With the pressure growing on families due to the cost of living, grandparents are stepping in more than ever to help with childcare. But these relationships are rarely simple, with old, worn-out patterns often passing between the generations. Susan* describes the complex relationship between her mother and her daughter.
“I didn’t even do it, mummy. Why does Granny always shout at me?” Tilly*, my daughter, was just six years old when she asked me this question.
Yet again, my own mother Maria*, 70 at the time, had told my daughter off for the apparent crime of pushing in front of her brother to get into the house after being picked up from school.
While I’ll get to the issue of my own mother “parenting” my child, that cold, wet October day was the first time Tilly noticed – of her own volition – something that had bothered me since she was born in February 2011.
Tilly is one of my mother’s four grandchildren and her only granddaughter. My mum, Maria, now 78, has Michael*, 22, Joe*, 17, Tilly*, now 15, and Johnny*, 13. The first three are mine, Johnny belongs to my brother.
From the second my beautiful, funny, kind, caring daughter was born she seemed to sit neatly in my mum’s firing line. “You’re not feeding her enough, she’s too skinny,” she’d say. “Oh, she’s a misery today isn’t she?” The critiques and criticism of her felt endless – but thankfully, as a babe in arms, she was blissfully unaware of it.
Since realising at six she’s often in the firing line, I’ve watched her relationship with my mother dwindle away to almost nothing in the intervening nine years.
Tilly’s stopped correcting her now, she no longer stands up for herself like she used to because it makes little or no difference. Tilly’s older brother Joe used to tease her mercilessly, yet Mum would always blame Tilly when she lost her temper, rather than Joe for teasing her.
In her Granny’s eyes, if there’s blame to be handed out, it lands right at Tilly’s feet, regardless of her role in whatever has happened.
I’d never tell Tilly, but when I proudly shared the news of my pregnancy, my mum’s instant reaction was, “Don’t you think that’s selfish? You already have two children, you don’t need another”.
What irks me the most about the whole dynamic is that Tilly does what I’ve spent almost five decades doing, having also grown up in the same firing line. She ducks her head and keeps quiet.
I never called out my Mum on her clear and obvious preference of my brother, Peter. I was subjected to the same insults and blame I see her levelling at Tilly now, and I still don’t speak up. It pains me that I haven’t set an example for Tilly to speak up either.
Studies suggest around 42 per cent of grandparents have a favourite grandchild. If I told Tilly this statistic, she’d roll her lovely big brown eyes and cite her older brother Joe as the favourite.
He and my mum share messages and calls. He’s the first to hug her when we go and see her while my sage, eldest son, Michael, advises his sister “not to fall for granny’s propaganda”. He’s seen firsthand how upset Tilly can get by her treatment.
Just a few months ago, Tilly was barely across the threshold of my mother’s home when the berating started about her skin. “Oh Tilly, you’ve not been exfoliating, have you? You need to give your face a good scrub…”
Thankfully, Tilly interrupted her mid-flow changing the subject to what she’d cooked for lunch, but I could see Tilly visibly shrink and she stayed quieter than she’d normally have been the rest of the afternoon we were there.
On the drive home, I found myself starting to excuse my own mother’s behaviour. “You know what she’s like, love. She speaks first and thinks later. She didn’t mean anything by it…”
I found myself trailing off while Tilly shrugged. “I just don’t get it and I never have, but I’m sick of it,” she finally admitted.
Tilly’s actions have echoed her words for a good few years now, too. I’ve noticed a hastening of attitudes that took seed when my incredible daughter was just six.
While the boys respond to their Granny’s text messages and take most of her calls, Tilly leaves her responses a few days or more before she does.
She takes every third or fourth call she receives from her Granny and has recently been cutting them short saying she’s on the way out the door or needs to get ready to meet her friends.
I’m proud of her for distancing herself from a dynamic that’s not exactly a healthy one for her to be in, but Tilly’s resilience and choices on how to handle it have come with a difficult look in the mirror at my own relationship with both my mother and my daughter.
I can’t help but feel I should have stood up for Tilly more when she was little. Why didn’t I call mum out, when she would tell me I should have pushed Tilly to walk earlier? Why didn’t I tell her not to praise the boys for eating seconds while pointing out Tilly hadn’t even finished her first plate of food? Why didn’t I tell her Joe had pushed in front of Tilly to get in the house and Tilly was only resuming her rightful place in the queue when she was berated for it?
In my mother’s eyes, when I was growing up, everything was my fault – just like she sees everything as being Tilly’s doing. I became small and quiet so as not to draw her ire.
As a result, Tilly’s handled it on her own – withdrawing herself from a woman who she could have had a loving and warm relationship with. I feel guilty for my part in their failed relationship, but I fear it’s too late to change it. Even Tilly’s older brother has admitted he feels like the favourite, but not one of us will say anything to my mother.
Just last night when I did my dutiful three times a week call, mum berated me for Tilly ignoring her messages and calls. I didn’t stand up for my daughter – I didn’t have the energy to go round for round with her because I know she wouldn’t take my thoughts and comments kindly. Instead, I said Tilly had been busy revising for the end-of-year exams and prepping for a Duke of Edinburgh expedition.
I then got off the phone as fast as I could and took my incredible 15-year-old daughter for a milkshake. As she slurped and chatted away about her day, my shame for not standing up for her turned to a tiny slither of pride that she and I have an enviable mother-daughter relationship that’s a million miles away from the one I have with my mum and the one Tilly has with her Granny.
*Names have been changed