What Does Retirement Look Like for a Homemaker? — A personal reflection on shifting seasons and steady purpose

 

I’ve been home since I was 25—the day I found out I was pregnant with baby number two, I gave notice at my job, and I never looked back. That was the beginning of a new kind of career: not one marked by paychecks or promotions, but by peanut butter sandwiches, permission slips, long nights, and love without limit.

I’ve been “not employed” for 35 years. But I have worked every single day.

My husband and I built our life during his military service—twenty years, nineteen moves, and eight children along the way. Three of those children we lost through miscarriage and carry forever in our hearts. The five who stayed have become the source of our greatest joy, our most cherished memories, and our very best stories.

I’ve been the stay-at-home mom, the homeschool teacher, the family calendar keeper, the snack-bag packer, the nurse, the organizer, and the steady hand behind the curtain. For years, while my husband was away on deployments or training, I was the one holding down the fort. He trusted me completely to manage our home and our family, and I’d like to think I earned that trust day by day.

Now, at 60, I find myself in a new place.

We are debt-free. Our home and cars are paid off. We give, we invest, and we live within our means. And after decades of working and providing for our family, my husband is preparing to retire within the year.

And if I’m being honest—I’d like to retire, too.

But how exactly does a homemaker retire?

I’ll still cook the meals, fold the laundry, light the candles, and make the grocery list. I’ll still answer the phone when one of our kids calls “just to talk” (but really, they need advice). I’ll still keep the fridge stocked, the guest room ready, the coffee warm.

But somewhere in me, there’s this quiet hope: that maybe I don’t have to keep striving. Maybe the pressure to produce something extra—to turn every skill into a side hustle—isn’t what this season is asking of me. Maybe I’m being invited into something different.

Recently, I’ve explored what some might call side hustles—a sweet little micro bakery, a handful of sourdough classes, and a few creative offerings shared from my kitchen. I don’t regret any of it. It was fun, meaningful, and in many ways, it affirmed what I already knew: I love teaching, I love feeding people, and I love sharing what I’ve learned.

But it also clarified something else: I don’t need to build something bigger. I’m not looking to grow a business or chase momentum. If I offer a class or a pop-up bake here and there, it will be just that—something on the side, in its rightful place, not something I’m trying to build my life around.

Because truly? I already have everything I need. And I’m not willing to spend this season chasing more, when I’ve worked so hard to arrive at enough.

Lately, I’ve been imagining what it might look like to simply show up more. Not with grand plans or perfect timing, but with presence. To pop by one of the kids’ houses just to lend a hand with the grandkids—or drop off a meal they didn’t know they needed. To text a friend and say, “Come by for coffee—I’ve got the good creamer.” To turn errands into opportunities—to meet someone’s eyes in the grocery store and linger just long enough to really see them.

I want to live slower, yes—but also closer. Closer to the people I love. Closer to the needs around me. Closer to the kind of life that isn't loud or shiny, but deeply meaningful in its simplicity.

This year, I started with the phrase:
“Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.”
It wasn’t born out of scarcity, but out of stewardship. A desire to live not just below our means, but within our purpose.

I know I may be writing to a small circle of women here—women who have been generously provided for by husbands who have worked hard and given freely. Not because life has always been easy, but because together you’ve built a life where needs are met and margin exists. And now, in this quieter season, you’re not looking for more to accumulate—you’re looking for more to offer. You long to live with wisdom, purpose, and quiet intention.

If that’s you—you’re seen here.

Maybe retirement for a homemaker isn’t about stepping away from the work—it’s about releasing the weight of it. It’s choosing enough instead of chasing more. It’s anchoring deeper into home, not hustling away from it.

And maybe this season—this slower, simpler, still-purposeful season—is not the end of our usefulness, but the beginning of something more rooted and real.

We don’t have to start a business.
We don’t have to prove anything.
We can live wisely, give generously, rest gratefully.
And still be profoundly faithful in the quiet.

That’s the kind of retirement I want.
And maybe you do too.