When Your Own Mother Feels Like the Enemy

I’ve been holding this weight for a while now, and today I feel like I can finally put it into words, messy as they may be.

Motherhood is supposed to feel like a tide, sometimes overwhelming, sometimes calm, but when the person you thought would be your anchor feels like quicksand, it turns into something else entirely.

My mother is in Pakistan right now with her husband.

That sentence alone feels loaded.

Because the truth is, for years, the details of her life have been a puzzle I didn’t know I was solving. Last year, she told me she was visiting him. She shared stories about his family, about a sister-in-law who had a baby. That baby, she said, was stillborn. I nodded, said the right things, felt the gut punch of someone else’s tragedy, and tucked it away.

Fast forward to now.

My mom calls me from Pakistan and tells me that same sister-in-law had a baby again and that baby passed away at two weeks old.

I want to be compassionate.

I really do.

It may be true.

It may be tragically true.

But my chest tightens and a small, ugly part of me whispers: really?

Again?

This isn’t just coincidence.

This is the pattern.

My mother has a history of bending truths, sometimes gentle manipulation, other times calculated. She can be immensely kind. She buys formula, diapers, does favors, and smiles in a way that makes you think, of course, she loves me. But then she subtly reminds you, remember, I helped with this. Remember what I did for you. And she expects gratitude, or even better, compliance.

It’s exhausting.

I think about the moment I learned she was married. I was blindsided. She came back from Pakistan, nonchalantly mentioned it, and suddenly, the ground beneath me shifted. For someone who’s always been the one person I thought I could lean on, aside from my husband, this was a gut punch I didn’t see coming. And now, as I navigate sleepless nights, baby spit-up, and the tiny heartbreaks of early parenthood, I feel like I’m holding a boatload of everything, and the person I hoped would help me instead adds weight to it.

The manipulation is subtle, almost elegant. She’s kind, helpful, generous, but always with an agenda, always reminding you of her place in your life, and always expecting you to navigate her truth on her terms. It makes me anxious. It makes me question myself. It makes me feel like I have to allow the manipulation, like I have no choice.

And here’s the thing: I still want her love. I still crave her help. But it comes with strings I didn’t ask for. And as I write this, I realize that sometimes the people closest to us can be the hardest to trust.

To all of you who purchased diapers off our baby registry, you have no idea what a relief it’s been.

Literally.

We couldn’t have done it without your help. Your kindness is real. It’s uncalculated. It’s exactly what I need in a world that sometimes feels like it’s asking me to choose between love and self-preservation.

Motherhood is complicated.

Family is complicated.

Life is complicated.

And sometimes, all we can do is acknowledge the mess, breathe through the anxiety, and hope that the people who really matter, those who can show up without strings, continue to do so.

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UPDATED BIO:

Hi, I’m Fiona — a writer in the midst of an unexpected chapter.

In April 2024, I lost my job. Since then, my husband and I have been getting by on his modest income as a medical resident. After stepping away from IVF, we were shocked — and overjoyed — to find out we were pregnant naturally. While it was the happiest surprise, it also brought new financial stress as we prepared for our growing family.

Then, our baby arrived early — on April 29th, 2025, instead of the expected due date in late May. With no paid maternity leave and no room in our budget for childcare, I’ve returned to part-time jobs and writing just a week after giving birth to help cover essentials like groceries, bills, and a few things for our miracle baby.

If you’d like to support my writing — and by extension, our little family — your kindness would mean the world. Every bit helps: $1, $2, whatever you can give.

Donate here — Venmo

Baby Registry — Or if you’d prefer to help more directly, we’re also gratefully accepting support through our baby registry — every burp cloth, diaper and/or bottle goes a long way.