At 60, I Have No Home, Partner or Children – Yet I Reject the Label of Failure
Reaching the milestone age of sixty has profoundly shifted my perspective on what constitutes a successful life. After a series of what many might deem wrong turns, I once believed my existence was somewhat of a disaster. However, as I celebrate this significant birthday, I am beginning to view my most substantial mistakes as potential catalysts for my most spectacular chapter yet.
A Journey Through Hidden Homelessness and Financial Turmoil
My path has been far from conventional. At thirty-five, I achieved a major personal victory by purchasing a small flat in Chalk Farm, north London, entirely through my own efforts as a single freelancer. This accomplishment felt monumental, especially without parental financial support. After five contented years, circumstances dramatically shifted. A disruptive neighbour began harassing me, and my father received a terminal cancer diagnosis. In a state of distress, I made the catastrophic decision to sell my flat rather than rent it out, intending to use the profit for a future deposit.
The 2008 financial crash obliterated that plan. The global recession devastated banks and housing markets, simultaneously crushing my freelance journalism career. As work vanished and grief overwhelmed me following my father's death, I depleted my savings and entered a decade of instability. I became part of the hidden homeless, moving thirty times in ten years, including nineteen relocations in a particularly chaotic two-year period. I slept on sofas of Twitter acquaintances, stayed in spare rooms of friends of friends, and endured unsafe living conditions, such as a flat with syringes in the bathroom where a stranger entered my room uninvited.
Eventually, I settled in Hove, East Sussex, where affordability dictated my residence. While Hove is charming and upscale, it is not my beloved London. My belongings are here, but my heart remains elsewhere. As my peers celebrate mortgage payoffs, I face the daunting prospect of working indefinitely to afford rent, a situation that is both terrifying and disheartening. At least my sertraline prescription is now free, offering some small relief.
The Absence of Partnership and Parenthood
My housing struggles might have been mitigated by a supportive partner, but that has not been my reality. My only significant relationship lasted from ages twenty-seven to thirty-one, ending the day after Princess Diana's death. Since then, my romantic life has consisted of fleeting encounters, short-lived collapses, and numerous unfulfilled situationships. The last potential partner spent our only meeting smiling at a younger woman behind me. While a tumultuous love life provides material for writing, the profound loneliness of never experiencing mutual, enduring love is devastating.
This leads to what society often labels my third mistake: not having children. I must clarify that never meeting a life partner and remaining childless were not mere errors or faults; they resulted from life's unpredictable twists. The pain of unfulfilled maternal desires is compounded by societal biases against the childless. I always envisioned one child, Frankie, but never met the right man. By forty, I was too old for NHS IVF, and at forty-six, financial constraints from the recession and credit card debt made private fertility treatments like IUI or egg-freezing impossible.
The grief of this loss, coupled with mourning my father, home, and career, was overwhelming. I wrote at the time about the profound sense of missing out on pregnancy, parental love, and being someone's utmost priority. Yet, I refuse to let regret define my narrative.
Finding Spectacular Positives in Life's Challenges
A conversation with my friend Shelly was transformative. When I lamented my seemingly sh** life, she responded, It's not. It just hasn't gone the way you expected, and you might not have what you wanted, but your life is spectacular. Those words became a lifeline, helping me reframe my experiences.
I have begun to uncover perverse positives within my so-called failures. Without a mortgage, I possess the freedom to pursue adventures. My current flat is pleasant, my landlord has become a friend, and I can enjoy Hove's tranquility while London remains a train ride away. I retain a childlike capacity for joy, finding happiness in simple pleasures like daily decafs with friends and charity shop explorations.
While I lack a partner, I have developed a genuine appreciation for myself and do not feel lonely, perhaps no more so than someone in an unhappy long-term marriage. My friendships are the success story of my life, offering love, support, and companionship. Although I did not become a mother, I embrace the role of a nurturing, cool aunt to younger individuals in my life, finding delight in their energy and inspiration.
Grief and loss have bestowed upon me empathy, compassion, gratitude, and strength. At sixty, I feel fearless, having survived numerous hardships; ambitious, acknowledging my talent from a thirty-three-year career; and liberated, adopting a new mantra: it doesn't matter. I am genuinely excited for my final third act, determined to transform my life into something truly spectacular. Whether I meet The One, secure a six-figure book deal, or write an Oscar-winning screenplay, I approach this chapter with unapologetic confidence. See you on the red carpet, Cindy and Meg.
