My mother pretends to be ill to avoid work and lives off us.
She never had the slightest desire to work. While my father was alive, she didnt have to worryhe took care of everything, brought in the money, and she stayed home, enjoying her role as a housewife. But now, after his passing, she seems to believe its my and my wifes duty to support her. And we disagree.
My mother married very youngjust nineteen. My father, six years older, had already graduated, had a stable job, and earned enough to comfortably provide for a family.
She loved telling their love story as if it were a fairy talelove at first sight, that one glance that changed everything, the sudden certainty he was the man for her.
I believed it until I was fifteen. Then I realised the truth: my mother never wanted to study or build a career. Marriage was the perfect solution for hera ticket to an easy life with no responsibilities.
She quickly fell pregnant, had me, and declared she wanted to care for me full-timeno nursery, no nanny, no outside help. My father, protective and proud to provide for her, agreed without question.
I never set foot in a nursery, but I wasnt a difficult child. Shed leave me in a sandpit, and Id play alone for hours. She gave me toys, and I wouldnt disturb her.
She never bothered to learn a skill, get a qualification, or spend a single day working outside the home. A “professional housewife,” as she proudly called herself.
I never judged her lifestyle. If my father accepted it, it wasnt my place to question it.
But when he died, everything collapsed for her. She didnt arrange the funeral or handle the paperworkjust lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, repeating, “What will I do? How will I survive?”
At first, I thought she was grieving. But slowly, I understoodit wasnt so much losing my father that crushed her, but losing her financial comfort.
He left her some savings, but it was obvious the money wouldnt last forever.
Six months after his death, she had a “brilliant idea”: sell our three-bedroom flat and buy two smaller onesone for her, one for me. But she wanted mine rented out so she could live off the income.
In her mind, it was perfect. In reality, it was a fantasy. The sale money would never cover two properties. And even if it couldwhy should I sacrifice my future so she could keep doing nothing?
My wife and I are already paying off a mortgage. We cant afford to fund someone elses life. So I told her plainly, “Mum, youre an adult. Its time to work.”
She protested, but reluctantly, she found a job at a local corner shop. And thats when the drama began.
Every phone call was a lament: “Im exhausted! My legs hurt! I cant go on like this!”
Weekly, shed cry down the phone, begging for help, saying she couldnt take it anymore.
Then last winter, she had a real accidentslipped on black ice and broke her leg. Two months in a cast, unable to move. Of course, her employer let her go. And who had to step in?
Us.
We covered her rent, groceries, medicine. What else could we do?
But once she recovered, she suddenly developed other “health issues”high blood pressure, migraines, back pain, dizziness. Any ailment you can name, she claimed to have it.
Doctors ran tests. Nothing serious. But she played her role so well we kept giving her money, feeling guilty at the thought of leaving her to struggle.
Until I put my foot down.
This month, I reached my limit. I paid her bills, gave her £1,000, and said, “Thats the last time. From now on, youre on your own.”
She sobbed, called me an ungrateful son, accused me of abandoning her.
But honestly? I dont care. Shes perfectly healthy. If she refuses to work, she can find a wealthy man to take care of her. At fifty-five, shes still got the looks for it.
So tell meam I being too harsh? Or have I finally made the right choice?
