When Your Parents Fight (And Somehow You’re Still in the Middle of It)

Let’s talk about something no parent ever wants to admit—
they absolutely have a favorite child.

They’ll deny it. Argue it. Probably send a group text about it… and accidentally prove your point.
But let’s be honest… it’s a thing.

Why do I bring this up?

Because as my older brother likes to remind me, no one likes it when your parents are fighting.
And somehow, no matter how old you are, you still end up right in the middle of it.

Yesterday, I had something rare.

A babysitter.

Which, in this season of life, doesn’t mean a spa day or anything glamorous.
It means I got to go to the hardware store… and the grocery store… alone.

Honestly? A dream.

I was fully leaning into my “me time era” (aka wandering aisles without anyone asking for snacks) when my phone rang.

It was my dad.

The first words out of his mouth were,
“Well, your mother is mad at me.”

And immediately I thought, oh lord… what did you buy now?

Because historically… that’s usually the problem.

But no. This time it was serious.

At least… to them.

It was all over a neurology appointment.

To really understand why this matters, you need a little backstory.

Not that long ago, my dad had back-to-back surgeries on his carotid arteries.

The morning after his second surgery, my mom had multiple grand mal seizures.

Now, if you’re not familiar with seizures, sometimes they stop on their own.

Hers didn’t.

She got stuck in a cycle, and I had to call EMS.

And let me just say—my saving grace that morning?
My kids, who are normally up at the crack of dawn, miraculously slept through all of it.

Didn’t see a thing.

Truly one of the only times in motherhood I’ve thought, wow… thank you, universe.

She ended up in the ICU for two weeks.
And for a season after that, I stepped into a role I don’t think anyone is ever fully prepared for—caregiver.

It was messy, exhausting, and stretched me in ways I’m still trying to understand.

(That’s a story for another day.)

Since then, things have been… complicated.

My mom still works for the church.
And when I say she’s been there forever, I mean no one else knows how to do her job level forever.

She should have retired years ago.

But she won’t.

And no matter how much you love someone… you can’t make that choice for them.

And if I’m being honest?
I think part of it is that she doesn’t actually want to be home with my dad all day.

Which… after yesterday… oy vey

(Also, I clearly inherited the sarcasm—not the dramatics.)

So back to the argument.

It all started over a mix-up with her neurology appointment.

I had written the date down everywhere—calendar, fridge, probably on my own forehead at this point.

Everything said it was the next day.

My dad, knowing my mom has been getting a little confused sometimes, called to double-check.

And somehow…

That turned into a full-blown argument.

My mom got frustrated.
And instead of talking it out like two grown adults who have been married for decades…

She canceled the appointment.

A specialist appointment.
The kind you wait months for.

(And if I’m being honest… I don’t even think she wanted to go in the first place.
The church tends to win over everything—even her health.)

Now here’s where it gets really fun.

My dad calls me to tell me what happened.

At the exact same time, my mom starts a group text with me and two of my sisters saying my dad refused to take her.

Meanwhile:

I live over 1,000 miles away

Two of my sisters live in the same town as her

And the one sibling who could probably shut the whole thing down immediately?

Not even included in the chat.

My sister—the favorite.

Conveniently left out of the chaos.

Which, honestly… just further proves my original point.

And I’m just sitting there—
in a grocery store parking lot,
holding a bag of produce—
thinking…

How… am I involved in this?

Why… are we even fighting about this?

Also… what did I just buy?

Here’s the thing no one really tells you:

Just because you grow up…
doesn’t mean you stop getting pulled into your family’s dynamics.

Sometimes it just means you’re now the one expected to:

listen

mediate

validate

and somehow not lose your mind in the process

All while just trying to buy groceries in peace.

I love my parents.

I do.

But some days… it’s a lot.

And if you’re the one who gets the calls from both sides…
the texts… the “can you believe this?”…

You know exactly what I mean.

And maybe—just maybe—
next time they start arguing…

I’ll let it go to voicemail.

Or better yet…

I’ll start a group chat without the favorite and see how they like it.

Parents… am I right?