My SIL Mocked My Daughter for Being ‘Spoiled’ While She’s Been Working Since She Was 15 – I Couldn’t Stay Silent
Since she was fifteen, my daughter has been employed. She has earned every milestone and pays her own bills. In front of the entire family, however, my sister-in-law dubbed my kid a “spoiled little brat” because she couldn’t handle her success. I didn’t remain quiet. Mothers wouldn’t.
The air from the mountains was cool. My brother Bill and his family and I had traveled six hours to Pine Ridge Resort in hopes of enjoying a tranquil vacation.
Chloe, my daughter, was sitting next to me in the restaurant, working on some last-minute projects with her laptop open. She was 21 years old and did a better job than most adults I knew juggling her corporate job and her university coursework.
Chloe said, “Mom, I’ll get everyone drinks,” and shut down her laptop. “My treat!”
“Honey, you don’t have to…”
She grinned and went to the counter, saying, “I want to.”
Linda, my sister-in-law, watched Chloe intently, like a hawk pursuing its prey. Josie and Sam, her kids, hardly raised their eyes from their phones. Even at the ages of 20 and 23, they were totally dependent on Bill’s money.
“She’s so generous,” I said to my husband John as I observed our daughter engaging in a happy conversation with the barista.
Linda chuckled. “Generous with someone else’s money, maybe!”
I felt sick to my stomach. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, come on, Brenda. We all know who’s really funding these little treats.”
John calmly interrupted, “Actually, you don’t know anything,” instead. “Chloe pays for everything herself.”
Linda rolled her eyes. “Right. And I suppose she pays rent too?”
As I spoke, my tone sharpened. “She contributes to household expenses every month,” I remarked. “What do your kids contribute besides attitude?”
Bill stirred uneasily. “Let’s not start this here.”
The voice of Linda rose, “Start what?” “Telling the truth?”
John said, “Alright, everyone,” before things got out of hand. “Who wants salad? I heard they make a signature shrimp one here.”
Clear skies and impaired judgment greeted the following morning. I would have been thrilled when we organized a shopping excursion to the village boutiques. However, it seemed as though we were entering a minefield.
Chloe chose a couple things she had been saving for while browsing on her own. She noticed a scarf made of silk. It was lovely, but it wasn’t costly. Additionally, she purchased tiny presents for her pals back home.
She muttered, “These earrings would look perfect on Jane,” as she examined a delicate set. “And this notebook is exactly what Lia needs for her internship.”
Josie, meantime, followed us empty-handed, her face darkening with every purchase Chloe made.
Josie muttered to her mother, “Why does she get everything?”
Linda simply shrugged. “Some people think money grows on trees.”
“Mom buys me stuff because I work for it, Aunt Linda,” Chloe overheard them and smiled politely.
“Work?” sneered Josie. “Sitting at a desk isn’t real work.”
“Then maybe you should try it sometime. Trust me, Josie. It’s fun when you make your own money.”
Josie got red in the face. “At least I don’t show off everything I buy.”
“I’m buying gifts for friends. How is that showing off?”
It was a wonderful beginning to dinner that night. Candles shone on our table, the restaurant looked out over the lake, and I wondered whether I had imagined the tension before.
I was mistaken.
Linda said, “Brenda,” with that falsely endearing tone I’d come to dread. “We need to talk about Chloe’s spending habits.”
Midway to my lips, my fork froze. “I’m sorry?”
“All these purchases today. The shoes, the handbag, now more shopping. Don’t you think you’re spoiling her a bit too much?”
“Linda, Chloe earns every penny she spends. She’s worked since she was 15. You know that!”
“Work?” Linda asked with a laugh as she turned to face Chloe. “Sitting in some cushy office isn’t real work, sweetie.
And flaunting expensive things in front of your cousins who don’t have mommy and daddy paying for everything? That’s just cruel. I suppose you like showing off, right, princess?”
There seemed to be silence in the diner. And the face of my daughter fell apart.
Whispering, “I’m sorry,” Chloe said. “I didn’t mean to make anyone uncomfortable. I just…”
“Don’t you dare apologize, sweetie” I said, getting up so quickly that my chair brushed the floor. “Not for working hard and earning your own way.”
Linda’s eyes shone brightly. “Oh please, Brenda. We all know you’ve been handing her money since day one. Look at her! Designer bag, expensive laptop. That’s not a college student’s budget.”
“You want to know where that laptop came from?” I said. “She saved for eight months. She worked double shifts at the grocery store.”
“And the bag?”
“Birthday money from her job. Every. Single. Penny.”
Linda gave a sour laugh. “Right. And I suppose she pays for her own car insurance too?”
John answered, “She does, actually,” with a detached tone. “Along with her phone bill and half her tuition.”
I went on, “You’re absolutely right,” “That’s not a typical college student’s budget. It’s the budget of someone who’s worked 30 hours a week while maintaining a 3.8 GPA. Someone who contributes to household expenses instead of taking from them.”
I shook off the cautionary hand that John put on my arm.
“My daughter has been financially independent since she was 15. She pays for her own clothes, her own gadgets, her own everything. What exactly have your children contributed to lately besides complaints?”
Linda got red in the face. “At least I’m teaching my kids proper values. I’m not turning them into spoiled little brats who think money solves everything.”
At that point, John lost it. “Spoiled? Are you insane? Chloe works harder than both your kids combined!”
“Pardon me,” Chloe muttered, her eyes welling with tears. Without another word, she ran for the bathroom.
“Gone back to the hotel, Mom. I need some air,” was the buzzing message on my phone a few seconds later.
We discovered Chloe curled up on her bed, crying on a pillow after a stressful supper. Seeing my strong, self-reliant daughter break down in tears due to family mistreatment broke my heart.
“Sweetheart,” I said as I sat next to her and stroked her hair. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Chloe paused, “But what if she’s right?” “What if I’m spoiled?”
John was kneeling next to the bed. “Baby girl, you’ve earned everything you own. You shouldn’t have to hide your success to make others comfortable.”
“Your aunt is jealous,” I firmly said. “And instead of encouraging her own children to work, she’s tearing you down. That’s not your problem to fix.”
Slowly, Chloe sat up. “I just wanted everyone to get along.”
John softly remarked, “Some people don’t want peace,” “They want everyone else to be as miserable as they are.”
I called Bill the following morning in the hopes that my brother would change his mind.
He said right away, “Your daughter’s upset? What about my children, then?” “Josie’s been crying for days about not having what Chloe has.”
“Then maybe Josie should get a job.”
“It’s not that simple, Brenda. Not everyone can just hand their kid opportunities.”
I almost dropped the phone. “Hand her opportunities? Bill, my daughter has worked for everything! She started at a grocery store making minimum wage!”
“Look, can’t Chloe just tone it down? For family harmony?”
“Are you asking my daughter to pretend to be poor so your children feel better about being lazy? I can’t believe you’re siding with Linda on this.”
“I’m not siding with anyone. I just want peace.”
“Peace built on my daughter’s humiliation isn’t peace worth having.”
He hung up when the line became quiet.
In our household, word got around more quickly than wildfire. Some family members accused us of being self-centered and that we were causing strife. Others heard us out and backed us up.
“Aunt Martha gets it,” Chloe remarked while perusing her phone’s texts. “She said Great-Grandma would be proud of my work ethic.”
“And your cousin Mike texted that he wishes he’d started working as young as you did,” John said.
However, the assistance was unable to make the hurt go away. I saw my daughter question every choice she made and every purchase she made. She was losing the confidence she had worked so hard to earn over the years.
John and I said, “We’re not backing down,” that evening. “Chloe deserves better than this.”
It was Chloe’s 22nd birthday three weeks later. I welcomed Bill’s family against my better judgment in an attempt to make amends. They arrived, but instead of peace, they delivered poison.
Josie grinned as she gave Chloe a present bag. It contained a petrol station pen and a cheap drugstore notebook.
“Thought you might need these,” Josie softly said, “since you probably can’t afford nice stationery with all your bills.”
According to Chloe’s friend Lia, “at least she doesn’t need an allowance like some here,” she murmured.
Sam’s voice became stern as he asked, “What did you say?”
“I said at least Chloe doesn’t mooch off her parents at 22.”
My blood was boiling, but Chloe got up before I could say anything.
“You know what?” she said abruptly. “You’re right. Real jobs are tough. Maybe you should try one sometime instead of living off Uncle Bill.”
After watching in startled silence, Chloe’s pals started laughing.
“I mean,” she said, “I’d be happy to put in a good word at my office. They’re always looking for people willing to actually work.”
Linda’s cheeks flushed. “How dare you..?”
“How dare I what? Offer your children jobs? Suggest they contribute something meaningful? I’m just trying to help family, Aunt Linda.”
Bill took his wife by the arm. “We’re leaving.”
I said, “Good idea,” and yelled after them. “The adults are talking.”
Chloe’s friends showered her with embraces and compliments as they departed.
Her friend Jenny said, “Girl, you handled that perfectly,” and she chuckled. “I would’ve lost it way sooner.”
When Chloe said, “I’m done apologizing for working hard,” “If they want what I have, they can earn it like I did.”
I was so proud to see my daughter regain her self-confidence. She had discovered something important: Although some people will always be bitter about your success, that is their problem, not yours.
“I’m proud of you,” I said to her in a whisper afterwards.
“Thanks, Mom. For always having my back.”
“Always,” I told them. “That’s what mothers do.”
Family should be uplifting, not depressing, dear readers. However, when our success draws attention to their shortcomings, the people closest to us might turn into our fiercest critics.
If your child has been attacked for putting in a lot of effort and earning their own way, how would you respond? Would you have retaliated like I did, or would you have kept quiet to maintain harmony?
Making enemies of those who won’t celebrate your successes is sometimes a necessary part of love. And what do you know? Without a doubt, I would do it all over again.
