I am 58 years old, and I made a decision that cost me more than most could imagine: I stopped supporting my daughter financially. This wasn’t because I love her any lessnor because I’ve suddenly become tight with money.
My daughter married a man who, from the start, made it abundantly clear that work simply didn’t appeal to him. He changed jobs every few months with a new excuse each timehis manager was unpleasant, the hours wrong, the pay meagre, or the office atmosphere didn’t suit him. It was always something or other.
Meanwhile, my daughter worked, but their money was never enough.
Month after month, hed come to me with the same old reasons: the rent, groceries, debts, the children’s school fees. And, month after month, I would end up helping them out.
I told myself at first that it was just a rough patch. That it would pass. That he’d take charge, step up, and become the man she needed.
Years passed, and nothing changed.
He lounged about at home, slept until late, went out with his mates, always almost having found a job. The money I gave my daughter was actually covering the expenses he should have been sorting outor worse, was just fuelling his drinking.
He made no effort to look for work because he knew that, no matter what, I’d be there to bail them out.
My daughter never held him to account either. It was easier for her to ask me for help than to face an argument with him.
So I kept covering bills that shouldn’t have been my responsibility, carrying the burden of a marriage that wasn’t mine.
The day I stopped was when my daughter asked for money for an emergencyand accidentally let slip it was to pay off a debt her husband had racked up playing snooker with his friends.
I asked her, Why doesn’t he work?
She replied, I don’t want to pressure him.
Then I made myself clear: I would always support her emotionally. Id be there for her and my grandchildren, always. But I would not give another penny as long as she chose to stay with a man who contributed nothing and refused to shoulder any responsibility.
She cried. She was furious. She accused me of abandoning her.
It was, without doubt, one of the hardest moments I’ve experienced as a father.
If anyone is reading this: did I do the wrong thing? What I learned is that love sometimes means saying enoughallowing others to shoulder their own burdens, even when your heart aches to carry them yourself.
