Oh, my dears… listen, let me tell you how life can sweep you from your own home and leave you in unfamiliar places—not by choice, but out of sheer helplessness.
Once, I too believed family was a refuge. That a husband would stand by you, that a home would be warm not just from the radiators but from the heart. But in the end… well, here’s how it went.
There was a young woman named Emily, hardworking as a bee. She juggled her job, kept the house spotless, cooked dinners, and paid the bills. Meanwhile, her husband, Thomas, spent his days lounging on the sofa, lost in his video games. He once had a job but quit, claiming his boss was a tyrant and his coworkers unbearable. He promised he’d find something better soon, but seven months later, that “soon” stretched on like a dreary English winter.
Then there was his mother, Margaret, whose tongue was sharper than a knife. No matter what Emily cooked, it was never right—the porridge was too bland, the custard too thin, the roast too dry, the potatoes underdone. And always, she coddled her son: “Oh, Thomas, darling, don’t settle for just any job. You’re clever, you’ve got an education!”
Emily carried it all—earning the money, cooking the meals, washing the dishes. She even carried tea and biscuits to the living room because it was too much effort for them to get up.
Time and again, she begged Thomas to take even a temp job, but he’d just say, “I won’t waste my time on trifles. I’m holding out for something proper.” And his mother would chime in, “Don’t pressure him, he’s already under enough strain.”
Do you think anyone listened? Not a chance. In their minds, as long as she worked, they had enough. And if she was exhausted? Well, that was just her problem.
I lived like that myself once. I remember bearing every burden, yet gratitude was nowhere to be found. At first, you tell yourself things will change. Then you endure for the sake of family. Finally, you realise—you’re sacrificing for people who don’t even value you.
Some say it’s my own fault I ended up in a care home. Maybe so. Because I didn’t leave sooner, when I still had the strength. I didn’t say “enough” until I had nothing left to give.
And so, one day, Emily packed her suitcase… and walked out. I don’t know where she went, but I know why. She was tired of being the cook, the cleaner, the breadwinner—and still “not good enough” in the eyes of those she broke her back for.
So there you have it, my dears… Look after yourselves. Because if you don’t, no one else will.
