My son called to complain about life, and I knew right away what he wanted, but my decision is firm.
I’m the mother of three children: two sons and a daughter. They’re all grown up now, and I’m waiting for grandchildren, though I understand they need to establish their own families first. But these days, things are different—it’s fashionable to live together, delay marriage, and stretch out the process of starting a family for years. I always thought my main goal was to set my kids on their paths, give them wings to become independent, and then I could finally relax and live for myself. But no! That peace never came. I’m still consumed with worry for them. Why is all the burden on me? Because I married an immature man who couldn’t take care of himself or the kids, leaving me to carry the load alone.
Let me explain in order. My oldest son, Alexander, views marriage skeptically and isn’t considering it yet. My youngest, Mary, took her time with partners, skillfully navigating relationships without losing her head. She’s now found her person; they’ve been living together for two years near Birmingham and just need to get married. I’m almost at ease about Mary—she knows what she wants.
But my middle son, James, is giving me gray hair and sleepless nights! Back in college, he moved in with a girlfriend. “Mum, I’m getting married!” he announced happily. But his “love of a lifetime,” Natalie, turned out to be cunning. She charmed him, drained his finances—and mine as well—before leaving for someone else. It was a shock. They rented a flat together, but were always short on money. “Mum, we can’t pay rent!” he called monthly, his voice trembling with despair. I asked, “Why not pay together?” He’d say, “Natalie’s saving for her mum’s gift.” So I helped, sending him amounts to keep him in school and from crumbling under the pressure.
When Natalie left, I hoped it’d be a lesson. Under my watchful eye, James finished uni, got his degree, and I thought he’d wised up a bit. But no! Fools learn from others’ mistakes, the wise learn from their own, and even then only by the third time. Enter Roxanne. “Mum, she’s perfect, the best in the world!” he declared, eyes shining. She seemed sensible and resourceful. I was hopeful—maybe this one wouldn’t let him down? They relocated to another city, rented a place to live independently. Yet it was the same story: not enough money.
By then, James was earning a decent salary—families with children live on such money for a month! But, for two adults, it was never “enough.” Roxanne could go half a year, even a year without working: struggling to find a job, health issues, workplaces that don’t suit her. They’ve been in this “partnership” for five years. Throughout, I’ve been sending James money regularly. Small amounts, but still! I know he should’ve been weaned off this long ago, but each time he called, with his pleading, “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 to open his eyes, shouted on the phone: “James, this isn’t normal! How can you mismanage your budget like this? At today’s prices, you should have plenty to spare!” But he’d retort, “I know, Mum, you’ve never liked Roxanne!” My son doesn’t hear me; it’s like talking to a brick wall. What to do? I’m lost, anxiety gnawing at me from inside.
Yesterday, he called again. His voice sounded weary, almost defeated: he left his job, hasn’t found a new one, doesn’t know what to do next. His girlfriend—or wife?—is working now, earning money. But here’s the paradox: James’s money is “shared” money, while Roxanne’s money is all hers, spent only on herself. Seriously, what kind of life is this? I listened to his complaints and knew what was coming next. He would ask for “just a little” money to get through the month again.
But I told myself: enough! Firmly, as if delivering a verdict. They need to sort it out themselves. Either Roxanne supports him, or he finally realizes who he’s with. My patience has run dry. I can’t be their eternal lifeline anymore. My heart aches, tears well up, but I clenched my teeth and decided: not a penny more. Now I seek advice: how do I withstand this? How do I hold firm when he calls with complaints again? How to keep my resolve when motherly love screams: “Help him!” I want my son to become a man, not a boy clinging to my apron strings. Help me find the strength!
