**Diary Entry – 24th February**
Sometimes I drop by my old accounting office—not for business, just for tea and chatter with former colleagues. The other day, I went again, and as always, the conversation turned to familiar frustrations. Vera, an old work friend of mine, barely stepped through the door before sighing:
“I don’t know what to do with Emily anymore. She’s thirty-two, but she still acts like she’s eighteen. No job, no family, no plans—just her phone and nights out with her mates. I’ve stopped giving her ‘fun money,’ but of course, I still pay for groceries and the flat—what else can I do?”
The more she spoke, the more I felt her pain. Vera’s nearly sixty. She’s worked her fingers to the bone her whole life—even now, when she ought to be enjoying her pension. Instead, she’s carrying not just herself but a grown woman who refuses to grow up.
“I tell her, ‘At least take on some part-time work!’ And she says, ‘Mum, I watched you grind away at three jobs for pennies—I don’t want that life.’ All she does is babysit the neighbour’s kid twice a week—that’s the extent of her ‘career.’ Anything more, she says, is beneath her.”
Emily had every advantage. First-class degree, brilliant university record—sharp as a tack. And as a girl, she never lacked admirers. You’d think she’d be thriving. But when it came to building a career, she decided starting at the bottom was ’humiliating.’ Wanted a high position straight off, a hefty salary. Those don’t grow on trees—not without experience.
“I don’t expect her to be some high-flyer,” Vera went on. “Just a functioning adult! But it’s like she’s waiting for a bloke in a flash car to sweep her off to some fairy tale—rich husband, country estate, holidays in the Maldives. That’s her ‘plan.’ Reality? Not interested. When I try introducing her to decent lads, she turns her nose up. Too poor, or ‘not clever enough.’ And what’s she bringing to the table, eh?”
It’s crushing to watch. Her words aren’t just complaints—they’re despair. She doesn’t know how to reach a grown woman stuck in a teenager’s mindset. Dreams are fine. But when they’re just excuses to avoid effort? That’s trouble.
“You know,” Vera said quietly, “she’s got a good heart. But her head… it’s like it’s frozen. Like she’s afraid to step into real life. And I won’t be around forever. What happens then?”
I nodded, thoughts racing. How do these stories start? Vera gave Emily everything—education, support, a home. Yet something went wrong. Too much coddling? Is Emily just terrified of responsibility? Or is she holding out for perfection, rejecting anything less?
“Sometimes I wonder,” Vera murmured, “was it me? Did I spoil her, solve everything for her? And now it’s too late to fix it?”
I couldn’t blame her. Stories like this aren’t rare. I know successful people who clawed their way up from nothing. And I know Emilys—smart, capable, but utterly lost. Sometimes, parents’ expectations break their children. Sometimes, it’s fear of failure. Or just laziness, dressed up as ‘finding myself.’
But one thing’s certain: Vera doesn’t deserve this. She did her best. All she wants now is to see her daughter stand on her own two feet—grown, grateful, and finally awake.
The hard truth? Our children don’t always become who we imagined. Maybe Emily will wake up in time—realise that time runs out, that mothers aren’t eternal, that life won’t wait for those who wait for miracles.
But she’ll have to choose it. And soon.
