There’s a saying: “Out of sight, out of mind.” I find myself thinking about it more and more after conversations with my mother. It’s as if she’s forgotten she has not just a son, but a daughter too. How else can I explain her indifference?
After finishing school, I left my hometown because I couldn’t see a future there. I wanted to break free, make something of myself in the city—go to university, build a career, start my own life. That’s where I met my husband, got married, and later had a child. If it weren’t for my mother-in-law and father-in-law, life would’ve been so much harder.
They helped with the deposit for our mortgage. We even lived with them for two years to save up for our own place. It wasn’t easy, but we managed. My mother-in-law became like a second mum—she taught me so much, always supported me. Still, I dreamed of having our own space. Not because I didn’t love them, but because every family needs their own home.
But my own mother? She was barely part of my life. Rare phone calls, mostly just to complain or gush about my brother. She never once asked how I was doing. But I knew every detail about him—his grades, his new jeans, how tall he’d grown over summer. It was the same back when I was at uni. She never cared how my exams went, but she’d brag about his top marks in PE.
I got used to it. But when my husband and I finally bought our own place and took on the mortgage, I called her to share the good news. And what happened? She barely listened. She had bigger news—my brother was getting married!
*”Can you believe it? Such a lovely girl! You remember Aunt Irene? It’s her daughter! The wedding’s in a month—so much to organise!”*
She chirped about venues, dresses, guest lists… I remembered how, before my own wedding, she’d called it a waste of money. In the end, she didn’t even come, claiming she was ill. Part of me still thinks she just couldn’t be bothered.
My brother was nineteen, his bride eighteen. Where did they get the money for a wedding? Turns out, Mum and the in-laws pitched in. Yet when we got married, all she said was, *”Well, come if you can.”* We didn’t go. Work was busy, and honestly, I didn’t want to. My brother and I were never close, and I was too hurt by Mum’s indifference.
Six months later, she called again. Not to ask how we were, but to announce they’d bought my brother and his wife a flat near hers.
*”No mortgage needed! We sold Gran’s old place, his in-laws chipped in too—sorted it all out!”*
Gran’s flat… She’d always said she’d keep it for retirement, rent it out. When I was struggling in a cramped rented flat with a baby, it never crossed her mind to offer it to us. Not a penny came our way. But for him? Gifts, help, endless care.
The hardest blow came when I was pregnant. I was terrified. I wanted my mum there, just for a little while. I even offered to pay for her train ticket—just come, please. But she wouldn’t. Said my brother’s little girl had a cold and she had to stay. Never mind that his wife probably had her own mother to help.
My mother-in-law saw right away what was happening. She came to the hospital, held me, helped pack my things, got the house ready. After the birth, she was there every moment—feeding me, cleaning, taking the baby for walks while I lay there crying… out of sheer gratitude. And my mum? She replied to my text about her new granddaughter with just two words: *”Congratulations.”* No call. No *”How are you? How’s the baby?”*
Two weeks passed—nothing. Then she finally rang, but only to boast that *”the little one’s nearly walking!”* (Meaning my brother’s daughter.) I listened silently, then hung up. I haven’t called since. Neither has she.
Maybe it’s for the best. I’m tired of feeling like an afterthought. If Mum thinks she only has one child and one grandchild, fine. Let her. But it doesn’t make the hurt any less.
