Ann Richardson, 49

I always felt a little odd, and assumed it was something about me. It was only in my 30s, when I was training to be a psychotherapist, that I found myself with a group of only children, describing our experiences. It was a revelation because it made me realise that other people felt many of the same things.

Growing up in a small unit means the experience is intense, so we can be rather intense, especially in relationships. Paradoxically, we also need space and quiet, which can cause problems with partners, who might misinterpret it as rejection. We're often socially mature and present a confident exterior that hides a lot of turmoil and insecurity.

There isn't another child that you can watch, compare yourself with and compete against. It's a missing experience. I think that does leave disadvantages in adult life: you feel other people know better how to "do" relationships with peers, how to negotiate, how to be part of a group. But there are pluses too. Time alone helps you become resourceful, develop your imagination and creativity. I think the ability to operate on your own can sometimes give you the impetus to really go for something.

Geoff Allinson, 60

When I was 13 my father died, and what sticks in my mind is how, at his funeral, a neighbour put her hand on my shoulder and said, "You're the man of the house now, Geoff. You've got to look after your mother."

That responsibility weighed on me: I was only a boy. We were very close, as you are when there's just the two of you: but I also felt trapped because, like all teenagers, I wanted to start looking beyond my home to the big wide world.

Three years later Mum married again, and I remember feeling such relief, because now I could live my own life.

Over the following decades I was married and raising my own three children - I always wanted more than one - but there was always this worry in the back of my mind that one day my mother would be on her own again, and I'd be the only person there for her. Then six years ago, my stepfather died.

I was living down south and my mum was in Leeds, so there was a big distance involved and that made things hard. It was very draining, not having anyone else to share it all with; not just the practical stuff, but the worry too. In the end I decided to give up my job to care for her, and I moved her down to live with me.

I'm pleased to think that, in the years ahead, my kids have one another to share the difficulties with. In my experience, that will make a difference.

Anne Parker, 68

I'm single and I've never had children, so as I was an only child I've got no family now. And there are times when you think, it would be nice to have a gorgeous, kind brother or some lovely nieces or nephews who'd come over and help me out or just be around. But that's the most negative I could be about it, really. On the whole I'm pretty contented; I've got a lot of great friends and neighbours, and you don't miss what you've never had.

I don't suppose my parents set out to have a family with only one child in it but the war intervened: my father went off to fight when I was four, at precisely the moment when they might have had a second child. When he came back I do remember saying to both of them that I wanted a sister and it was always maybe, maybe ... But it never happened. I would have welcomed a sibling, though, at that point: I know that.

But there have been lots of advantages to being an only child. I grew up being very good at occupying myself, very self-sufficient, and that's always stood me in good stead.

And a lot of the opportunities for arguments are removed when you're an only child: when my second parent died, for example, the whole issue over inheritance was completely straightforward. I've seen terrible rows between siblings over inheritance, so I was spared all that.

· Being An Only (www.beinganonly.com) is an organisation founded by Ann Richardson as a resource for only children: it runs workshops, social events and conferences.