I laughed—so you’re telling me that from the child support my ex pays for his own kid, I’m supposed to pay support for my brother’s children? That’s when I really lost it. My mum actually thought it was perfectly reasonable, that I simply had to bail my brother out. This whole mess started a couple of years ago, back when my life already felt like some convoluted soap opera.
**Divorce and the New Reality**
My husband and I split up when our son was five. The divorce was brutal—endless arguments, dividing assets, one court battle after another. In the end, I got custody, and my ex was ordered to pay child support. The amount, honestly, wasn’t much—just 25% of his declared income, which, surprise surprise, was the bare minimum. He earned way more under the table, but proving that in court was impossible. So my son and I got by modestly: I worked an office job, took on freelance gigs, and the support money went towards nursery fees and football club dues.
Mum had always been my rock. She helped with my son, brought groceries over, even slipped me cash now and then. But she had one blind spot—my younger brother, Oliver. At 28, he was always in some scrape—losing jobs, splitting up with girlfriends, piling up debts. Mum believed that as the eldest, it was my job to “pull him through.” I didn’t mind helping out in small ways, but what came next knocked me sideways.
**Oliver and His “*Family Situations*”**
Oliver had two kids by two different women. The first relationship ended when their little girl was two; the second fell apart right after their son turned one. He was supposed to pay child support for both, but of course, he never did. He worked cash-in-hand jobs, scraping by, so legally, he had “*nothing to his name*.” His exes had taken him to court, but what’s the point? You can’t squeeze blood from a stone.
Then one day, Mum came to me and said, “*Emily, we need to help Oliver. His ex is threatening to report him for non-payment—he could go to jail. You don’t want your brother locked up, do you?*” I was stunned. “*Mum, how is this my problem? Let him sort himself out.*” But she’d already made up her mind. She insisted I should cover Oliver’s child support—using the money *I* got from my ex.
**Absurd Logic and Family Duty**
At first, I thought she was joking. Use my son’s support to pay for Oliver’s kids? But Mum was dead serious. She kept saying I “*had to step up for family,*” that Oliver was “*in trouble,*” and as the eldest, it was my duty to save him. She even dredged up stories from her youth about how she’d helped her own siblings. I tried explaining that this was different—that every penny I had was accounted for—but she wouldn’t listen.
Worse, she’d already spoken to Oliver, and he was *thrilled* with the idea. He called me, whining about how “*hard*” things were, how he was “*being backed into a corner,*” and how I could “*fix everything so easily.*” I couldn’t believe it. “*Oliver, are you hearing yourself? You want me to take money from my son to cover your responsibilities?*” His response? “*Come on, Em, you know I’m struggling. You’ve got it steady.*”
**Standing My Ground**
I said no. Flat out. Told them I wasn’t jeopardising my son’s needs to clean up my brother’s mess. Mum was furious, called me “*selfish*” and “*disloyal to family.*” Oliver sulked, saying I’d “*abandoned him when he needed me most.*” We barely spoke for weeks. Part of me felt guilty, but deep down, I knew I’d done the right thing.
In the end, Oliver wriggled out of it somehow—talked one ex into holding off on reporting him and just ignored the other. But Mum still thinks I should’ve “*shown some compassion.*” She brings it up now and then, especially when I ask her to babysit.
**What I Learned**
This whole ordeal taught me a few things. First, you can’t let family guilt-trip you into nonsense. I love them, but my son comes first. Second, help should go to those who at least *try* to help themselves. Oliver? He just expected Mum and me to always rescue him. And third, saying “*no*” is vital—even if it ruffles feathers.
These days, I keep Oliver at arm’s length. Things with Mum are better, but I’ve made it clear—I’m not playing these games anymore. If you’ve been through something similar, how did you handle it? How do you set boundaries without burning bridges?.
