**Diary Entry**
At sixty, I’m no longer needed? Honestly, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
I’ve always known there comes a time when society writes you off as a woman—when you’re no longer seen as interesting, desired, or necessary. When the kids have grown, the grandchildren visit less often, and friends only ring on special occasions. For some, it’s agonising. They cling desperately to youth, scrambling to prove they’re still useful, still wanted. But not me. I’m not fighting 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 York that I decorated myself after retiring. And you know what? I’m not suffering. I’m revelling in it. No one calls me ten times a day to whinge, no one demands I drop everything to babysit, lend money, or soak up their sorrows. This isn’t loneliness. It’s freedom.
I spent years being *convenient*. Listening to complaints, tangled in other people’s dramas, loaning cash I could hardly spare. People came to me not because they wanted *me*, but because they knew I wouldn’t say no. I was the backup plan, the safe harbour, the shoulder to cry on—until I was the one in need. Then? Silence. No *”Hang in there,”* no *”I’m here for you.”* Just emptiness.
Eventually, I realised: enough. I don’t want to be needed by everyone else. I want to be enough for myself.
Now, my days are mine. I wake up with no one to rush off and rescue. I go to yoga. I knit. I read. I bake Victoria sponges not because someone asked, but because I fancy it. I plant geraniums on my balcony and don’t have to justify spending money on soil instead of something *”practical.”* For the first time, I live exactly as I choose.
I have a grandson, Oliver. He’s a lovely boy. We see each other on weekends. I adore him—but I refuse to be free childcare. My title isn’t *”Granny the Servant.”* I’m a woman writing a brand-new chapter.
No, there isn’t a crowd around me anymore. But those who visit? They come because they *want* to. Not for favours or handouts, but simply because being here feels good.
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 my own company.
