didn’t. Furious, Tamara, her husband and sons had no choice but to leave. Alena returned home, with Pasha moving in too, for her safety. He was right—Tamara and Oleg kept pestering Alena for weeks. When Tamara heard about the bank account, she went after it, managing to secure part of it by law. But she could not get the house, no matter what she tried. Only after consulting every solicitor she could did Tamara finally give up and move away with her family. Alena never saw her again. Alena and Pasha married. The next summer Alena got into her dream university course, and by her third year she gave birth to their first child. Surrounded by her loving husband and his family, who had supported her through the darkest times, she finally found happiness. By Odette

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📌 Useful Social Services & Contacts in the U.S.

Stay informed and get help when you need it. Below are key national services with direct contacts that may support you or your loved ones:
🏥 Health & Mental Support

SAMHSA – Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration

What they do: Free and confidential help with substance use and mental health disorders.

Hotline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357) – 24/7, anonymous support

Website: samhsa.gov

🧒 Support for Children & Families

WIC – Women, Infants, and Children Program

What they do: Nutritional and healthcare support for pregnant women, new mothers, and young children.

Federal Info Line: 1-800-522-5006

Find local WIC office: fns.usda.gov/wic

I’m 45 and I No Longer Host Guests in My Home: Why I Chose Restaurants Over House Parties and Put My Comfort First