For years, I was the mother who always said yes. I put everyone else first, even when I was exhausted and had nothing left to give. But after a painful family vacation in Brittany, my daughter finally realized what she had been doing to me. And at 62, I discovered something I should have learned decades earlier: loving your family should never mean losing yourself.

I turned toward her.

“Of course.”

“Did you really feel that lonely during our last vacation?”

I looked down at my cup.

I could have said no.

I could have smiled and told her it was all right.

That was what I had always done.

But I was tired of pretending.

“Yes,” I answered. “I did.”

Claire lowered her eyes.

“I keep thinking about that afternoon on the balcony. You were sitting there while Julien and I were talking inside. Noé was asleep, and you had just finished cleaning up after lunch.”

She paused.

“I remember asking you to watch him for another hour because we wanted to go for a walk.”

“You did,” I said quietly.

“And you said yes.”

“I usually did.”

She nodded slowly.

“That is what hurts the most. You never made us think we were asking too much.”

I took a deep breath.

“Claire, I need you to understand something. I was not unhappy because I love helping you. I was unhappy because I felt that helping you was the only reason I was there.”