My son called and started complaining about life, and I immediately understood what he was aiming for, but my decision is firm.
I am the mother of three children: two sons and a daughter. They are all grown up now, and I’m eagerly awaiting grandchildren, understanding that they need to start families first. However, times have changed, and it’s now fashionable to be in “partnerships,” delay marriage, and stretch out starting a family over years. I always believed that my primary goal was to raise my children until they can stand on their own, giving them wings to be independent, so I could finally relax and enjoy life for myself. But that peace never arrived. I still find myself full of worry for them. Why does it all rest on me? Because I married an immature man who couldn’t take care of himself or the children, leaving me to shoulder the burden alone.
Let me explain. My eldest son, Alex, views marriage with skepticism and isn’t even considering it right now. My youngest, Lily, has gone through numerous suitors, playing the field wisely without losing her head. She has now found her match, and they’ve been living together for two years in a small town near Manchester, only needing to make it official. With Lily, I am almost at ease—she knows what she wants.
But it’s my middle son, James, who adds grey hairs to my head and keeps me up at night! While he was still a student, he moved in with a girl. “Mum, I’m getting married!” he happily announced. However, his “love of a lifetime,” Natalie, turned out to be a cunning fox: she twisted him around her finger, extracted money from him—and me—and then left him for someone else. It hit me like a thunderbolt. They were renting a flat together, but money was always short. “Mum, I can’t pay the rent!” he called each month, his voice trembling with despair. I asked, “Why aren’t you both paying?” And he’d say, “Natalie doesn’t have money, she’s saving for a gift for her mum.” So, I helped him out—sending money so he wouldn’t have to drop out of university, so he wouldn’t collapse under the pressure.
After Natalie left, I decided: let this be a lesson for him. With my strict guidance, Jim completed university, got his degree, and I thought he grew wiser. But no! Fools learn from their own mistakes, while wise ones learn from others—though sometimes not even then. Then came Polly. “Mum, she’s amazing! She’s the best in the world!” he exclaimed, his eyes shining. At first glance, she seemed sensible and capable. I was even happy—maybe she wouldn’t let him down? They moved to another city, rented a flat to live independently. And history repeated itself: money was tight again.
By then, Jim was earning a decent salary—enough for some families to live off for a whole month! But for two adults, it was “insufficient.” Polly could go without work for six months or even a year: struggling to find a job, health issues, or not finding a suitable workplace. They’ve been in this “partnership” for five years. And all this time, I regularly sent my son money. Small amounts, but I sent them! I knew I should have stopped long ago, but each time he called with a pitiful “Mum, I can’t even afford bread!” my heart broke. He’s my son, my flesh and blood! How could I say “no”?
I tried opening his eyes, shouting into the phone: “Jim, this isn’t normal! How can you squander the budget so recklessly? Where’s the money going? With today’s prices, you should have more than enough!” And he’d respond, “I know, you never liked Polly!” My son doesn’t hear me; it’s like talking to a wall. What can I do? I feel lost, and the anxiety eats me up inside.
He called again yesterday. His voice was tired, almost broken: he left his job, hasn’t found a new one, doesn’t know how to move forward. His girlfriend—or is she his wife now?—is currently working, earning a living. But here’s the irony: Jim’s money is “shared” money, while Polly’s is hers alone, and she spends it solely on herself. Seriously, what kind of life is this? I listened to his whining and knew exactly what he was getting at. He was going to ask for “just a little” money again to get through the month.
But I told myself: Enough! Firmly, like passing judgement. Let them figure it out on their own. Let Polly support him, or let him finally open his eyes to who he’s tied his life to. My patience has run dry. I can’t be their eternal lifeboat anymore. My heart aches, tears welled up, but I gritted my teeth and resolved: not a penny more. Now, I’m asking for advice: how can I withstand this? How do I keep from giving in when he calls again with complaints? How can I stand my ground when a mother’s love screams, “Help him”? I want my son to be a man, not a boy clinging to his mother’s apron strings. Help me find the strength!
