What can you do when finding common ground with your mum seems impossible, leading to endless arguments and misunderstandings?
It’s time to share my story and put into words all that’s been weighing on me—maybe this will help me find a bit of peace. I’m an ordinary woman in my early thirties, married for a few years now. My husband and I rent a flat in bustling Manchester, both working and building our life, and we’re generally happy. We don’t have children yet—we decided to wait and enjoy our time together. My mum, Patricia Elizabeth, recently turned 65 and has been living as a widow for nearly three years since my dad passed away.
Dad meant everything to me—he was someone I could trust completely and talk to about anything. We spent wonderful hours together, and his passing left an emptiness in my heart that nothing can fill. My relationship with Mum has always been warm but not without its rough patches—arguments would flare up like matchsticks, leaving a bitter taste behind. I have an older sister, Emma, who lives with Mum in our old house outside London, but she’s been away for the past three months on business, leaving Mum alone.
My job is nothing but stress, and my nerves are stretched tight. I don’t enjoy long phone calls, preferring to chat via messages—it’s easier, quicker, and calmer that way. But Mum rings me several times a day, and each call feels like a trial. A few weeks ago, I mustered the courage to tell her straight: “Mum, I’m tired of only hearing the negative, let’s talk about something good.” I understand her—it’s tough being alone, especially with financial struggles, and my heart aches with empathy. To lighten her load, I found her a part-time job—she now looks after her sister’s children and works in an office part-time. Yet our conversations still revolve around just two topics: her work or endless complaints about life. It drains me to the limit, and I begged her to call less and message more. She obliged—for a couple of days. Then everything returned to how it was, as if my words vanished into thin air.
I tried to explain: “Mum, I have my own family, my own life, I’m married.” And she hit back with: “I should always be your priority.” I was taken aback. Her words echoed in my mind, and inside, I was boiling with hurt. I explained that my husband needs my time too, that I can’t split myself in two, but she ignored my reasoning. Conversations once more devolved into complaints, and I reminded her: “I’ve done everything I can to help you.” Then she suddenly retorted: “You’re not the only one helping out parents! My friends’ children buy them cars, send them money!” It felt like a stab to the heart. Two years ago, I saved up for her hearing aid, denying both my husband and myself many things. Back then, we couldn’t even afford a car, and I set aside every penny just so Mum wouldn’t feel lesser after Dad’s passing. And this is the thanks I get.
I crave even a little quiet, some rest, a breath of freedom. I have a wonderful husband, James—quiet, kind, patient. But even he has started to get annoyed by the calls; I see his frown when the phone rings for the umpteenth time. And Mum? She got upset, insisting that James is turning me against her. That was the final straw. It’s all more complicated than it appears. Until I was 18, Mum and I lived like cats and dogs—she’d yell, I’d cry; my childhood was full of hurt and pain. Now I’m trying to reconnect with her, to reach out, but every time I hit a wall. She doesn’t hear me, doesn’t want to hear me, and I feel helpless.
I’m exhausted by the arguments, by this never-ending cycle of misunderstanding. My heart aches, my soul is weary, and I see no way out. Please, I need advice—how can I find common ground with her? How can I stop this storm that’s tearing us apart? I want peace, but I don’t know where to find it.”
