I never thought I’d be in a position where I was questioning my own mother’s priorities, but here I am, staring at the receipt for a designer dress that cost nearly $1,800. It’s not just any dress—it’s a piece of fabric, yes, but it’s also a symbol. A symbol of a choice she made when she could have helped my son with his college tuition instead.
My mom, now 70, has always been the epitome of practicality. When I was growing up, our family didn’t have much. She raised five kids on a modest income, constantly putting our needs ahead of her own. I can’t remember a time when she didn’t sacrifice something for us. She worked long hours, picked up extra shifts to make ends meet, and even wore the same coat for years so we could have new clothes for school. She stretched every dollar to make sure we had what we needed. She gave everything for us, without complaint, without hesitation.
And she never, not once, splurged on herself.
That’s why, when I found out she had spent nearly $2,000 on a designer dress—just to wear to her book club meetings and the occasional luncheon—I was stunned. I had seen her wear the same sensible clothes for as long as I could remember. Not once had I seen her make a purchase like this. Not even close.
But what really hit me was this: My son, Jason, is about to start college. Tuition, books, housing—it's all adding up so quickly. We’ve been doing everything we can to make it work, and I had hoped, perhaps even assumed, that my mom would be able to help. A little contribution would have meant a lot. I never expected her to pay for everything, but I thought she might be willing to lend a hand. The cost of education is overwhelming, and every penny helps.
Now, here I was, looking at a designer dress hanging in her closet—something that had been worn once or twice—while my son was going to have to take on even more student loans.
I couldn’t hold back my frustration. It felt like a betrayal, but I knew I had to approach her carefully. So, one afternoon over coffee, I decided to bring it up.
“Mom,” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral, “I saw the dress you bought. It’s beautiful, but… I guess I just don’t understand. That money could have helped Jason with college.”
She took a slow sip of her tea, then set the cup down gently. “I know,” she said, her voice calm and steady. “And I thought about that.”
Her calmness only irritated me more. “Then why did you do it?”
She exhaled, her shoulders sagging a little as she folded her hands in her lap. “Because, Lauren, for seventy years, I’ve been more than just a mother, but I’ve never let myself be anything else. I’ve spent my entire life making sure my kids had everything they needed. I sacrificed things I wanted—big things, small things, without even thinking twice.”
She paused, her eyes distant, as though she were looking at something I couldn’t see—memories stretching back decades. “But now… now I’m seventy. My children are grown. I love my grandchildren with all my heart, and I’ll help whenever I can. But just once, just for one moment, I wanted to do something just for me. Something that made me feel special. Something that reminded me I’m still a person, beyond being a mother, beyond being a grandmother.”
Her words hung in the air between us, and for the first time, I felt my anger soften.
Had I ever stopped to think about how much she had already given? Had I ever considered that, maybe, she had earned the right to treat herself? I had been so wrapped up in my own stress—so focused on the financial strain, the future of my son—that I had never stopped to reflect on my mom’s sacrifices. She had spent her entire life putting us first, without hesitation. And now, after all these years, she was simply asking for one small thing for herself.
I didn’t respond right away. I opened my mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come out. Instead, I sat there, realizing how little I had considered the weight of her own life, her own needs.
That night, after I left her house, I thought long and hard about everything she had said. Was I still upset? A little. Of course I wished she had chosen to help Jason, to ease the financial burden on our family. But for the first time, I began to see things through her eyes.
She wasn’t just my mother. She wasn’t just my son’s grandmother. She was a woman who had given everything to us for decades. She had sacrificed her own wants, her own desires, without ever asking for anything in return. And now, for the first time in her life, she had chosen to give something to herself.
And maybe—just maybe—that wasn’t selfish at all.
I still wished things were different, that she could have contributed to Jason’s education in some way. But I understood, in that quiet moment of clarity, that she had already given more than enough. Perhaps it was her turn to take a breath, to enjoy a little something for herself, after decades of living for others.
I realized then that sometimes, the greatest gift we can give to those we love is the understanding that they, too, need to care for themselves. My mother had spent seventy years putting everyone else first. This one dress, this one indulgence, was a symbol of something I hadn’t fully understood until now: it was a recognition of her own worth, a reminder that she was still a woman, not just a mother or grandmother.
And I realized that, in the end, it wasn’t about the dress at all. It was about the fact that, for once, she was allowing herself to be more than just the person who gave. She was letting herself receive—for herself, and that was okay.
Maybe, in the grand scheme of things, this wasn’t a choice between my son’s tuition and her dress. Maybe it was just about her choosing to live, to feel human again. And I had to respect that.