Throughout my life, I’ve strived to be the perfect mother. I baked cakes for school events, helped with homework, drove my daughter to dance classes, and stayed up all night by her side when she had a fever. Later, when she went on maternity leave, I even helped raise her children. I love my daughter deeply and still do, but recently, I realized: love isn’t about sacrificing everything until there’s nothing left.
When she turned 32, she divorced and moved back in with me along with her two kids. “Mom, it’s just temporary,” she said. But here we are, almost four years later.
She started going out again, dating, bringing men home. Meanwhile, I was picking up the kids from daycare, cooking, cleaning, and listening to their cries at night. I didn’t complain. Until recently.
I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I had slept through the night, read a book, or simply enjoyed being alone in peace. And yet, I’m only 54, not an old woman. I want to go out, see my friends, take care of myself.
When she told me that her new boyfriend was moving in, I sat down in front of her and, for the first time, said:
“No. I can’t keep living like this. This is my home, and I want to live in peace.”
She got angry, slammed the door, grabbed the kids, and left for a friend’s house. And I… I opened the window, took a deep breath, and for the first time in a long while, I felt… I could breathe.
Today, some people call me a cruel mother. But I’m just tired of being a piece of furniture in everyone else’s life. I want to be the mistress of my own life.
So, do you think I overreacted?