**Diary Entry:**
I’ve always known there comes an age for a woman when society quietly writes her off. When you’re no longer considered interesting, needed, or desired. When your children are grown, your grandchildren visit less often, and even old friends only ring on special occasions. For many, that hurts. They cling desperately to youth, scrambling to prove they’re still useful, still wanted. But not me. I don’t fight it. Because I’m not losing anything. I’m winning.
My name is Margaret Whitmore, and I’m sixty. I live in a cosy little flat in Bristol, which I redecorated myself after retiring. And you know what? I’m not suffering. I’m thriving. No one calls me ten times a day with their complaints. No one demands I drop everything to babysit, lend money, or soak up their sorrows. And this—this isn’t loneliness. It’s freedom.
For years, I was the “reliable one.” I listened to endless grievances, stepped into other people’s dramas, loaned cash I could barely spare. People didn’t visit because they missed me—they came because they knew I’d never say no. I was the “spare bed,” the quiet listener, the shoulder to cry on. But when my own world crumbled? Silence. No “hang in there,” no “I’m here for you.” Just emptiness.
Then, one day, I realised—enough. I no longer wanted to be needed by everyone. I wanted to be needed by *myself.*
Now, my days belong to *me.* I wake up without rushing to someone else’s rescue. I go to yoga. I knit. I read. I bake Victoria sponges just because I fancy it. I plant pansies on my balcony and don’t have to justify buying compost instead of something “practical.” I live exactly as I please.
I have a grandson, Oliver—a lovely boy. We see each other on weekends. I adore him. But I refuse to become unpaid childcare. I’m not a slave to the “doting granny” role. I’m a woman writing a new chapter.
No, I don’t have a crowd around me. But those who come? They’re here because they *want* to be. Not for favours, not for handouts, but simply because being with me is… nice.
I’m not afraid of solitude. I’m not lonely. I’m wrapped in quiet, in peace, and—in myself. Finally, I’ve learned to be with *me.*
