“My daughter’s over thirty and still acts like a teenager”: A weary mother’s cry for her child to grow up
Sometimes I pop into my old accounting office—not for work, just for tea and a chat with former colleagues. The other day, I dropped by again, and as usual, the conversation turned to old frustrations. Vera, my longtime workmate, let out a sigh before she’d even taken her coat off:
“I don’t know what to do with Lily anymore. She’s thirty-two and still acts eighteen. No job, no family, no plans—just her phone glued to her hand and evenings out with her mates. I’ve stopped giving her pocket money ‘for fun,’ but of course, I still buy the groceries and cover the rent. What else can I do?”
The more I listened, the more my heart ached for her. Vera’s pushing sixty. She’s worked herself to the bone her whole life—both in her youth and now, when she should be enjoying retirement. Instead, she’s propping up her grown daughter, who shows no intention of growing up or changing.
“I tell her, ‘Just pick up a part-time job, for heaven’s sake!’ And she fires back, ‘I watched you grind away at three jobs for pennies my whole life—I don’t want that.’ The only ‘work’ she does is babysitting the neighbour’s kid twice a week. That’s the extent of her life hustle. Anything more, she says, is beneath her.”
Lily had every advantage—first-class degree, top marks at uni, sharp as a tack. Boys flocked around her when she was younger. You’d think she’d have life sorted. But when it came time to build a career, she decided starting at the bottom was ‘humiliating.’ She wanted a fancy title and a fat paycheque straight out the gate. Trouble is, those jobs don’t grow on trees—especially not without experience.
“I’ve stopped expecting her to be some high-flyer,” Vera went on. “Just a functioning adult would do! But it’s like she’s waiting for a knight in a shiny Range Rover to sweep her off to a life of villas and Maldives holidays. Reality? Not on her radar. When I try to set her up with nice blokes, she turns her nose up—too poor, too dull, ‘not on her level.’ And what’s her level, exactly? Last I checked, it was my sofa.”
I could see the weight of it crushing her. This wasn’t just a grumble—it was despair. How do you get through to a grown woman stuck in a teenager’s mindset? Dreams are one thing. But when they’re just excuses to avoid effort, that’s trouble.
“You know,” Vera said quietly, “she’s kind. Good heart. But her brain? Frozen solid. Like she’s terrified to step into real life. And I won’t be around forever. What happens then?”
I just nodded. A hundred thoughts swirled in my head. How does this happen? Vera gave Lily everything—education, support, a home. Yet somewhere, it all went sideways. Too much coddling? Maybe Lily’s just afraid of responsibility. Or maybe she’s waiting for a fairy tale and rejecting anything less.
“Sometimes I wonder,” Vera added, barely above a whisper, “was it me? Did I spoil her, fix everything for her? And now it’s too late to change it?”
I couldn’t bring myself to blame her. Stories like this aren’t rare. I’ve known people who clawed their way up from nothing, and others—like Lily—bright but adrift. Sometimes parental expectations break kids. Sometimes fear of failure paralyzes. And sometimes? It’s just laziness dressed up as ‘finding oneself.’
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-up, capable, and maybe even grateful.
Our kids don’t always turn out how we imagined. But maybe—just maybe—Lily’s story could still change. If only she’d realise time isn’t endless, mothers aren’t immortal, and life won’t wait around for daydreamers.”
