I feel like I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place—my mum needs help, but my husband absolutely refuses to lift a finger.
My name’s Emily, I’m twenty-nine. I’ve been married to Daniel for six years now, and we’ve got a lovely little girl, Lily, who’s four. We’re your typical young family—both working, paying off the mortgage, budgeting, trying to keep up with everything. Lately, I’ve been working from home, which means I get more time with Lily, and my mum’s been a huge help with that.
She adores her granddaughter—absolutely dotes on her. Takes her to her cottage, spends hours playing in the garden, pushing her on the swings, building sandcastles. For us, it’s a lifesaver. Lily loves going to her nan’s—it’s like a mini holiday for her. But like anything, there’s always another side to it.
Mum’s always on the go. She’s retired, but she can’t sit still. Always got some new project on the go. This year, for example, she decided to build a summerhouse in her garden. Didn’t even ask us about it—just ordered all the materials and then dropped it on me out of the blue:
“Emily, tell Daniel to come and help me unload everything. I can’t do it on my own.”
I nodded, even though I already knew what he’d say. His answer hasn’t changed in two years:
“That’s your mum’s place, Emily. If she wants to do DIY, that’s her business. I’m not going. I get one day off a week, and I spend it on the sofa recovering. I’m not lifting a finger for anyone. End of.”
I get where he’s coming from. He works long hours. Sometimes even on weekends, glued to his laptop getting urgent jobs done. We’ve got bills to pay—mortgage, nursery fees, life’s expensive. But on the other hand, this is my mum. She’s helped us so many times. She takes Lily every single week. She never asks for anything, never interferes. And now, for once, she just needs help moving a few planks for her summerhouse. But Daniel said no.
In the end, the building supplies turned up on Friday morning. Mum called me in a panic—she had no one to help. So I dropped everything, buckled Lily into the car, and drove over. We spent hours dragging timber, cement bags, beams—all sorts. I won’t even get into how back-breaking it was. Mum could barely stand up straight afterward. But what really stung was her son-in-law couldn’t even be bothered.
“Emily, is he a man or what? What’s wrong with him? I’m not asking him to re-tile the roof, just a couple of hours’ help!” she fumed, dusting her hands off.
I just stood there, silent. I was embarrassed. For Mum, for myself, even for Lily, who watched the whole thing and didn’t understand why her nan was so cross and why I looked so miserable.
When I got back, the house was ice. I tried talking to Daniel, explaining that it wasn’t some silly whim—it was my mum, who’s always there for us. But he just brushed me off:
“Do you ever actually listen to me? I’m carrying everything on my back! I don’t owe her anything! It’s her house, her project, her problem!”
I don’t know what to do now. I’m genuinely caught in the middle. On one side—my mum, always there, always helping, always caring. On the other—my husband, exhausted, fed up, convinced he doesn’t owe anyone a thing. And it’s tearing me apart because, in a way, they’re both right.
I love Daniel. And I’m so grateful to Mum. But I don’t get why my family has become a battleground. Why do I have to constantly justify myself? Why does a simple favour turn into a week-long row that leaves everyone miserable?
I’m tired. Tired of being the peacekeeper. Tired of mediating, explaining, begging. I just want my mum to feel valued, and my husband to realise that sometimes helping isn’t an obligation—it’s basic respect for the woman who’s always stood by him.
Sometimes I wonder—should I have put my foot down? Or been softer about it? Or just kept quiet and done everything myself? I don’t know.
But I do know one thing—I don’t want Lily to ever end up in this position. I want her to grow up with love, understanding, respect. No wars between her husband and her nan.
But how to get there? That’s the million-pound question.
