The son-in-law hasn’t worked in over six months, living off our backs, and my daughter still defends him.
Words can’t express the pain of watching a family unravel when grown adults refuse to take responsibility for their own lives. Just recently, I argued with my daughter—again—because of her husband, a man who’s been jobless for eight months without lifting a finger to change it. And my daughter? She *protects* him. Says it’s beneath him to take just *any* job with his experience and education. But apparently, it isn’t beneath them to leech off her parents indefinitely.
Two years ago, they had a lovely wedding. Everything was proper, respectable. Both sets of parents helped buy them a flat—split the cost down the middle. They did the renovations themselves, back when they *both* worked, when money wasn’t an issue. Sure, they spent foolishly at times, but we didn’t interfere. Adults make their own choices, we thought.
Six months ago, our grandson was born. Of *course* we were overjoyed—what a blessing! But with the joy came the strain. My daughter went on maternity leave, and nearly at the same time, her husband lost his job. No savings. Not a penny. They asked for help, and my husband and I couldn’t refuse. His parents chipped in too. We bought *everything*—from the pram to the cot. My daughter’s maternity pay is peanuts, and her husband’s been *looking* for work… for eight months.
He swore it was temporary, that he’d find the *right* position and repay us. We never demanded repayment—just wanted them back on their feet. But time passes, and nothing changes. My husband and I are exhausted. Is it so hard to take *any* job—warehouse, deliveries, *anything*—just to keep food on the table? But no, his pride won’t allow it. “Beneath him,” he says. And my daughter nods along.
The other day, I snapped. Told her straight—he’s a *man*, a *father*. He should *provide*. Instead, he lounges on the sofa waiting for the stars to align, dreaming of some fantasy job paying £100k a year. Meanwhile, my husband and I break our backs so they don’t starve.
She was furious. Said I was heartless, that I didn’t *understand* their situation. If he took a “menial” job, she argued, he’d have no time or energy for interviews. Never mind that the bills need paying *now*. “Do you want him exhausted and irritable?” she snapped. As if raising their child alone wasn’t hard enough.
I listened, fists clenched, fury simmering. Since when did our children decide parents must fund *their* children too? My husband and I raised her without grandparents’ help—worked, struggled, *managed*. We never expected handouts. But *they*? They’ve made themselves comfortable.
I spoke to his mother. She’s fed up too—says her son whines about stress but won’t lift a finger, let alone apply himself. We agreed: Enough. No more weekly groceries. No more nappies on our dime. Bare essentials only.
It sounds harsh, I know. They’re our *children*. But is love endless indulgence? Is *real* care letting them rot in complacency? Family isn’t a holiday—it’s *work*. If they don’t wake up now, in a year, they’ll be worse off. He’ll still be waiting for perfection. She’ll still defend him. And they’ll still be on *our* payroll—without an ounce of shame.
What kind of example is that for their son? Is this *really* how it should be?
