When my children were little, and I was in the thick of juggling motherhood and my corporate career, I found myself dreaming of how my future might look once they’d flown the nest.
By then, decades of hard work would mean I’d have a sizeable salary – and savings pot – that would let me enjoy the final years of my successful career before retiring in comfort.
What I never expected was that, at 58, I’d find myself standing in the supermarket, desperately calculating how I could afford to buy enough food for the week and still pay my mortgage.
Because 11 months ago I became unemployed and, despite my determined, increasingly desperate efforts, I’ve not been able to get another job since. Every application – of which there have been more than 100 – has been met with rejection or silence.
Yet with state pension age less than nine years ahead of me, there’s no option to ‘call it quits’ and take early retirement. Despite decades of career success, I just wouldn’t be able to afford it. So instead, I’ve become an NER – that is, Neither Employed nor Retired. And let me tell you, it’s utterly terrifying, not to mention humiliating.
Sadly, I am far from alone. All across the UK, women in their 50s and 60s are in the same limbo: wanting to work but unable to find a job, and with state-funded retirement still years away.
Eleven months ago I became unemployed and, despite my determined, increasingly desperate efforts, I’ve not been able to get another job since, writes Linda Litherland
The UK’s Centre for Ageing Better found the number of women aged 50 to 65 who are either unemployed or economically inactive but would like to work increased by 9.7 per cent between 2019 and 2025.
And yet our plight seems to concern politicians far less than that of the NEETs – 16 to 24-year-olds who are Not in Education, Employment or Training. I’ve always prided myself on being a hard worker. At 16, I got my first job at an insurance firm in Reading, eventually moving into their internal training department. By my early 20s, I had moved out of my family home and was financially independent.
I loved to work, not just to make my own money but to use my brain. It was such a boost to see my achievements recognised.
I got married at 23, but as my husband was a manual labourer I was the breadwinner. I had our daughter at 27 and son at 30. My career continued to flourish and my ever-increasing salary allowed us to enjoy yearly holidays and give the children all the clothes and activities they wanted.
By my late 30s I’d risen to become a development consultant. My career was a huge part of my sense of self, and I’d never considered not working. While I loved having my children, by the time maternity leave ended I couldn’t wait to get back to work.
But at 38, I was made redundant. It came as a huge shock and was a frightening time. Who even was I without my job? I was absolutely determined to get back to work as soon as possible.
Four months later I pivoted into contract work, setting myself up as a one-woman company offering training and development to corporate organisations. It became an immediate success and I was earning more than I had as an employee. I was thrilled.
While contract work may not have had the stability of a permanent job, I made sure to keep work lined up. When I knew that a contract was coming to an end, I’d reach out to my network and soon the next one would be ready to go. I rarely had a gap of more than two weeks between projects.
Through it all I was sensible with my money, setting up a private pension. Even when my marriage ended in 2019 when I was 51, it didn’t derail my finances. Work became my main focus, and I still had the money to meet all my bills and enjoy life.
Though I didn’t have a firm retirement plan, I assumed I wouldn’t do so until I was in my 60s. So when in January 2025, aged 57, I knew my contract was ending that May, I was relaxed. I reached out to my contacts, letting them know I’d be available.
But of the few who responded, all said they had nothing.
At first the silence didn’t bother me. But as the weeks turned into months there was the smallest dart of worry. I pushed harder, contacting agencies and applying directly for roles – both contract work and full-time positions. I got nowhere.
Come June 1, the day I was officially no longer employed, the fear and panic really set in. What on earth was I going to do?
I did my best to stay calm, but I was thoroughly shaken. With my children having long flown the nest, my work had been my entire identity. The structure and purpose to my days had vanished.
Now, as I face my one-year ‘anniversary’ of being an NER, I’m still looking for jobs; I’ve now applied for more than 150
Then there was the money. I had a small amount of savings but needed a regular income to pay my mortgage and cover the skyrocketing cost of living.
After taking financial advice, I decided to withdraw a small lump sum from my pension. I hated doing it but told myself it was just to tide me over.
I continued to apply for jobs, including those with far lower salaries than I’d enjoyed before. Yet even then I faced rejection. There were moments when it felt like I’d finally done it, only for the opportunity to vanish.
I made it to the interview stage for one contract role I was more than qualified for, and it was going brilliantly. Then I mentioned I’d need to have my accommodation paid for any travel days far from my home, something that wasn’t at all unusual. Suddenly they no longer wanted me.
I couldn’t help but think they simply wanted someone cheaper, younger and less ‘demanding’.
Or someone male. I’m not naive; during my career I’ve seen how the ‘boys’ club’ meant even toxic men would be promoted well above their ability. It was both depressing and infuriating to suspect my sex and age suddenly meant I was being overlooked for roles I knew I could excel at.
It seemed as though people just saw a woman in her late 50s, not my expertise.
Feeling like a failure, I couldn’t bring myself to admit the truth of my situation to anyone, not even my children.
If friends or family asked about work, I’d just breezily say I was taking a break between projects. When I couldn’t afford a trip to London for a meal with friends, something I’d have done a year before without thinking, I made an excuse. How could I explain that even the train ticket would mean I couldn’t afford my weekly food shop?
But even doing the grocery shop was now a cause of stress, carefully meal-planning and choosing the cheapest supermarkets to make every penny count.
I swung from frustration and embarrassment to anger. I’d done everything right, working hard for years and making sensible financial decisions, only to find myself apparently worthless to employers.
After five months unemployed, I decided to take a regular income from my pension. It was frightening; I’d need this money when I retired. What would I live on if I’d spent it all? But things were a little easier after that.
And I knew I needed to slow down my frantic job search before I totally burnt out.
I joined Noon, a community for midlife women, and met other NERs; smart, hard-working ladies with decades of experience who were ‘too old to hire, too young to retire’. Knowing I wasn’t alone helped me to open up.
Friends have been really understanding, and while my children were worried for me, it’s been such a relief to stop hiding things – though it still hurts that I can’t offer them financial support if they need it.
Now, as I face my one-year ‘anniversary’ of being an NER, I’m still looking for jobs; I’ve now applied for more than 150.
Despite my initial feelings of shame, I know I’m doing everything I can. I can only hope I’ll be successful soon – and that this NER purgatory will be over.
As told to Kate Graham
