Every time I visited my mom, her dog Charlie took up space on the couch like he owned it. It didn’t seem like much to her, but for me, with OCD and a young daughter, sitting on that couch was unbearable. “Mom,” I said, yet again, “I can’t sit where he did.” She’d laugh and brush it off, telling me my worries were just a “weird bother.”

Finally, I had to be clear: “This dog better get off the couch while I’m here, or I’m leaving.” Her face tightened, and she looked at me and said, “Mary, Charlie is family. I’m not locking him up just because you’re here.”

When she refused, I made my choice. I calmly picked Charlie up, took him outside, and told her, “I’m giving you a choice, Mom. I stay if Charlie’s out here.” The ultimatum was hard, and her face fell as she looked between us, hurt. “I love you… but Charlie is part of me.”

In that moment, I realized our paths had diverged. She valued Charlie as family, and I needed boundaries she couldn’t offer. The line was drawn, and I walked away, knowing things would never be the same between us.