Retirement has a way of uncovering the loneliness thats built up over the years.
The moment I retired, everything fell apart how growing older reveals a solitude you never saw coming.
Im sixty. For the first time in my life, I feel like I dont exist not to my kids, my grandkids, my ex-husband, not even to the world. But Im still here. Im alive. I go to the chemist, buy a loaf of bread, sweep the little patio under my window. Inside, though? Its just emptiness, heavier every morning when theres no rush to get to work. No one calls to ask, Mum, you alright?
Ive lived alone for years. My kids are grown, with their own families, scattered across the country my son in Manchester, my daughter in Bristol. My grandkids are getting bigger, and I barely know them. I dont see them off to school, I dont knit them jumpers anymore, I dont tell them bedtime stories. No ones ever invited me over. Not once.
One day, I asked my daughter:
Why dont you want me to visit? I could help with the kids
She answered calmly, but it stung:
Mum, you know why My husband doesnt like it. Youre always interfering, and you do things your way
I didnt argue. I just felt ashamed. It hurt. I wasnt pushing in I just wanted to be near them. And the answer was, He doesnt like you. Not the grandkids, not my own children. Like Ive been erased. Even my ex, who lives in the next town over, never makes time for me. Once a year, a quick text for my birthday. Like a favour.
When I retired, I thought, *Finally, time for myself.* Ill knit, take morning walks, maybe even sign up for that painting class I always fancied. But instead of happiness, all that came was dread.
First, these strange attacks my heart racing, dizzy spells, this sudden fear I might die. I saw doctors, had tests, MRIs, ECGs. Nothing. One of them said:
Its in your head. You need to talk to someone, see people. Youre too isolated.
That was worse than a diagnosis. Because theres no pill for loneliness.
Sometimes I go to Tesco just to hear the cashiers voice. Other days, I sit on the bench outside my building, pretending to read, hoping someone might stop for a chat. But everyones in a rush. The worlds moving, and Im just here. Breathing, remembering
What did I do wrong? Why has my family turned away? I raised them alone. Their dad left early. I worked day and night, cooked meals, ironed their school uniforms, stayed up when they were ill. No nights out, no parties. Everything for them. And now? Im useless.
Maybe I was too strict. Too controlling. But I just wanted the best for them wanted them to turn out right. I kept them from bad crowds, from mistakes. And in the end? Here I am. Alone.
Im not after pity. Just answers: was I really such a bad mum? Or is this just how it is now everyones got their own worries, mortgages, school runs, hobbies no room left for Mum?
People say, Find a man. Try dating apps. But I cant. Too many years alone. I dont trust anymore. I dont have the energy to open up, to fall in love, to let a stranger into my home. Besides, my health isnt what it was.
Work? I cant go back. Before, there were colleagues chatting, laughing. Now? Just silence. So thick I turn on the telly just to hear another voice.
Sometimes I wonder, *What if I disappeared? Would anyone notice?* My kids? My ex? The neighbour upstairs? It scares me. Enough to cry.
But then I get up, go to the kitchen, make a cuppa. I think maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe someone will remember me. Call. Text. Maybe I still matter to someone.
As long as theres a little hope left, Im still alive.
