Every Raise, Another Request: When Family Turns Into a Burden

“Jake, your mom’s calling again.”

I stood in the kitchen, phone in hand, heart pounding. The smell of burnt toast lingered in the air—another morning ruined by that familiar ringtone. Jake looked up from his laptop, eyes tired.

“Just let it go to voicemail,” he muttered, but I could see the guilt flicker across his face.

It always started like this. Every time Jake got a raise or a bonus at work, his mom would call within days. Sometimes hours. It was as if she had a sixth sense for our bank account.

—

I remember the first time it happened. We’d just gotten back from our honeymoon—barely unpacked, still dizzy with happiness. Jake’s phone buzzed. His mom, Linda, wanted to know if we could help with her car payment that month. “Just until things get better,” she said.

I didn’t think much of it then. Families help each other out, right?

But it didn’t stop. Every milestone—every raise, every tax refund, every little windfall—became another reason for Linda to reach out. Sometimes it was her rent, sometimes her credit card bill, sometimes her youngest son’s college books. There was always something.

At first, Jake and I would talk about it. He’d sigh and say, “She’s just having a rough patch.” But the rough patch never ended.

—

Three years into our marriage, I started keeping track. Not out of spite, but out of desperation. I needed to see if I was imagining things.

April: $400 for Linda’s car insurance.
June: $200 for her electric bill.
September: $500 for her dental work.

It added up fast. And every time we said yes, I felt a little piece of us slipping away.

One night, after we’d sent another check, I lay awake staring at the ceiling. Jake was asleep beside me, breathing softly. I whispered into the dark:

“Where do we draw the line?”

—

The next morning, I tried to talk to Jake about it over coffee.

“Jake, I’m worried,” I said quietly. “Your mom… she only calls when there’s money involved.”

He frowned. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” I pushed back gently. “When was the last time she called just to talk?”

He didn’t answer.

—

The requests kept coming. Sometimes they were small—$50 here or there. Sometimes they were huge—like the time Linda asked if we could co-sign on a loan for her new condo.

I felt trapped between wanting to support my husband and wanting to protect our future. Every dollar we sent was a dollar we couldn’t save for our own home, our own kids.

I started resenting Linda. But worse—I started resenting Jake.

—

One Sunday afternoon, we were at Jake’s brother’s barbecue. Linda cornered me by the potato salad.

“You know,” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, “Jake always was my responsible one.”

I forced a laugh. “He is.”

She leaned in closer. “I just hope you understand how much family means to us.”

I felt my cheeks burn. Was that a warning? A guilt trip?

—

That night, I broke down in the shower. Hot water washed over me as silent tears fell.

I felt alone in my own marriage—like an outsider in Jake’s family. Like my only role was to keep giving until there was nothing left.

—

The turning point came last Christmas.

Jake had just gotten a big promotion—a real game-changer for us. We’d planned to finally start saving for a down payment on a house.

Linda called on Christmas Eve.

“I heard about Jake’s promotion!” she chirped. “Congratulations! Listen… I hate to ask, but my furnace just went out and it’s freezing here…”

I stared at Jake as he listened to her plead her case. His shoulders slumped.

After he hung up, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Jake, when does this end?” My voice shook with anger and fear. “When do WE get to have a life?”

He looked at me—really looked at me—for the first time in months.

“I don’t know,” he whispered.

—

We fought that night—really fought. Words spilled out that I’d been holding back for years.

“I feel like your family is using us!”

“She’s my mom! What am I supposed to do—let her freeze?”

“What about us? What about our future?”

He stormed out into the cold night, slamming the door behind him.

—

He came back hours later, eyes red and tired.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I just… I don’t know how to say no to her.”

We sat together on the couch in silence for a long time.

Finally, I spoke:

“We need boundaries, Jake. Or we’re going to lose each other.”

He nodded slowly.

—

It wasn’t easy after that. Setting boundaries never is.

We started small—agreeing on a monthly limit for what we could give Linda without hurting ourselves. We told her gently but firmly that we couldn’t co-sign loans or cover big expenses anymore.

She didn’t take it well at first. There were tears, angry texts, even a few weeks of silence.

But slowly—painfully—things began to change.

Jake and I started talking more openly about money, about our dreams and fears. We started saving again—just a little at first, but enough to feel hopeful.

Sometimes I still feel guilty. Sometimes I still wonder if I’m being selfish.

But then I remember those nights lying awake, feeling empty and alone in my own home.

—

Where does family end and exploitation begin?

I still don’t have all the answers. But I know this: love shouldn’t come with a price tag—and neither should family.

If you’re reading this and you feel trapped like I did—know that you’re not alone.

Setting boundaries isn’t easy—but sometimes it’s the only way to save yourself—and your marriage—from drowning in someone else’s needs.

Based on a true story.