Becoming a grandmother at 47 led me, as a therapist, to rethink my response to change

Facing ageing and a new role was deeply uncomfortable - but robustness and hope helped me adapt

I was 47, shaking and with tears streaming down my face as I held a perfect baby girl in my arms. My body was zinging with oxytocin, the bonding hormone, in response to her smell and touch, those little breaths - it felt as if she was my newborn baby. She wasn't. She was my first grandchild. My daughter's daughter. I'd become a mum at 21, she was 26"

The following evening, for my best friend's landmark birthday, I had made an effort -hair done, party frock, high heels - and I stepped confidently into the room. The first person I saw shouted: "Hi Grandma!"