Gina Heslop
I never imagined I would question my own mother’s choices, but when I saw the receipt for a designer dress that cost nearly $1,800, I couldn’t believe it.
It wasn’t just about the money—it was about what that money could have done. My son was about to start college, and every bit of financial help would have made a difference. Instead, that money was now spent on a dress that she would wear only a few times.
My mother had always been practical. She raised five children on a modest income, sacrificing her own needs to make sure we had everything we needed.
I remember her working extra shifts just so we could go on school trips. She wore the same coat for years so that we could have new ones. She never spent money on herself, let alone something as extravagant as a designer dress.
That’s why I was shocked when I found out she had spent so much money on a dress. It wasn’t for a wedding or a big event—just for book club meetings and occasional lunches. I couldn’t understand it.
I tried to bring up the topic gently while having coffee with her one afternoon. “Mom, I saw the dress you bought. It’s beautiful, but… I just don’t get it. That money could have helped Jason with his college expenses.”
She calmly sipped her tea and placed the cup down. “I know,” she said. “And I thought about that.”
Her calmness frustrated me even more. “Then why?” I asked.
She took a deep breath and folded her hands in her lap. “For seventy years, I have been more than just a mother. But I never allowed myself to be anything else.”
I listened as she continued. “I spent my whole life making sure my children had what they needed. I gave up little things I wanted without hesitation. But now… now I’m seventy. My children are grown. I love my grandchildren, and I will always help when I can.
But just once, I wanted to do something just for me. Something that made me feel special. Something that reminded me that I’m still a person, beyond being a mother and a grandmother.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out. I had never thought about everything she had given up for us. I had never considered that maybe, after seventy years of putting others first, she had earned this moment.
That night, I went home and thought about our conversation. Was I still upset? A little. Did I still wish she had helped with my son’s college expenses instead? Of course. But for the first time, I saw things through her eyes.
She wasn’t just my mother. She wasn’t just my son’s grandmother. She was a woman who had spent decades sacrificing for others. And for the first time in her life, she had chosen to do something for herself.
Maybe—just maybe—that wasn’t selfish at all.
