What to do when it’s impossible to see eye to eye with my mother, leading to endless arguments and misunderstandings?
It’s time to share my story, putting everything that weighs on me down on paper—maybe this will bring me a bit of peace. I’m an ordinary woman, in my early thirties, and I’ve been married for several years. My husband and I are renting a flat in bustling London; we both work and are building our lives. We’re quite happy. We haven’t had children yet; we’ve decided to enjoy our time together. My mother, Helen, crossed the threshold of 65 years and has been widowed for almost three years since my father’s death.
My dad meant everything to me—a person I trusted completely, with whom I could discuss anything. We spent wonderful hours together, and his departure left a void in my heart that nothing can fill. My relationship with my mother has always been warm but not without its rough patches—arguments ignited like matches, often leaving a bitter aftertaste. I have an older sister, Emily, who lives with mum in our old house in the countryside, but she’s been away for about three months on business, leaving mum alone.
My job is nothing but stress, my nerves are strung tight. I dislike long phone calls, preferring to message instead—it’s simpler, quicker, more peaceful. But mum calls me several times a day, and each call feels like a test. A few weeks ago, I decided to tell her directly, “Mum, I’m tired of hearing only the bad stuff, let’s talk about something nice.” I understand her—being alone is tough, especially with money troubles, and my heart aches with pity. To make things easier for her, I found her some part-time work—she now looks after her sister’s children and works part-time in an office. But our conversations still revolve around two topics: her job or endless complaints about life. This exhausts me to the limit, and I asked her to call less often and instead send messages. She listened—for a couple of days. Then, it was back to square one, as if I’d never spoken.
I tried explaining, “Mum, I have my own family, my own life, I’m married.” And she retorted, as if striking a blow, “I should always be the most important for you.” I was taken aback. Those words echoed in my mind, and resentment churned inside. I explained that my husband also needs my time, that I can’t be pulled in two directions, but she ignored it. Our talks would veer back to her complaints, and I reminded her, “I’ve done everything I can to help you.” Then she burst out, “You’re not the only one helping parents! My friends’ children are buying them cars, sending them money!” It was like a knife to the heart. Two years ago, I saved up for her prosthetic, denying both my husband and me luxuries. We couldn’t even afford a car then, and I saved every penny so that mum wouldn’t feel worse off after dad died. And that’s the gratitude I got.
I crave a bit of peace, rest, a breath of freedom. I have a wonderful husband, James—quiet, kind, patient. But even he is becoming irritated by these calls; I see him frown when the phone rings again. And mum? She got offended and accused him of turning me against her. That finished me off completely. It’s more complicated than it seems. Until I was 18, mum and I lived like cats and dogs—she would shout, I would cry, and my childhood was full of hurt and pain. Now I try to connect with her, to reach out, but every time I hit a wall. She doesn’t listen to me, doesn’t want to listen, and I’m drowning in this helplessness.
I am tired of the arguments, this cycle of misunderstanding. My heart aches, my soul hurts, and I can’t see a way out. Please, I need advice—how can I find common ground with her? How to stop this storm that’s tearing us both apart? I want peace, but I don’t know where to find it.
