I took my elderly mother into my home, and now I regret it; I cant send her away and I feel ashamed before my acquaintances.
Today I feel compelled to put my heavy, personal story on paperit presses on me like a stone over my chest. I need a wise, thoughtful piece of advice to understand how to escape the quagmire I have sunk into myself.
Each of us carries our own worries and trials. We must learn not to judge others, but to reach out when someone is drowning in hopelessness with no apparent way out. No one is immunetoday you pass judgment, tomorrow you may find yourself trapped by fate.
My mother, already eighty, had lived in a village near Rouen, in an old house with a sloping roof. Her health was failing, her legs gave out, her hands trembled, and she could no longer manage alone. I saw her fading away there, alone, and decided to bring her to my city apartment. I didnt foresee the burden I would shoulder or the impact on my life.
At first everything went smoothly. Mother moved into my threeroom flat in Lyon, seemed to respect the order, and kept to herself. She stayed in the bedroom I had lovingly prepared for her, equipped with a soft bed, a warm blanket, and a small TV on the bedside table. Her outings were limited to the bathroom, the toilet, or the kitchen; I surrounded her with comfort. I took care of her diet, preparing only what doctors advisedno fats, minimal salt, everything steamed. I bought her expensive but necessary medicines with my salary. Her pension? A pitiful sum, barely enough for the basics.
After a few months, things began to deteriorate. Urban life grew monotonous and gray for her, and she started imposing her own rules, picking fights over the smallest matters, turning trivialities into crises. Sometimes it was dust I hadnt cleared in time, other times a poorly made soup, or the fact that I had forgotten her favorite tea. Nothing pleased her; everything irritated her. Then the manipulation beganshe appealed to pity, sighed theatrically, and claimed she lived better in the village than in my prison. Her words cut like a knife, yet I clenched my teeth and tried not to react to her provocations.
My patience was exhausted. I was worn down by constant reproaches, shouting, her perpetual dissatisfaction. I resorted to taking calming pills for my nerves, and after work I found myself standing at the doorway, unable to enter. Behind that door was not a sanctuary but a battlefield where I lost day after day. My life had become a hopeless nightmare.
Sending mother back to the village isnt a solution; she would not survive therethe house is halfruined, lacking heat and comfort. And how could I simply abandon her to that fate? What would people think? I already hear the disapproving glances, the whispers behind my back: A daughter who abandons her mother what shame! I am embarrassed even to consider it, ashamed before others and before myself. But I cant go on.
The situation feels like a tight knot I cannot untie. I am drained, depleted, lost. How can I continue living under the same roof with her? How do I handle her stubbornness, the wall of accusations and grievances? How can I soothe her without losing myself? I am at a dead end, sinking deeper into despair each day.
Have any of you experienced similar stories? How did you cohabit with seniors whose temperament is as abrasive as sharp stones that test our patience? How do you keep your sanity when a loved one becomes your toughest trial? Please share your adviceI need a glimmer at the end of this dark tunnel.
