Is it wrong for me to feel upset that my 71-year-old mother chose to spend her money on traveling instead of helping me with my bills?
When I first read my mom’s response, I was furious.
I couldn’t help but stare at the message on my phone, reading it over and over. Was she really serious? She said she worked her whole life to give me “everything I needed”—then why was I still struggling so much now?
I felt completely abandoned, betrayed, and—if I’m being honest—hurt. My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I started typing an emotional, heated reply, but then I stopped.
I decided that I needed to speak to her in person. 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 began the moment she picked up. “I’m drowning here, and you’re off living like a queen.”
She sighed. “Sweetheart, I do understand. But this is my time now. I’m not trying to be cruel, but I spent decades focusing on you, on work, on bills.
I gave up my own dreams to make sure you had chances I never had.” I scoffed. “Well, what was the point of all those chances if I’m still struggling?”
There was a long pause before she spoke again, her tone softer. “Tell me, sweetheart, what exactly do you need?”
I hesitated. “I… I’m not sure. Money to help with my credit card debt, rent, maybe some of my car payments. Just a little cushion.”
She sighed again. “I’m going to be honest with you. I love you more than anything, but giving you money won’t solve anything. You need to figure out what put you in this situation in the first place.”
That hurt. “So, you’re saying this is my fault?” “No,” she replied, “I’m saying it’s your responsibility.”
I didn’t answer right away. My grip tightened around the phone as I tried to calm the frustration rising in me. She went on. “You’re not a child 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 fell silent. Because, honestly, I hadn’t. I knew I was spending too much, but I didn’t want to face it.
I had been living paycheck to paycheck, swiping my card whenever I needed something, hoping things would magically balance out.
“Listen,” Mom said gently, “I didn’t raise you to be helpless. I know it’s hard right now, but I also know you’re capable of figuring this out.
And if you really need help—not just a handout—I’m always here for you. But I want to help in ways that’ll actually benefit you in the long run.” “Like what?” I asked, still skeptical.
“Well, we can sit down together and go over your finances. Maybe help you create a budget, figure out areas where you can cut back. I could even recommend a financial advisor.”
I let out a dry laugh. “So, no free money?” “No, sweetheart. Because if I just gave you money, you’d be right back in this same place in a few months.”
I wanted to argue. I wanted to stay angry. But deep down, I knew she was right. I had been depending on her to fix things for me. I had never really learned how to stand on my own two feet financially.
Maybe that was the lesson I needed to learn. 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 chuckled softly. “No, honey. But I’ll teach you how to make sure you never end up here again.” I sat there, taking it all in. 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 needed. “Okay,” I said after a long pause. “Let’s talk about my budget.”
Over the next few months, things slowly started to change. My mom helped me create a budget, I began 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 cash. And you know what? It worked. I started chipping away at my debt.
More importantly, I felt in control for the first time in ages. I also started seeing my mom in a new light. I realized she wasn’t abandoning me—she was trusting me to take care of myself.
And when she sent me photos from her trip to Greece, instead of feeling resentful, I felt proud. She deserved that happiness. And so did I.
