Don't Hollow Your Nest for a Half-Grown Son

Sigh, speaking of this, my heart feels like it’s being crushed by a giant boulder—I just have to get it off my chest. Take my cousin’s family as a prime example; it’s a living, breathing textbook case. Now, whenever I meet anyone, I can’t help but nag a little: if your son doesn't yet have the ability to "support a hearth and home," parents should never rush him into marriage, and for heaven's sake, don't lose your head and pour out your "coffin money"—your entire life savings—just to set him up! That’s not bringing a daughter-in-law into the family; that’s digging a hole for yourself, and a bottomless one at that!

You have no idea what my cousin is like; she’s been a fiercely competitive and headstrong soul since she was a girl. Years ago, she was a worker in a textile factory. When the factory hit hard times, she took early retirement, but she didn’t rest for a single day. She washed dishes in restaurants and worked as a domestic helper, braving the wind and rain just to scrape together a bit more cash. Her husband? A salt-of-the-earth, honest man who drove for a transport team most of his life, earning a fixed, meager salary. This old couple lived frugally their whole lives; every cent was literally "squeezed out from between their teeth." Their old apartment, where they’ve lived for over twenty years, has peeling walls and antique-grade furniture, but they couldn't bear to spend a dime on renovations. Why? All for their precious son, my nephew, Xiao Jun.

To be fair, Xiao Jun isn't a bad kid. He’s got a decent heart; he’s just been spoiled rotten. Growing up, the family was just average, but my cousin and her husband always felt they were "indebted" to the boy, so they let him have his way in everything. He wasn’t much of a student and barely scraped through a vocational college. Once he graduated, his career was a case of "five jobs in three years." Either the pay was too low, the work was too tiring, or he couldn't get along with his colleagues. As he approached thirty, his employment was still like "guerrilla warfare"—here today, gone tomorrow—and his pockets were cleaner than his face.

But my cousin didn't see it that way. In her eyes, her son was the "star in the sky," perfect in every way. Every holiday, when relatives gathered and someone asked, "Does Xiao Jun have a girlfriend yet?" her face would fall. Back home, she’d start nagging her husband: "Look at so-and-so’s son, two years younger than Xiao Jun and already holding a baby! Our Xiao Jun doesn't even have a girlfriend. My heart feels like it's being scratched by a cat." At first, her husband tried to reason with her: "The boy is still young, and his job isn't stable. What's the rush?" She’d snap right back: "Young? When I was his age, he was already in primary school! Job this, job that—if he just works and never marries, do you want him to be a 'bare branch' (a bachelor) forever?"

With all that nagging, and with the help of enthusiastic relatives, Xiao Jun was actually introduced to a girl named Xiao Min. I met her once—quite delicate-looking, works at a cosmetics counter, very silver-tongued and sharp. After barely two months of dating, Xiao Jun happily reported home that the girl was good to him and didn't mind his low income. My cousin was over the moon. She immediately started organizing a meeting with the future daughter-in-law, acting as if she wanted the wedding held the very next day.

On the day of the meeting, my cousin specifically went to the mall to buy new clothes, got her hair permed, and waited at the restaurant early. When Xiao Min arrived, she called her "Auntie" with every breath, her voice as sweet as honey. My cousin was instantly smitten, piling food onto the girl’s plate throughout dinner, ready to give her the world.

But then, the conditions came. Xiao Min’s family didn't hold back. The "Caili" (bride price): 188,000 RMB, not a cent less. The house: couldn't be old; it had to be a new commercial apartment in the city, and Xiao Min’s name had to be on the deed. The car: could wait, but there had to be a commitment to buy one within two years of marriage. The "Three Golds" (gold jewelry), the "Red Envelope" for changing her address to the parents, the wedding banquet—nothing could be missing; everything had to follow the "rules."

When my cousin heard these terms, the smile nearly froze on her face. Back home, she and her husband crunched the numbers behind closed doors, and their hearts sank. Their total savings, accumulated through years of skimping and saving, amounted to maybe 400,000 RMB. If they paid the bride price and the down payment for the house, forget about their "coffin money"—they’d be "drinking the northwest wind" (starving) for the rest of their lives.

That night, her husband smoked through the whole night and finally grumbled, "Let’s just forget it. With Xiao Jun’s salary, he can barely feed himself. If he takes on a mortgage and a family, how is he going to survive?"

My cousin’s tears started flowing instantly: "Forget it? How can we? Xiao Jun finally found someone, and she doesn't even look down on our family, yet you're the one losing heart! You're his father—if you don't help him, who will? Do you want him to be a bachelor for life and let our relatives laugh us to death?"

Her husband fell silent. He knew that in her mind, her son’s marriage was "bigger than the sky." If it fell through because of money, she would resent him for the rest of her life.

In the days that followed, my cousin was like a wound-up clock, working even harder. By day, she did housekeeping; by night, she took on manual labor at home—stringing beads and gluing paper boxes. It paid pennies, and she worked until her eyes were nearly blind. Her husband also swallowed his pride and made the rounds to borrow money from relatives—20,000 here, 10,000 there—until they finally scraped together the bride price.

The hardest part was the house. For a new development in the city, even a two-bedroom unit required a down payment and taxes that wouldn't go below 300,000 or 400,000 RMB. My cousin gritted her teeth and listed their only asset—the old apartment they lived in—with an agency. That was their only "nest"! I later found out that to ensure the wedding went smoothly, they rented a tiny, one-bedroom place—dark, damp, and without a single piece of decent furniture. When she told me, she even forced a smile: "It’s fine, just the two of us. We can make do. Once Xiao Jun’s life gets better, he won't just leave us be, will he?"

Hearing that, I felt a bitter lump in my throat. I wanted to say something, but I didn't know how. Seeing that look of hopeful expectation in her eyes, I swallowed my words.

The wedding finally happened. It was a respectable affair; everything that should be there was there. My cousin was all smiles that day, but even heavy makeup couldn't hide the wrinkles and the white hair at her temples. She felt that her life’s mission was finally complete.

But life isn't like that; things don't just become "happily ever after" once you're married.

Xiao Jun’s personality didn't change a bit. He still "fished for three days and dried the nets for two" (worked inconsistently). One day he’d quit because he argued with the boss; the next, he’d skip work because it was too hot. His monthly income wasn't even enough for gas and cigarettes, let alone supporting a home. As for Xiao Min, she was gentle and considerate before the wedding, but her true colors emerged afterward. Working in a mall, she was used to seeing wealthy customers and had high expectations. Seeing Xiao Jun’s lack of ambition, her anger flared constantly.

And so, arguing became their "daily meal." Xiao Min nagged that he earned too little and had no future; Xiao Jun complained that she spent money like water and had no empathy. After every fight, Xiao Min would run back to her parents’ house, and Xiao Jun would retreat to my cousin’s rented room to hide. Seeing her son come home, my cousin would feel heartbroken, rush to cook for him, fuss over him, and secretly slip him a few hundred yuan when he left, terrified he was suffering.

Mortgages must be paid, property fees settled, utilities, gas, internet—what doesn't cost money? Xiao Jun’s "three melons and two dates" (pittance) weren't even enough for the mortgage. Xiao Min kept her own salary for clothes and cosmetics, contributing nothing to the household. Over time, Xiao Jun had no choice but to shamelessly go back to my cousin for money.

"Mom, the mortgage is due this month. I’m a bit tight; can you cover it for me?"

"Mom, Xiao Min saw a bag for over 2,000 yuan and insists on it. I’m short; lend me some."

What could my cousin do? Seeing her son’s miserable face, she could only squeeze it out of her own living expenses. Her and her husband’s pensions, after rent and food, were entirely spent subsidizing Xiao Jun. Sometimes, when it really wasn't enough, she’d go out to do odd jobs. A sixty-year-old woman, babysitting for others until her back was so sore she couldn't straighten it. Her husband, heartbroken and angry, would lose his temper with her, but she’d still protect her son: "They just started a family; it’s not easy. As elders, we should help as much as we can."

This "helping hand" lasted for several years. My cousin and her husband lived more frugally than they did before the marriage. Even a good meal required careful thought, and if they had a fever or a headache, they were loath to go to the hospital, just buying some medicine at the pharmacy and "carrying it through." My cousin’s hands, from years of labor, had deformed joints that ached terribly whenever it rained.

Despite all this, the friction between the young couple only deepened. Xiao Min looked down on Xiao Jun for being incompetent and unable to provide the life she wanted, her words filled with regret. Xiao Jun, pushed to the brink by his wife, started complaining too: "If you hadn't pushed me to get married back then, would I have been in such a rush? Now she looks down on me—why didn't you say something earlier?"

When these words reached my cousin, she was stunned. She couldn't understand how her "pouring out her heart and lungs," sacrificing her life savings and even her home, had resulted not in her son’s gratitude, but in his resentment.

The real explosion came after the baby was born.

Xiao Min gave birth to a big, healthy boy. My cousin was overjoyed, feeling the family line was finally secured. She ran herself ragged during the "confinement month," stewing chicken soup and washing diapers, spinning like a top, but she was happy. She thought that with a child, the couple would finally settle down.

But she didn't expect the child’s expenses to be even higher. Formula, diapers, clothes, toys—everything cost money. When Xiao Min’s maternity leave ended, hiring a nanny was too expensive and untrustworthy, so she suggested my cousin move in to help. Without a second thought, my cousin gave up her rented room and moved into her son’s house, becoming a "free nanny."

Calling her a nanny was actually an insult to nannies. A nanny gets a salary and days off. My cousin took care of the baby, cooked, and cleaned by day, and had to get up at night to feed the baby and change diapers. She didn't get a full night's sleep for ages. Xiao Min, meanwhile, would flop onto the sofa after work to scroll through her phone and watch TV while waiting for dinner. After eating, she’d wipe her mouth, push the bowl aside, and go to the bedroom to play with the baby. Once she was tired of playing, she’d go to sleep. Forget about helping out; she rarely even said, "Mom, thank you for your hard work."

Eventually, my cousin’s body couldn't take it. Her blood pressure was high, her heart wasn't great, and she nearly fainted from exhaustion. She told Xiao Jun she wanted to rest for two days and have the other grandmother take over. When Xiao Jun told Xiao Min, she exploded: "My mother is in poor health; she can't come! Isn't your mother healthy? She’s tired from just watching a kid? Fine, hire a nanny—4,000 a month, you pay for it!"

Where would Xiao Jun get that kind of money? The two fought again, and finally, Xiao Min pointed at his nose and screamed: "Look at you! No skill, no money—I must have been blind to marry you! And your mother, too—making excuses when it comes to helping her own family with the child. If she doesn't want to do it, just say so!"

The words were hideous. My cousin heard them from the other room and trembled with rage, but she didn't dare speak up. She was afraid that if she made a scene, the couple’s rift would widen and the family would truly fall apart. She could only "shatter her teeth and swallow them" (endure in silence), crying many tears in secret.

But you can't wrap fire in paper forever. My cousin’s health worsened until one day she collapsed at home and was rushed to the hospital. The doctor said it was extreme exhaustion combined with long-term malnutrition and that she needed to stay for recovery. When I went to see her, she was lying in the hospital bed, her face sallow, so thin she was just a bag of bones—a shadow of her former headstrong and capable self.

She held my hand, her tears never stopping, and said in a raspy voice: "My intestines are turning green with regret now (I regret it so deeply). If I hadn't been so anxious to rush him into marriage, if I hadn't emptied my pockets to buy him that house, maybe things wouldn't be like this today. Xiao Jun... that boy hasn't grown up himself. He can't even feed himself—how did I dare let him start a family? I wasn't helping him; I was harming him, and I’ve harmed myself too..."

She paused, her tears flowing harder: "I see it clearly now. If a son is incompetent, even if you marry him to a goddess, the marriage won't last. You can help for a moment, but can you help for a lifetime? I gave up my own nest, and now I don't even have a place to recover from my illness—I have to go back to that rented room..."

Listening to her, my heart felt like it was being pricked by needles. My cousin spent her whole life for her son, and in the end, her son never stood on his own feet, she ruined her health, and she lost the home she needed for her old age. Who can you blame? Blame Xiao Min for being too pragmatic? Blame Xiao Jun for having no ability? Or blame my cousin for being too foolish?

Later, after my cousin was discharged, her health was never the same, and she could no longer look after the child. Xiao Min insisted on a divorce, and this time Xiao Jun had no choice—divorce it was; the life was truly unsustainable. Since the house was in both their names, it had to be sold and the proceeds split. The money my cousin and her husband had poured in—the proceeds from their old home—simply "vanished into the water" without even making a splash.

Now, my cousin and her husband live in an even more remote, tiny rented room, surviving on their meager pensions and still having to occasionally help out the divorced Xiao Jun. Xiao Jun is back at square one: alone, no house, no car, still the same job, just with the added label of being "divorced."

Every time I visit my cousin and see her increasingly hunched back, I wonder: what was it all for? So, using my cousin’s story, I sincerely advise all parents—your children have their own paths. Don't always think that arranging everything for them is "for their own good." Before they have learned to earn a living and take on responsibility, don't force them to start a family just for the sake of "face" or because you're in a hurry. And certainly, don't empty out your life’s blood and sweat to pave their way.

You think you're paving a "grand golden road," but you might just be digging a bottomless abyss for yourself. In the end, you suffer, and you ruin the child too.

Truly, take my advice: "Children and grandchildren have their own blessings; do not be a beast of burden for them." The words may be blunt, but the truth is sharp.