Retirement has uncovered the loneliness thats been building up for years.
“Once I retired, the problems started.” Thats how I realised how much loneliness had crept in over time.
Im sixty. For the first time in my life, I feel invisibleto my kids, my grandkids, my ex-husband, even to the world. But Im still here. I exist. I go to the chemist, buy bread, sweep the little patio under my window. Inside, though, theres just emptiness, growing heavier every morning when I dont have to rush to work. When no one calls to ask, “Mum, are you alright?”
Ive lived alone for years. My kids are grown, with their own families, and they live in other citiesmy son in Manchester, my daughter in Brighton. My grandkids are getting bigger, and I barely know them. I dont see them off to school, I dont knit them scarves 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 come? I could help with the kids”
She answered calmly but coldly:
“Mum, you know how it is My husband doesnt like it. You always interfere, and you do things your way”
I didnt say anything. I felt ashamed. It hurt. I wasnt pushing inI just wanted to be near them. And the answer was, “he doesnt like you.” Not the grandkids, not the kids. Like Id been erased. Even my ex-husband, who lives in the next village, never has time for me. Once a year, a quick text for my birthday. Like a favour.
When I retired, I thought, “Finally, time for me.” Id knit, take morning walks, maybe even join that painting class Id always fancied. But instead of happiness, all that came was this crushing dread.
First, these strange attacksmy heart racing, dizzy spells, sudden fear Id drop dead. I saw doctors, had tests, MRIs, ECGs. Nothing. One doctor said:
“Its all in your head. You need to talk to someone, see people. Youre lonely.”
That was worse than a diagnosis. Because theres no pill for loneliness.
Sometimes I go to the supermarket just to hear the cashiers voice. Other times, I sit on the bench outside my building and pretend to read, hoping someone will talk to me. But everyones in a hurry. Everyones rushing. And Im just there. 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, ironed their school uniforms, stayed up when they were ill. I didnt drink, didnt go out. Everything for them. And now Im no use to anyone.
Maybe I was too strict? Too controlling? But I just wanted them to turn out rightresponsible, decent people. I kept them away from bad influences, from mistakes. And now here I am, alone.
Im not asking for pity. Just to understandwas I that bad a mother? Or is it just how things are now? Everyones got their own worriesmortgages, school runs, activities no room left for Mum.
People say, “Find a man. Try dating apps.” But I cant. I dont trust anymore. Too many years alone. I havent got the energy to open up, to fall in love, to let a stranger into my home. And, well, my health isnt what it was.
Work? I cant go back. Before, there were colleagueschats, laughs. Now, its just silence. So heavy I turn on the telly just to hear a voice.
Sometimes I think, “What if I just disappeared? Would anyone notice?” My kids? My ex? The neighbour on the third floor? It scares me. Enough to cry.
But then I get up, go to the kitchen, make a cup of tea. 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.
