26October2025
Dear Diary,
This evening I found myself watching Eleanor in the kitchen while Mrs. Whitaker, my mother, was busily slicing apples for an apple crumble. She chatted away, waving the knife as if she were lecturing a class, but I could barely hear her over the hum of the oven. It’s been a month since she moved in for the refurbishment of her flat, and the house feels like a revolving door of opinions. Though James and I have been happily married for five years, lately I’ve been wondering whether I ever truly escaped the shadow of my mothers expectations.
James, you really ought to think about getting a new job, Mrs. Whitaker blurted out, pausing her story to glare at me. Your current firm is all flash and no substance. I spoke to my friend, Mrs. Hodgson, and she could take you into her construction company. Better pay, clearer prospects, and you could finally stop working from home.
I swallowed, trying not to let irritation show. Mum, James decides where he works. Hes an adult.
Her eyes narrowed. He may be an adult, but youre his wife! You should steer him away from those frivolous design sketches. Architecture isnt a lads game!
I felt the pressure mounting. Hes a designerarchitect and he loves his job. The firm is reputable, and the salary, while modest, suits us at the moment.
Mrs. Whitaker snapped her fingers. Love? What about money? Youre not even thinking about children yet. When will you start a family, James? Weve been married five years and still no grandchildren!
Eleanors jaw tightened. I, too, wanted children, but not now. I had just defended my PhD and secured a senior lecturer post at Leeds University. James and I had agreed on a threeyear plan: solidify my academic career before we think about starting a family.
Look at Lucy, my friends daughtershes already had three children, and her husband is a builder who put a roof over a whole neighbourhood, Mrs. Whitaker cooed.
I think well decide for ourselves, Mum, Eleanor replied, her voice steady. I respect you, but this is our life.
She turned away, and I rose to my bedroom on the second floor of our modest terraced house, bought two years ago with a mortgage of £180,000. I lay down, exhausted by lectures, marking scripts, and the constant, subtle undermining from my motherinlaw.
Later that night James came home, his face tired yet lit with excitement.
Guess what? Ive been appointed lead designer on a new luxury residential development! he announced, planting a kiss on my forehead.
Congratulations, love! I beamed.
Mrs. Whitaker, whats the project? How much are they paying? she interjected.
Its a highend scheme, Mum. The pay will rise accordingly, he said, a little defensive.
She pressed on, And the mortgage? The car? Youll need a new vehiclethis old one wont last much longer.
James grimaced, Mum, were fine. Weve planned everything.
Dinner was a strained affair. Eleanor felt a swell of irritation as Mrs. Whitakers commentary turned into a lecture. After the plates were cleared, we were finally alone.
James, I cant take this any longer. Your mother is everywhereher opinions on my work, on our plans, on our life! I blurted.
He sighed, She just wants what she thinks is best. Shes always like that.
I know, but theres a difference between a visit and living under the same roof, I replied.
He tried to soothe me, Its only temporary. Shes renovating her flat.
How long does a renovation of a onebedroom flat take? A month already, I muttered.
The next morning, as I was getting ready for work, Mrs. Whitaker appeared at the bedroom door.
Eleanor, we need to talk, she said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
I tried to postpone, Maybe this evening?
No, its important. I think you should quit your job.
My hand froze, comb in my hair. Why?
Because you need to have children! You cant keep postponing forever. I spoke to James yesterday; he wants a child too.
James? That caught me off guard. Did he actually say that?
Mrs. Whitaker chuckled, He may not say it outright, but I can see it in his eyes. He wants a son!
I set the comb down, Weve already discussed this, Mum. We plan to have children in three years, when the time feels right.
She threw her hands up, Three years? When youre forty? At my age I had you at twentytwo. Times have changed, but a family should still be a priority.
I looked at the clock, I must go now. Well speak later, after James gets home.
The day passed in a blur of lectures, departmental meetings, and grading. Yet the worry lingeredwhat if my mother was right? What if James truly wanted a baby now?
Returning home, we were greeted by a surprising scene: a festive table set in the lounge, candles flickering.
Whats the occasion? James asked, slipping off his shoes.
Mrs. Whitaker beamed, Were having a family council!
I braced myself, suspecting another debate. As she poured wine, she declared, Ive spoken to Mrs. Hodgson, and shes offering James a department head position at her construction firmdouble the salary!
James choked on his drink. Mum, Im happy where I am.
Think of the future, dear! How will you raise children on your current pay? she pressed.
Eleanor interjected, I never said Im quitting, Mum.
Then why did you say youd consider it this morning? Mrs. Whitaker retorted, waving the papers shed printed.
James set the documents aside, Im content with my work. I love what I do.
The argument heated, with Mrs. Whitaker insisting on early parenthood and a higher income, while James calmly reminded her of our threeyear plan. I watched his calm resolve and felt a surge of gratitude for his patience.
Later, after the tension eased, I asked, James, do you really want a child now?
He looked at me, No, love. Weve agreed on three years. Im upset because Mum wont back off.
We should speak to her together, I suggested. Tell her we value her concern but need space to decide.
He nodded, Tomorrow.
The next day, Mrs. Whitaker behaved as if nothing had happened, asking about my seminars and making tea. In the evening, I caught her typing furiously on her laptop.
Good evening, I greeted.
She jumped, Oh! I was just emailing a friend.
The screen displayed: How to convince your grownup children to start a family.
Mrs. Whitaker, may I have a word? I said.
She feigned surprise, About what, dear?
About your constant meddling.
She gasped, Meddling? Im only helping!
I appreciate your love, but we are adults now. We need to make our own choices.
She sighed, Mum always knows best.
Sometimes Mum does, but not always.
James returned, looking worried. My director called. Someone asked about my salary and prospects.
Mrs. Whitaker flapped her hands, I was just making sure youre okay!
James stared at her, You called my boss? That crosses a line.
She stared back, Im your mother! There are no boundaries.
I stepped in, There must be boundaries, Mum. We need privacy.
She looked hurt. All I ever wanted was the best for you.
James placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, We love you, Mum. But we need to live our lives, make our own mistakes, and learn from them.
She softened, tears forming, I just dont want you to regret anything.
I offered tea, Lets have a cuppa and calm down.
The next morning, she announced she was moving back to her flat, now fully renovated. I felt a mix of relief and sorrow; relief that the house would be quieter, sorrow that the woman who had raised me felt so out of place.
Before she left, I said, Youre always welcome to visit, just please give us space to decide whats best for us.
She nodded, I understand, Eleanor. I only ever wanted the best.
She embraced me, and for the first time in months I felt genuine understanding between us.
Three years later, as we held our newborn daughter, Mrs. Whitaker cradled her gently. Shes perfect, she whispered, eyes bright. You made the right choice.
James and I exchanged a smile. The journey had been rocky, but we emerged stronger.
Lesson learned: love is most powerful when it respects the autonomy of those we cherish, rather than trying to steer every step.
James Whitaker.
