Apparently ​women are at their most miserable at fifty…

Fed up with being kind all the time?

Oh dear. Well from the conversations I have been having with my friends – this would seem to be true. Maybe they are not miserable, just beginning to see through the fog of raising children. Once our children are well into teenage hood, we seem to get to a point where we erupt with anger and frustration.

We find ourselves singing Talking Heads tunes to ourselves.

How did I get here?

Why am I doing everything for everybody and getting no thanks for it?

Why am I Julie, the activities director on The Love Boat (have to thank Woogsword for that one).

Why am I facilitating freedom and opportunities for everyone in my family but not for myself?

My Mum was the typical seventies mum – scarf around the head, cigarette at the ready, a packet of Limits on the kitchen table. But she was also a reader. She loved one quote from Goethe which always got on my nerves but now that I am fifty, I keep telling it to myself and my friends.

If I am not for myself, then who can be for me?

What do you think?

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