I’m a mother of three grown children, and I’ve reached my breaking point. For years, they’ve treated me like a personal ATM—no jobs, no effort, just endless requests for money. I finally sat them down and laid out three simple rules: get a job, stop asking me for cash, and prove you can be responsible. Their reaction? Laughter. My second child scoffed, “That sounds like effort. I don’t do effort.” My youngest added, “You’re supposed to take care of us.” I was stunned. Their entitlement cut deep, and I knew something had to change.
I told them, “No job, no effort, no inheritance. End of discussion.” They tried guilt-tripping me, claiming I owed them for bringing them into the world. But I reminded them: I gave them life, food, and shelter. That’s all I ever owed. The rest was a bonus—and they squandered it. Their mockery wasn’t just disrespectful; it was a wake-up call. I realized I’d been enabling their irresponsibility for far too long, and it was time to draw a line they couldn’t cross without earning it.
Now they bombard me with calls, calling me selfish, a bad parent, even accusing me of abandonment. I feel torn—guilt gnaws at me, but so does exhaustion. I’m tired of being treated like a walking wallet. I love my kids, but love doesn’t mean blind support. I want them to grow up, to stand on their own feet. If withholding my inheritance is what it takes to push them toward independence, then so be it. I won’t reward laziness with legacy.
I’ve started drafting my will, putting most of it toward charity unless they change. I’ve made it clear: only if they show real effort—stable jobs, responsible choices—will I reconsider. I’m not abandoning them; I’m giving them the push they refused to take. Boundaries aren’t cruelty—they’re clarity. And maybe, just maybe, this is the tough love they need to finally grow up.
