I’m 47, and I no longer feel any joy in life…
Women are truly working two shifts—first at their jobs, then at home. We carry everything on our shoulders, forcing smiles, staying cheerful, juggling it all—children, chores, elderly parents, endless responsibilities. Then comes the moment when it all snaps. You’re still young, not a grandmother by age, yet you’ve got nothing left inside. It’s like everything has burnt out. As they say—completely shattered.
Sometimes I wonder—maybe pensions exist for a reason? But why so late? And how do you even survive on one when even a salary barely gets you through? I just want to step off this treadmill now.
I’ve read all those articles and comments about women “blossoming” in retirement—learning languages, traveling, taking up sports, making new friends, finding hobbies, even love. Where do they get the energy? I honestly can’t wrap my head around it.
I’m 47. I have a wonderful family. Two sons. But I don’t want anything anymore. Truly. I just don’t. I don’t wake up happy, I don’t make plans, I don’t dream. My only thought in the morning is making it to bedtime. Maybe it’s the toll of late motherhood. I had my first at 35, my second at 39. Now one’s nine, the’ other nearly a teenager. And I feel old.
Mornings are a rush—breakfast, packing school bags, checking homework, then work. I’m in sales—calls, meetings, presentations, contracts, endless talking. Even when the workday ends, I’m never off—available 24/7, terrified of losing a client. They might call at seven, nine, even ten at night, and I’ll jump to answer. Just in case.
Then comes the house—homework, laundry, dinner, clothes for tomorrow, the school group chat with its daily avalanche of messages. Someone forgot something, someone needs money collected, another needs paper, another’s organizing a trip. I have to stay on top of it all. Everything falls on me.
I can’t remember the last time I truly rested. I get two weeks’ leave a year, but it’s spent tackling piles of admin—sorting things, fixing things, helping someone. I come back more exhausted than before.
I have a husband. He tries, really. He’s not the type to lounge with the remote. He helps—around the house, with the kids. But it doesn’t change the big picture. Because I’m still the one holding everything together, remembering everything, running the mental checklist with a hundred tasks for tomorrow.
All I feel is anxiety. I’m exhausted. And money’s tight. We’re not poor, but not well-off either. Just an average family. We don’t dream of Swiss ski trips—even a simple day out by the lake feels like a luxury now. Everything’s expensive. Everything’s an effort.
There’s no time for myself. My parents are getting older. They can’t babysit—their health won’t allow it. I help them when I can. The guilt gnaws at me. I’m needed by everyone, yet I’ve lost myself. And honestly, they sometimes seem livelier than I do. I force a smile, hide how hard it is. Inside, I’m empty.
Why am I like this? Other women seem happy, living fully, traveling, pampering themselves, laughing, posting holiday photos. And I’m drained. I don’t know how to relax. How to live. It all just passes me by.
You’ll say I need to unwind. Take a break. But when? Even weekends are full of chores. When does it end? I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe others have figured it out. But I… I’m just too tired.
Does anyone else feel this way? Or is it just me?
