**When a Mother Becomes a Guest: Why I No Longer Open the Door for Her**
Elizabeth arrived in a new city—to visit her daughter. Emily greeted her mother politely, as one should, but without warmth. Elizabeth, tired of loneliness and strained relationships with her parents, decided to stay a few days. That evening over supper, Emily suddenly asked:
“Mum, when are you going home?”
“I thought I’d stay a bit longer,” Elizabeth replied uncertainly.
“I think it’s time you left,” Emily said firmly.
“So now even my own mother is in the way,” Elizabeth muttered bitterly.
“Mum, after what you did, I don’t want to see you,” Emily said, her voice sharp.
“What? What did I do?” Elizabeth froze, baffled.
But Emily remembered perfectly.
She was just seven when her parents divorced. After that, she lived with her grandparents—they became her family. As for her mother… Elizabeth chose another life—men, lovers, new relationships. The girl grew up with guilt over the divorce, watching her grandfather work into his old age while her grandmother laboured endlessly in the kitchen. When things were good, Elizabeth might call, even visit with a cake. But when trouble came, she’d lock herself away, lash out, then vanish.
There were many men in her life, but one—Oliver—was the final straw. Slimy, smug, unbearable. When Elizabeth tried to move him into her parents’ house, they gave her a choice: him or her family. She chose him.
“Your mother lives at the other end of town now,” Emily’s grandmother told the thirteen-year-old flatly.
“What about me?”
“You stay with us. It’ll be all right, love. We’ll manage.”
But Emily knew—her mother had betrayed her.
At first, Elizabeth barely visited. Then she’d come by, take jars of preserves from the kitchen, and disappear again. The girl grew older, but who was there to talk to? First love, first heartbreak—her grandmother wouldn’t understand, her grandfather stayed silent. And her mother? She lived her new life—until Oliver left her. She returned broken, pitiful, and instead of comforting her daughter, she wept alone in her room. Even when she found another man—Andrew—it was the same. Useless, tedious, arrogant. He moved into her parents’ home, refused to lift a finger, avoided her grandfather who carried the weight of everything.
Emily grew distant. She left for university in another city and rarely visited home. Her mother cycled through men, talked of fresh starts, made plans without her. Then, unexpectedly, Emily inherited a flat from her father’s parents. Without hesitation, she claimed it and moved out.
Elizabeth found out by accident—and immediately declared, “Brilliant! I’ll move in with you—help with renovations, find a good job in the city.”
“You didn’t ask me,” Emily said calmly. “I won’t live with you.”
“Ungrateful! Without me, you wouldn’t even exist!” Elizabeth snapped.
But Emily stayed silent. She remembered being small, lonely, abandoned. Her mother had left—she didn’t need her now.
Elizabeth sulked but didn’t stop trying. She called, visited “just for the day,” stayed for weeks. Emily endured it—until one day, she finally said, “Mum, go home. I have my own life. Help Gran and Grandpa instead.”
“Am I in the way?” Elizabeth sneered. “Of course. You needed me when you were little—now I’m just a nuisance.”
“No, Mum. You made your choice when you left me for a man. I grew up. Thanks for teaching me not to rely on anyone.”
Elizabeth left. She complained to her parents—they pitied her but understood their granddaughter. They’d been the ones there when Emily cried at night. As for her mother… she’d distanced herself long ago. Then came a new man—Michael. Responsible, seemingly decent. She wanted Emily to meet him.
“Come by,” Emily said.
She greeted them politely. Spoke to Michael, saw nothing special in him. Four months later, it fell apart. Again, Elizabeth talked of moving in. Again, Emily refused.
“Don’t bring it up again,” she said. “There’s no room for you—not in my home, not in my life.”
And just like that, it ended.
Emily lives in her flat now. She renovated it with friends. She works, builds her own life. No drama. No grudges. No mother.
Because not everyone who gives you life gets to keep a place in it.
