I am a 57-year-old mother this year and have been retired for two years. My son is 31 and married the same year I retired. I’ve always doted on my son, so naturally, I cared for him and my daughter-in-law after their marriage. To me, it only felt right.
Initially, I thought they would live with us after their wedding, but my husband persuaded me otherwise, saying the young couple needed their own space. Reluctantly, I agreed. Still, we moved into the same neighborhood to stay close. Every morning, I’d go to their house to make breakfast, clean, and take care of chores. After ensuring everything was done at night, I’d return home when they were ready to sleep.
As usual, I carried a bag of fresh vegetables from the market one day, heading joyfully to my son’s home. But when I arrived, I couldn’t open the door. It wasn’t because I had the wrong key — my daughter-in-law had changed the lock. She explained: “There’s been a lot of theft in the area lately, so…” I still prepared breakfast for them that day, cleaned the house, and washed their clothes. Yet, they didn’t give me the new key.
Later that evening, my son came to our home and handed me a spare key. I felt relieved — until he added: “Don’t let my wife know.” His words unsettled me. The next day, I went to their house as usual. As I reached their door, I overheard an argument inside.
I heard my daughter-in-law say: “You must have given the new key to your mom! She so spoils you! Every day, you lie on the couch, doing nothing — no cleaning or taking out the trash. You’re like a baby still being spoon-fed. Can’t she be like other older women, going out to do square dance or model walk instead of watching us like a surveillance camera?”
I was stunned. My sacrifices as a mother-in-law had brought such harsh criticism. The most disheartening part? My son only responded with: “She’s my mom. What do you want me to do?”
Learning to let go
Whether at work or home, I always prided myself on being capable and dependable. Yet, I was an overbearing and clueless presence in my daughter-in-law’s eyes.
After arriving home, I tearfully shared my grievances with my husband: “He’s my only son. My greatest wish is to take care of him and his family. I’ve poured my heart into them, only to be met with complaints.”
Gently patting my back, my husband said: “Let me have a word with them.” Then he added: “Look at your old colleagues — some have traveled all over China, others have gone around the world. You used to be so modern and lively. But for their sake.” Every word struck a chord. Didn’t I also dream of exploring the world?
Without hesitation, I decided to leave. I dragged my husband along, and off we went to Bashang Grasslands. We stayed with a herding family there and witnessed a sheep giving birth. Watching the ewe nurse her lamb, I reflected on my relationship with my son. At one point, weren’t we just as close?
“Nomadic families move constantly,” my husband mused. “If the mother sheep clung to her lamb like you do to our son, how would it survive? And honestly, who’d want to marry a man who’s emotionally still ‘nursing’ on his mom?” It became clear that this experience was my husband’s way of nudging me toward understanding.
“True maternal love,” he said, “is about knowing when to step back gracefully.” He showed me an article on his phone, “Parents who struggle to separate from their adult children often disguise their desire for control as love. This need to dominate brings them a sense of accomplishment and power, making them overly involved in their children’s lives.”
“Am I that kind of mother?” I glared at him. “You’re salvageable,” he replied with a gentle smile. During our week-long trip, my husband taught me how to take photos and use social media. When we returned, I was inspired enough to buy a new iPhone.
Finding closure after an embrace
After buying the phone, I called my son. “Can I visit you tonight?” I asked. Surprised, he replied: “Mom, you have a key. Just come in!” I chuckled, but said nothing.
After dinner that evening, my husband and I walked to their home. I shared stories from our trip and jokingly said: “I’m ready to embrace my golden years. This iPhone is my first step toward happiness. Aren’t you going to sponsor me a little?” Smiling, I waved the phone at them. My daughter-in-law caught on quickly. “Do you have Alipay, Mom? I’ll send you 3,000 yuan right now!” With their help, I became a proud user of both an iPhone and Alipay.
It was a joyful evening. Before leaving, I quietly took out the spare key, the symbol of my parental authority, and handed it to my son. “I probably won’t visit as often anymore,” I said. “And when I do, I’ll call first.” Looking conflicted, he asked: “Mom, what are you doing?”
“This isn’t about anger,” I replied. “It’s about learning to let go.” As my son hugged me, tears welled up in my eyes. That hug marked our proper goodbye. Though reluctant, I knew I had taken an overdue step — and it wasn’t too late to mend our relationship.
A new way of loving
While in Lijiang, I received a message from my son asking: “Mom, where are you?” In response, I sent him a photo of me and my husband, captioned: “The world is vast, and your dad and I want to see it.” Soon after, my daughter-in-law shared our travel photos on social media with the caption: “My role models for later life: my wonderful in-laws.”
People often ask: Why have children? To carry on the family name? To rely on in old age? One day, I heard an answer that moved me: to give and to appreciate. Parents shouldn’t center their entire lives around their children at the expense of their happiness and identity. Doing so burdens children, turning love into obligation and creating a sense of entanglement. The greatest example parents can offer is a life filled with love, fulfillment, and joy — where they nurture their passions, relationships, and individuality.
As someone once said: “I admire parents who give their children deep closeness in youth, yet learn to let go gracefully as they grow up. Parenting is both about nurturing and releasing. The parent-child bond isn’t about lifelong possession but rather a profound, fleeting connection. We must avoid making childhood barren or adulthood suffocating. Parenting is a journey of the heart tempered with wisdom. Not only parenting — many moments in life demand this balance of advancing and retreating.”
I no longer expect my child to be perfect, to make me proud, or to care for me in my old age. It’s enough for him to move through this beautiful world with joy and good health and for me to have had the honor of walking beside him for a time. So I remind myself: Love differently. As long as they’re well and happy — that’s enough.
Translated by Katy Liu and edited by Tatiana Denning
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