My Family Said They Didn’t Need My Help—so I Stopped Helping.
The Signed Agreement and the House of Cards
My family said they didn’t need my help so I stopped helping them.
“We’re sick of you making everything about yourself,”
Mom announced sliding across a written agreement on the iPad I’d bought for her.
“This binds you to sibling duties only no more pretending to be their mother sign it.”
My siblings 14 and 16 stood behind her death staring me.
“You’re not that important Jasmine nobody asked you to do all this.”
The irony was palpable. My childhood ended at 9 because I became the mother my siblings needed all while our actual mom was busy spreading her legs for her boyfriends.
Just last week she asked me when my sister Tara would finally become a woman. She got her period three years ago.
I locked eyes with each of them all filled to the brim with entitlement and signed it with a smile.
“Well why didn’t you just say so if you want me to be a sister then a sister is what you’ll get.”
They smiled at each other like they’d won the lottery. The next morning I woke up to mom’s victory lap.
“Everything’s already so much better,”
She told her new boyfriend on speaker.
“Should have put my foot down years ago.”
My siblings floated through the house high on their win eating food I’d prepped Sunday wearing clothes I’d washed.
“This is how a real family works,”
Mom announced to the house.
“Not the Jasmine dictatorship.”
That’s when I decided to give them exactly what they wanted. On Monday morning I treated myself to my very first Starbucks breakfast and even got to try the ice roller trend.
Meanwhile mom discovered the hard way that teenagers don’t wake themselves up. My brother missed his first period exam.
Tara showed up at lunch in yesterday’s clothes hair a mess no breakfast money. Mom got written up at work for being 2 hours late because she didn’t know the morning routine existed.
By Thursday the house told its own story. I came home to find my brother wearing his PE uniform to regular classes because every other shirt rire of BO.
Mom was on the phone begging the utilities company for an extension. She didn’t know bills had due dates.
“Hey Jazz,”
My brother said casually like we were cool.
“Quick favor can you grab me some deodorant when you’re out?”
“Sorry that sounds like overstepping my sibling boundaries.”
I replied.
“Come on sis don’t be petty.”
He said.
“Petty?”
I asked. I pulled up the agreement on my phone.
“This specifically says sibling duties only shopping for you sounds like mothering.”
He left and muttered something about me being dramatic. The smell followed him for another week.
Saturday was Tara’s orchestra recital. I watched from the audience as she walked on stage in a wrinkled stained dress the fancy one I usually dry cleaned.
Parents whispered and kids pointed. When her teacher asked mom afterwards about the dress code situation I chimed in loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Oh we had a family restructuring,”
I explained cheerfully.
“I was overstepping by handling her concert clothes so now mom’s in charge for the first time ever isn’t that right Mom?”
Mom’s face went white as other parents turned to stare.
“We’re reorganizing things,”
She said.
“She made me sign an agreement,”
I added helpfully showing the teacher.
“I’m not allowed to fill in as their mother anymore just a sister no more Jasmine dictatorship.”
The teacher’s expression shifted from confused to concerned. Tara ran to the bathroom crying while mom stood frozen surrounded by judging parents.
Wednesday afternoon my phone rang. It was Mrs. Peterson the guidance counselor.
“Jasmine I’m calling about some concerns regarding your siblings welfare multiple teachers have reported.”
She said.
“I have no authority over my siblings they’ve made that very clear.”
I replied.
“But you’ve always handled—”
She started.
“No they’ve set their boundaries and it’s my job to respect them.”
20 minutes later my mom burst into my room with tears streaming down her face.
“Please Jasmine CPS is coming if they see the house like this.”
She sobbed.
“Like what?”
I asked.
“You know what the dishes the laundry the empty fridge your brother’s grades.”
She said.
“Wow sounds like a lot of mothering work good thing you’re here to help I’m begging you just this once help me clean before they ring th—”
The doorbell rang.
The Arrival of Protective Services and the Hard Truths
We both froze. The woman knocked.
“Hello Mrs. Williams Child Protective Services we’ve received multiple concerning reports.”
The woman said.
Mom looked at me with pure panic. I smiled sweetly through the doorway.
I watched the social worker’s eyes scan the disaster. Dishes molding in the sink garbage overflowing my brother in the same PE uniform from Monday.
