I’m Emily, and for years my mother has made my brother Michael the center of her world, to the point where he never really left home. Now, at 43, he’s unmarried and childless, and I can’t help but wonder how much of that is because of Mom’s influence. Every conversation with her circles back to Michael’s loneliness, but she refuses to see her own role in it, and it tears our family apart.
My story begins with my mother sobbing at my closed bedroom door, begging to help me. I grew up in a world wrapped too tightly in her love, her hands in every part of my life, leaving me torn between guilt and a desperate hunger for freedom. My struggle to carve out my own identity while still loving her is a battle I fight every single day.
Everyone has their own definition of care, but for my mom, caring meant doing everything for me. From my earliest memories, I felt smothered by her attentiveness. She chose my toys, my TV shows, my hobbies, and even tried to pick my friends. I still cringe remembering how embarrassed I was when Mom showed up at my activities
