Im utterly drained. This isn’t just some vague emotional wearinessno, this is full-on, physical, mental, and even financial exhaustion from propping up two grown adults whove chosen to cling to perpetual adolescence. Theyre well into their twenties, perfectly healthy, flaunting the latest smartphones and designer labels, dining on takeaways, and living in a house that might as well be a five-star hotel.
They only emerge from their rooms in the afternoons, wander into the kitchen to inspect what’s on offer to eat, and if it doesnt suit them, they pull faces. They never ask how much things cost. Theres no thank you, no offer to help. Only endless expectation.
They gave up on education long ago. Each time they tried a new course or fancied a change in studies, it was abandoned halfway through because it wasnt for them. Enrolments dropped mid-term. Projects never progressed beyond drawing room talk. Every effort fizzled out the same wayexcuses, imaginary burnout, and the quiet assurance that someone elsemewould mop up the aftermath.
They dont work because theres nothing suitable out there, but refuse to take any ordinary job. They seem to think its beneath them to start from scratch, yet theyre perfectly content to have everything handed to them.
In this house, they dont pay bills, never join in the food shop, dont even buy themselves soap. Electricity, water, Wi-Fi, Amazon Prime, new phonesevery expense comes out of my pocket. If something breaks, they call menot to fix, mind you, but simply to announce its broken. Never to resolve it. If there are clean clothes, someone else has washed them. If theres food, someone else has cooked it. When things are tidy, its because someone elses picked up their mess, as if theyre just passing through on holiday.
Still, they’re ceaselessly critical. My character, my schedule, my decisions, even the way I speaknone of it ever measures up. I’m told off if Im tired, dismissed if my mood sours, poked fun at whenever I dare to enforce boundaries. They scoff if I mention responsibility and get annoyed if I talk about independence. Im accused of making a fuss if I ask them to pick up their room or take the bins out. When I say, theres no more money, Im met with looks of pure contempt. Its as though its my duty alone to keep their lives flowing comfortably and smoothly.
The hardest part is facing up to the reality that this isnt about lack of opportunityits all about lack of will. Theyre not lost, they’ve simply nestled into this way of life. They’ve grown accustomed to things being sorted out for them and valuing nothing. To them, Mum is a resource, not an individual. Family money is seen as an entitlement, not the product of hard work. And for years, I unknowingly played into itmistaking love for endless patience.
No more. Today, I realised that being a parent doesnt mean holding on forever, and love doesnt mean letting yourself be depleted. I didnt have children to raise useless adults who demand endless privileges. You can spoil someone just as easily with comfort as with things, and silence only reinforces bad habits. If they choose laziness, it will be away from my effort, my home, and my peace. Motherhood isnt a lifelong sentence, and I deserve a break from children who simply refuse to grow up.
