Cooking for the family, only for my daughter’s friends to eat it all!
My daughter, Gemma, is the life of the party. Her warmth and friendliness draw people in like bees to honey. Our house in Manchester is always full of her mates—kids of all ages, not just her classmates. I’m glad she’s sociable, but lately, things have spun out of control, and I’m at my wits’ end.
It all started when Gemma began inviting friends round. It’s winter, freezing outside, and I don’t mind them playing indoors where it’s warm. At first, she’d offer tea and biscuits, put on music, or organise games. I even admired her hospitality. But now, she brings over strangers—kids I’ve never met—and their behaviour leaves me speechless.
Just the other day, I came home from work to find two teenagers I didn’t recognise in the kitchen. They were eating the beef stew straight from the pot—a meal I’d made to last two days for the whole family. Not a single spoonful was left! They dumped their dirty plates in the sink and left without even saying goodbye. I was livid. There was nothing left for our dinner, and I was too exhausted to cook again.
I tried explaining to Gemma that she can’t bring strangers home and give away our food. Biscuits or sweets? Fine. But the groceries in the fridge are for the family. Gemma exploded, called me stingy, then stormed off to her room, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled. She locked herself in and refused to speak to me. I felt guilty, but what else could I do?
I boiled potatoes, fried some sausages, and called everyone to eat. Gemma defiantly refused, acting like I was the enemy. The next morning, before work, I warned her, “There’s enough food for two days. I’ll be home late—don’t expect me to cook.” But when I got back past eleven, my husband, James, was frying eggs in an empty kitchen. Gemma’s friends had raided the fridge again. She’d locked herself away, unwilling to explain.
I’m desperate. How do I get through to her? She won’t listen, just hurls ridiculous accusations—”You’re selfish! You hate my friends!” Is it just teenage rebellion? Did we fail as parents somehow? I don’t know how to handle this. My heart aches—I want her happy, but I can’t let this chaos go on.
I’m not tight-fisted, but our budget’s stretched thin. James and I work ourselves to the bone just to keep food on the table. I cook nice meals for my family, only to end up feeding strangers. My mum keeps saying, “It’s time to lay down the law!” But I won’t resort to harshness. I want to fix this peacefully—but how? Gemma shuts me out, and I feel like I’m losing my own daughter.
What would you do? How do I make Gemma see she’s hurting our family without pushing her away? How do we set boundaries before our home becomes a free-for-all? Have you dealt with this before? Any advice—I’m at my breaking point.
Sometimes, the hardest lessons come from learning that kindness must have limits—for everyone’s sake.
