IN AN AGE OF COMPARISON CULTURE AND GLOSSY SOCIAL-MEDIA LIVES, IT’S HARD NOT TO QUESTION YOUR OWN PROGRESS. BUT THERE’S NO RIGHT PATH TO LIFE AS THESE WOMEN, WHO ARE TURNING CONVENTION ON ITS HEAD AND SHARING WISDOM AS THEY GO, DEMONSTRATE…

MY mum and dad don’t live together. They split up two years ago, when I was eight. I mostly live with Mum, in our cosy semi-detached house where I have my own bedroom. But I also have my own room in D

I WOKE up after a vivid dream of Eleanor. I’d had quite a few recently. Eleanor was my half-sister. She was older than me – the daughter of Dad’s first wife, Dorrie. My mum only found out he had a fir

“You can’t live here. There are no shops,” my friend Jen stated. We were sitting in the van belonging to the pub I lived in, the Golden Cross, Slough, waiting for my parents who had an interview for t

Exchanging houses with my mum and dad was the best decision my husband, Tom, and I made. They wanted to downsize and we wanted to upsize, so it made sense. We both lived in 1930s houses five minutes a

I’M up at my parents’ old house, surrounded by boxes of books. My mum was a voracious reader. You only had to see all the bookcases in her home to realise that. Many books were bought for her as gifts