You’re Not Welcome: How a Daughter Rejected Her Mother Because of Her Appearance I’m sorry, Mum, could you not come over right now, please? — my daughter said quietly, almost as an afterthought, while tying her trainers in the hallway. — Thank you for everything, really, but for the time being… it’s probably best if you stay at home and rest. I already had my bag in hand and was putting on my coat, ready—as usual—to go watch my granddaughter while my daughter went to her yoga class. It had always been so routine: I’d arrive, look after the baby, and then head back to my little studio flat. But today something felt different. After her words, I stood there rooted to the spot. Had I done something wrong? Put the baby down incorrectly? Picked out the wrong baby grow? Fed her at the wrong time? Or simply looked the wrong way? But no—it was much more trivial and much more hurtful. It was about her in-laws. Wealthy, influential, in high-flying careers—they had suddenly decided to swing by for daily “visits” with the baby. With solemn faces, they unwrapped presents and took their seats around the dining table—the same one they’d bought themselves. The flat, too, had been their gift to the young couple. The furniture, the tea—everything was from them. They’d brought an expensive tin of rare tea and more or less moved in. And apparently, the grandchild was now “theirs” too. I… I was simply surplus to requirements. Me, the railway worker with 30 years of service, an ordinary woman—no titles, no jewellery, no high-end styles or fashionable dresses. — Just look at you, Mum, — my daughter said. — You’ve put on weight. Your hair’s gone grey. You look… messy. That jumper’s tasteless. And you smell like trains. Don’t you see? I was silent. What could I possibly have said? After she left, I went to look in the mirror. And yes, the woman looking back at me had tired eyes, little wrinkles around her mouth, a saggy jumper, and cheeks blushing in shame. I felt disgust at myself—like a storm out of nowhere on a clear day. I walked outside for some air and felt a tightness in my throat as tears pricked my eyes. Hot, bitter tears ran down my cheeks. Then I returned to my little flat—my studio in the suburbs. I sat on the sofa and scrolled through my old phone, flicking through the pictures. There was my daughter—a child, her first day at school with a bow, her graduation, her wedding, and the baby—smiling out from her crib. My whole life in those photos. Everything I lived for. Everything I’d poured myself into with every last ounce I had. And now if I was being told “don’t come round”—well, maybe that’s how it should be. My time had passed. I’d played my part. Now I just had to stay out of the way. Not be a burden. Not clutter up their life with my unsightly appearance. If I was needed, I’d be called for. Maybe they’d call. Some time went by. Then one day, a phone call. — Mum… — my daughter’s voice sounded strained. — Could you come over? The nanny’s left, the in-laws… well, showed their true colours. And Andrew’s gone out with his mates—I’m totally alone. I paused. And then I answered calmly: — I’m sorry, love. But right now, I can’t. I need to look after myself. Become “presentable”, as you put it. If I manage that—maybe I’ll come round then. I hung up and smiled for the first time in ages. Sad, but proud.

Sorry, Mum, could you not come over right now, please? my daughter said quietly, almost offhand, as she slipped into her trainers in the hallway. Thanks for everything, honestly, but for the moment its better if you stay at home and rest.

I already had my handbag in my hand, coat on, ready as usual to go and look after my granddaughter while my daughter went off to her Pilates session. It was always the same routine; Id arrive, watch over the little one, and then toddle back to my tiny flat. But today, something had shifted. After she spoke, I just stood there, rooted to the spot.

Had I done something wrong? Put the baby to sleep the wrong way? Chosen the wrong sleepsuit? Fed her at the wrong time? Not smiled enough? Or maybe just not looked right?

But no, it was simpler than that. And somehow, it hurt even more.

It was about her in-laws. Wealthy, influential, and well-placed, they had suddenly decided theyd be round daily to visit their granddaughter. With serious faces, theyd unpack presents and sit at the lounge table the one they bought themselves. It was their flat, after all; a wedding present to the young couple.

The furniture, the English tea set all from them. They even brought fancy Darjeeling loose leaf. Now, they were everywhere. Apparently, the granddaughter was theirs now, too. And me I was redundant.

Me, a railway worker with thirty years on the job, just plain old Sue without titles or posh jewellery, without expensive haircuts or on-trend outfits.

Just look at yourself, Mum, my daughter said. Youve put on weight. Your hairs all grey. You look dishevelled. Those jumpers, honestly. And you always smell like the train carriage. Cant you see that?

I kept quiet. What could I possibly say?

Once shed gone, I stood in front of the mirror. There in the glass was a woman with tired eyes, worry lines, clad in a baggy jumper, her cheeks a reddened circle of humiliation. A wave of self-disgust washed over me, sudden as a summer shower. I stepped outside for some air, unable to stop the tears stinging my eyes. Sharp, stinging tears spilled down my face.

A while later, I shuffled back to my little flat my studio out on the edge of town. I sat on the settee and picked up my battered old phone, its memory filled with old photos. There was my daughter a little one with ribbons on her first day at school. Her school-leaving do, graduation, her wedding, and then my granddaughter smiling up from her cot.

My whole life in those pictures. Every reason I had to go on. All the energy Id poured in, right to the end of my strength. And now, if they said, dont come, then so be it. My time had passed. Id played my part. Now I mustnt get in the way. I mustnt be a burden. Best not to mar their lives with my untidy appearance. If I was needed, theyd call. Perhaps theyd call.

Some time slid by. Then, one day, the phone rang.

Mum her voice was strained. Could you please come over? The nannys quit, the in-laws well, they’ve shown their true colours. And Andrews gone out with his mates, Im on my own.

I was silent for a moment, then replied calmly:

Sorry, love. Right now, I cant. I need to look after myself for a bit. Make myself presentable just as you said. If the time ever comes, maybe then Ill come by.

I hung up, and for the first time in ages, I smiled. It was a sad smile, but proud because Id learned I had to value myself, even when others didnt. Sometimes, to regain your dignity, you need to put yourself first.