I’m 65, and I can’t stand having people over
Some might judge me, but I don’t care what anyone thinks. It’s not that I dislike people or my friends—not at all. I just can’t bear having anyone cross the threshold into my home. We can meet anywhere else—at the park, out and about, at someone else’s place—just not mine. I’m tired, and that’s that.
I recently turned 65, and everything has changed since then. Just a few years ago, I was willing to open my doors to anyone who wanted to visit my small town just outside of Manchester. Now, the mere thought of visitors makes me shudder and fills me with deep annoyance. After the last get-together, it took me two days to clean up my house as if a hurricane had passed through. I spent all day cooking endless amounts of food, and then another two days clearing the mess and chaos. Why do I need this? I don’t want to waste my life doing that anymore.
Thinking back to how things used to be, I feel a pang of sadness and weariness. A week before guests came over, I’d start a thorough cleaning: washing windows, scrubbing floors, cleaning every corner. Then I’d puzzle over what dishes to prepare to please everyone. And those heavy shopping bags! Lugging them up to the top floor was a nightmare, leaving me cursing everything under the sun. And then the guests would arrive, and it would all begin. Making sure everyone had enough food, keeping the plates full, making sure everything sparkled. I’d be the cook, the server, the dishwasher, and the cleaner—all in one. My legs would ache, my back would throb, and I couldn’t even sit down for a moment to chat because someone always needed something.
And for what? To collapse exhausted, staring at a wrecked kitchen? Enough, I’ve had my fill. Why torment myself when there are people who can do it all better and faster for a fee? From now on, all celebrations, meetings, and gatherings happen at cafes or restaurants. It’s cheaper, simpler, and it doesn’t drain my spirit. After dinner, there’s no need to clean, wash, or pack away—you just head home, slip into bed, and sleep with a clear conscience.
I now believe in living actively, instead of withering within four walls. We already spend too much time at home; meeting friends somewhere outside is rare, almost a luxury. Everyone has work, responsibilities, and errands to run—who finds the time to just sit and relax? I’ve realized that all my life I’ve worked like a dog—for family, for children, for others. Now I want to focus on myself, for my own peace.
I’ve developed a habit: during lunch breaks, I call my friend Helen and drag her to a nearby café where they serve the most scrumptious desserts. Why didn’t I do this before? I’m amazed at how many years I lost, bogged down in domestic routines!
I think every woman will understand. Just mentioning hosting people at home makes your head pound with thoughts of what to cook, how to clean, how to impress. It’s not joy; it’s a punishment. Of course, if a friend pops by for five minutes, I won’t turn her away—I’ll pour some tea, we’ll chat. But it’s much better to arrange in advance and meet at a cozy coffee shop. It’s become my salvation, my little joy.
To all the women out there, I’ll say this: don’t fear spending too much at a restaurant. You’ll spend more at home—not just in pounds, but in nerves and health as well. I’ve calculated: between groceries, cleaning, and the time that just vanishes, it ends up costing more than the café bill. And the most important thing is—you preserve yourself. At 65, I’ve finally realized that life isn’t just about obligations to others; it’s about the right to rest, to ease, and to freedom from other people’s plates and expectations. I’m no longer opening my door to those who want to turn my home into a battlefield for cleanliness and order. I’ve had enough.
