The Gratitude Trap of Loving a Parent You Don't Trust

When gratitude becomes a trap.

Photo by Navy Medicine on Unsplash

My Mum said she felt dead. The cat had died a few weeks ago. She missed Dad as his 4th deathiversary had just passed. She wanted to come stay with me.

I felt guilty about my response. ‘Here we go again.’ I thought and hesitated about inviting her round.

She’s the only person who drains me like this. I’m not proud of it. I feel impatient, mean, like a terrible person. But it hasn’t come from nowhere.

Here’s what they don’t tell you about losing a parent: the one that remains doesn’t automatically become easier to deal with. Sometimes the grief makes everything harder.

And we’re supposed to feel grateful they’re still here, so we put up with things we wouldn’t otherwise. ‘At least I still have a Mum’ becomes the bar.

A few months ago, when I mentioned to a friend how hard I still found dealing with her, they said ‘She’s your mother. You should be grateful.’

I stuttered, grasping for words to justify my feelings. I couldn’t find them.

Not only do we feel bad from the inside about wanting space, but we also know there’s pressure from the outside if we voice it.

But when do we ever hold back on supporting people we love when it’s not complicated?

This is how the Gratitude Trap kicks in. You accept behaviour you wouldn’t tolerate from others, even though you feel the cost.

Be thankful, not ‘demanding,’ right? So, despite my reservations, I agreed to have Mum around.

When you’re parentified young, it becomes a job you never wanted

I was parentified early, after her spinal accident when I was 5 or 6, that became her defining victim story.

Life before, and life after. I’ve heard it countless times as she recounted how hard things were, along with her constant health issues, to anyone who’d listen.

For much of my life, as she was in and out of hospitals, I feared she’d die.

I never thought Dad would go first. Or that our relationship would degrade so much I wouldn’t want to talk to her.

I didn’t realise how much my Dad was the glue in our family. Once he’d gone, and I fell into a deep grief, I had nothing left for Mum.

Not long after he died, she had a knee replacement. I travelled for hours to take her to hospital and back home, but it exhausted me. And she needed physical support, probate admin support, emotional support.

Once again, I was the parent when I needed parenting. Something in me switched off that day. Four years later, it still hasn’t come back on.

We’ve not always had the easiest relationship.

And she wasn’t supportive when I needed her most; when I told her something difficult about our family that I’d never shared before.

It was an epic fail really. And I’m still deeply sad and disappointed about it. Which became apparent when she touched on it again during her stay.

Another example of how differently we see the world. And why I feel the need for boundaries, even though part of me wishes we were like those mums and daughters who go for afternoon tea and spa weekends.

I just wish she accepted me for me. She says she’s proud, then picks at things I need to change. Expects me to ditch my values and need for safety because it makes life harder for her.

It was confusing growing up with such mixed messages. And it’s still confusing now.

How do you assert boundaries without coming across like an epic bitch?

Maybe you can’t. Or you don’t have to.

I remember a pivotal moment with one of my therapists a few years back. Talking about Mum and my challenges. She said, ‘sometimes you have to accept your Mum isn’t going to be the Mum you want.’

That floored me. Until then I’d never thought the issue was with my Mum. It was always about why I couldn’t cope better. Be better.

I didn’t realise how every relationship, even those with our parents need to go both ways. We can feel compassion for those who suffered, struggled, or were unwell.

But we can also feel sad that we didn’t get the parent we needed.

Mum knows this at some level. She’s said as much in the past. But it still hurts when you must parent your parent and need space to breathe.

I grieved then for the mum I wanted but didn’t have. She’s not all bad. I know that. It doesn’t hurt any less though.

Tentative steps towards reconnection can pay off

Mum came over at the end of that week for a few nights. We’d catch up, cook, and see how things flowed.

The day I picked her up was stormy as heck. Windy. Rainy. That kind of weather where you need an umbrella as sheets of water tumble from the sky, but the wind makes them barely usable. And it was cold.

By the time we got home, we felt battered. Sopping wet and body pain flaring up.

She got settled and I eased in. But I noticed she wasn’t herself. She was low. Depression is worse but also less focused. A decline over the years.

Mum hasn’t been the most focused person. But age is kicking in.

We’ve never had a lot in common. I always wished we did so we’d have more to talk about or do.

But we always ended up arguing because we’re so different. And she always had an opinion.

She treated Dad like that. Maybe that’s why we bonded because we were similar and just clicked. It was easy.

We found a common thread - Some Mothers Do ‘Ave Em, a silly 1970s show we loved when I was a kid. For twenty minutes, laughing at Frank Spencer’s mishaps, I remembered what it felt like to just enjoy her company.

We burned through the episodes, chuckling away. It was nice.

She cooked and I realised how much I missed Mum’s food. She’s an excellent cook and I wish I’d learnt more from her. I really should now.

But I felt frustrated at other times. The same question repeatedly. Talking over something I was listening to. Still questioning my life choices.

At nearly 50 years old, it’s weird how quickly we slip back into the exasperated 8-year-old kid when with our parents.

I was argumentative. We clashed. I just craved peace and wished I could suck it up and be kind. But I couldn’t do it the way I wanted.

She wanted to see Dad’s grave. It’s close to where I live but I’m the only one who’s been since he was buried. She felt ready to go and I was happy to take her.

The traffic was terrible, but it was a clear, sunny day. Gorgeous really. I love the view from his grave on days like this.

We drove in and stepped out next to his plot. She was nervous, commenting on the cemetery hall, the tree nearby. Things that weren’t new, but that she hadn’t noticed on that freezing December morning when we buried him.

With each answer, I realised how little she remembered from that day. My tone softened. I know this place. She doesn’t. I visit regularly. She hasn’t been here once in four years.

I felt compassion at last. Real compassion, not obligation, and my heart broke for her. The weight of her loss. The fear of life without someone she’d spent 50 years with.

For a moment, the resentment lifted, and I just saw a scared, grieving woman at her husband’s grave.

She wants to spend more time with me. For me to visit her more. But I feel conflicted.

Accepting ‘good enough’ instead of perfect

I said this to her last year, and it upset her: ‘I don’t trust you.’ She didn’t quite get it and pushed back. Oh well.

But I still feel it. I don’t trust her. Not with my self-esteem or sense of self. Or feeling that unconditional love that I had with Dad. It always feels conditional with Mum.

So, when she calls, guilting me about not calling and her having to make the effort, it still hasn’t sunk in. Her default mode is to be the victim. Even if she hurt others, however unintentionally, her pain and needs still trump ours.

Confusingly, she’s also loving, caring, and nurturing in pockets, but in other times, grasping, critical, demanding.

What does a sustainable relationship look like now?

I’m working out what boundaries even look like here, when there’s so much emotional and cognitive conflict bouncing around. Desire to reconnect and minimise regret.

Not cutting her out, as I don’t want that and she’s getting closer to 80. But also, not saying yes to everything out of guilt or obligation.

And right now, it’s about trying to figure out how to spend time with her, and when, without feeling forced.

Because years of disappointment and guilt are clouding that desire. And it’s not nice to tell someone you don’t feel great spending time with them, when they want to be with you.

I’ve done it, maybe not in the calmest way, but that also didn’t go down well. It’s confusing when someone simultaneously holds so much power over you but also seems helpless somehow.

Relationships are hard. But boundaries aren’t rejection, even though people might try to convince you they are.

They’re about trying to find a way to have a relationship that doesn’t drain you completely or make you eternally resentful.

It’s normal for family dynamics to change after loss. We’re forever changed and feel the full force of that person being gone.

Losing one parent can make the relationship with the surviving parent harder, not easier. We wish it didn’t but life’s not fair.

Accepting it might never be ideal, but we can still choose how we respond.

It’s OK to need boundaries with your surviving parent, even if they’re grieving too. Especially if you’re used to over-giving and self-sacrificing for others.

The Gratitude Trap is real. The thought creeps in… “at least I still have a parent”...but it doesn’t mean you absorb everything.

You can love someone and still protect yourself, as these aren’t mutually exclusive. You can want some connection without constant dedication.

And it’s OK to find this frigging hard to work out. None of it feels great with a TV movie ending and zero crappy consequences.

Final thoughts and questions for you

What’s one thing in your relationship with your surviving parent (or a family member) that you’d want to improve?

Not fix completely, just improve.

What would that look like for you? How might you start working on it, even if you don’t have all the answers yet?

I’m working on mine too. Navigating the mess of loving someone whilst needing boundaries, wanting protection whilst protecting yourself.

You’re not alone.

We’re figuring this out together.

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P.S. How are you working out healthier relationship boundaries? What’s the hardest part for you?