I never imagined I’d find myself even thinking this, let alone writing it down—but lately, I’ve been wondering if my son truly loves me anymore. We used to be so close when he was younger. He’d run to me after school, tell me about his day, ask me for advice. Now, at 26, he barely picks up the phone. Messages go unread for days. If we do talk, it’s short, clipped, and he sounds like he’d rather be anywhere else. I know children grow up, I know they build their own lives—but this feels different. It doesn’t feel like distance, it feels like rejection. Like he resents me, or worse, doesn't care at all.

It’s in the little things that the pain creeps in. Holidays, for example—he’ll visit, but only because I ask, and he never stays long. He doesn’t initiate hugs anymore. There’s no warmth in his voice. Last Christmas, he showed up late, didn’t bring a gift or even a card, and spent most of the evening on his phone. When I tried to talk to him about his job, he just mumbled one-word answers. I used to know everything going on in his life. Now I learn about major updates from social media—after he’s told everyone else. When I mention feeling left out, he tells me I’m being too emotional or dramatic. That word—dramatic—burns every time.

I’ve tried to reflect on where I might have gone wrong. I wasn’t perfect. I yelled sometimes. I had rules, like any parent. I worked long hours when he was young, trying to provide. But I loved him with everything I had. I sat at his bedside when he was sick. I helped him with homework late into the night. I gave up so much so he could have opportunities I never had. So when he acts like I’m just some obligation now, it breaks something in me. I don’t need constant praise or attention—but I do need to feel like I matter in his life, like I’m still his mom and not some figure he’s trying to avoid.

The hardest part is that I can’t talk to anyone about it without sounding bitter. Friends will say, “He’s just busy,” or “It’s a phase.” But when that “phase” stretches into years, you start to ask yourself deeper questions. Like, what if he really doesn’t love me anymore? What if all the love I poured into raising him just... faded on his end? There are signs I can’t ignore anymore. No “I love you” at the end of calls. No interest in my life—he never asks how I’m doing. Birthdays are forgotten. He cancels plans without apology. It’s not just neglect; it’s indifference. And indifference hurts more than anger, because at least anger means they feel something.

What makes this worse is watching him with other people. I’ve seen him be so kind to his girlfriend’s family—bringing flowers, planning trips, sending thoughtful texts. I’m happy he’s found love, but it stings to know I don’t get that version of him anymore. Maybe he’s giving his best to others now, and there’s nothing left for me. I wonder if he sees me as just a reminder of his childhood or a source of guilt. I don’t want his pity, I just want a little of that love back. A phone call where he’s not distracted. A visit he actually wants to make. A moment where he looks at me like I still mean something.

I know I can’t force love. I know that adult children don’t owe their parents constant attention. But love shows up in effort, in presence, in the small gestures that say “you still matter.” And right now, all the signs point to something I never thought I’d face—a son who’s moved on from loving his mother. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m just feeling lonley, reading too much into things. But if you’ve ever felt this ache too, then you know it’s not easy to ignore. I just hope one day he remembers the woman who raised him, who loved him even when he pulled away, and decides to come back—not out of guilt, but because he wants to. Until then, I wait, and wonder if the silence is my answer.

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