When I first read my mom’s response, I was furious.
I stared at the message on my phone, rereading it at least ten times. Was she serious? She worked her whole life to give me “everything I needed”? Then why was I struggling so much now? I felt abandoned, betrayed, and, if I was being honest—hurt.
I started typing a response, something heated and emotional, but I stopped myself. Instead, I decided I needed to talk to her face-to-face. Maybe she just didn’t understand how tough things were for me right now.
So, I called her.
“Mom, I don’t think you get it,” I started as soon as she answered. “I’m drowning over here, and you’re out there living like a queen.”
She sighed on the other end. “Honey, I do get it. But you have to understand—this is my time now. I’m not saying that to be cruel, but I spent decades worrying about you, about work, about bills. I sacrificed my own dreams to make sure you had opportunities I never had.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, but what good were those opportunities if I’m still struggling?”
There was a pause before she spoke again, softer this time. “Tell me something, sweetheart. What exactly do you need?”
I hesitated. “I… I don’t know. Money to help with my credit card debt, rent, maybe some of my car payments. Just a little cushion.”
Mom sighed again. “I’m going to be really honest with you. I love you more than anything, but I don’t think giving you money is going to fix this. You need to figure out what got you into this place to begin with.”
That stung. “So, you’re saying this is my fault?”
“No, I’m saying this is your responsibility.”
I didn’t respond right away. My fingers curled around the phone as I tried to push down my frustration.
She continued. “You’re not a kid anymore. You have a good job, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but it barely covers everything.”
“What about budgeting? Have you looked at where your money is going?”
I stayed silent. Because, honestly? I hadn’t. I knew I was spending too much, but I didn’t really want to face it. I had been living paycheck to paycheck, swiping my card whenever I needed something, and hoping things would magically balance out.
“Listen,” Mom said gently, “I didn’t raise you to be helpless. I know it’s tough right now, but I also know you’re capable of figuring this out. And if you really need help—not just a bailout—I will always be here to support you. But in ways that actually help you in the long run.”
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“Like what?” I asked, skeptical.
“Well, for starters, I can sit down with you and go through your finances. Maybe help you create a budget, find areas where you can cut back. I can even recommend a financial advisor.”
I let out a humorless chuckle. “So, no free money?”
“No, sweetheart. Because if I just gave you money, you’d be right back in this position in a few months.”
I wanted to argue. I wanted to be mad at her. But deep down, I knew she was right. I had been relying on the idea that if things got really bad, she would step in and fix them. I had never really learned to stand on my own two feet financially.
And maybe it was time.
Mom continued, “You’re not a failure for struggling. Everyone does at some point. But you can either let this moment define you as a victim, or you can take control and change your situation.”
I sighed. “So, you’re really not going to pay off my debt?”
She laughed softly. “No, honey. But I’ll teach you how to make sure you never end up here again.”
I sat with that for a moment. Maybe I had been looking at this all wrong. Maybe my mom wasn’t being selfish. Maybe she was finally teaching me the lesson I had needed all along.
“Okay,” I said finally. “Let’s talk about my budget.”
Over the next few months, things changed. Not overnight, but steadily. My mom helped me create a budget, I started tracking my spending, and I found ways to cut back on things I didn’t really need. I even picked up a side hustle to bring in extra income.
And you know what? It worked. I started chipping away at my debt. More importantly, I felt in control for the first time in a long time.
I also started seeing my mom differently. I realized she wasn’t “abandoning” me—she was trusting me to take care of myself. And when she sent me pictures from her latest trip to Greece, instead of feeling bitter, I felt proud.
She deserved this happiness. And so did I.