My 29 y.o. son Carl moved in during a rough patch. He’d sold his car, so I gave him a ride once. Soon it became every day.When I said I’d spend afternoons on pottery, he laughed: “Just be free to pick me up.” I smiled, fuming inside.At first, I told myself it was no big deal. I wanted to support him while he figured things out. But over the weeks, it stopped feeling like a favor and started feeling like a job. If I hesitated or said I had something else planned, he’d sigh or roll his eyes, like I was inconveniencing him.
It wasn’t just the rides. He started leaving his laundry for me to “help with” and piling dishes in the sink because he was “too busy.” I began to feel like I had another teenager in the house, not a grown man.The moment he laughed about my pottery was the breaking point. That hobby has been my escape for years. It’s quiet, it’s mine, and I’ve dreamed of turning it into something bigger. For him to dismiss it so easily made me realize he didn’t see me as a person with my own life, just as his backup plan.
As soon as he left that day, I did something bold. I booked a week-long intensive pottery program in another city — solo. I didn’t even tell him until the day before.Then, while he was out, I converted the garage into a small pottery studio. Some of his boxes were stacked there, so I moved them into the guest room for now.When he came home and saw the changes, he froze. He stared at the garage, then at me, and finally at his stuff piled in the corner. He asked, “So, you just decided this without me?” I told him yes, because it was my house and my garage, and I needed a space for myself.
He didn’t take it well. He said I was being selfish and that I’d embarrassed him because now he’d have to ask coworkers for rides. That’s when it hit me: he wasn’t upset about the garage or the studio, he was upset about losing the convenience of having me at his service.Here’s the twist — a few days later, when I came back from my pottery program, I found he had moved some of his boxes back into the garage, pushing aside my shelves. He claimed he needed “storage space.” It felt like a silent protest, a way of undoing what I’d doneThat’s when I told him directly: this wasn’t temporary anymore. The studio was staying, and I wasn’t going to keep being his driver. If he wanted to live with me, he had to treat me with respect, or he’d need to find another place.
He looked stunned, like he couldn’t believe I’d actually stood my ground.LucyThank you for sharing your story with us, Lucy. Having your grown son move back in and treat you like his personal driver can’t be easy. You opened your home and gave him support, which is a big thing.But now it seems like your own time and passion are being dismissed, as if his needs should always come first. That’s a really unfair position for you to be in.
