I Welcomed My Elderly Mother into My Home – Now I Regret It, I Can’t Send Her Away and I’m Ashamed in Front of My Friends.

I took my elderly mother into my home. I now regret it, I cant send her back and I feel ashamed in front of my acquaintances.
I welcomed my senior mother into my apartment. The remorse is fresh, and Im unable to dismiss her. My friends see my embarrassment.
Today I feel compelled to put my heavy, personal story on paperit presses on me like a stone on my chest. I need a thoughtful, wise piece of advice to understand how to escape the quagmire Ive dug for myself.
Each of us carries our own worries and trials. We must learn not to judge others, but to extend a hand when someone drowns in despair with no apparent way out. No one is immunetoday you judge, tomorrow you may find yourself trapped by fate.
I brought my mother to live with me. Shes 80, previously residing in a village near Rouen, in an old, slopingroof house. She could no longer manage aloneher health was failing, her legs gave way, her hands trembled. I saw her fading away there, alone, and decided to bring her into my city flat. I didnt anticipate the burden I would shoulder or the impact on my life.
At first everything went smoothly, like clockwork. Mom settled in my threeroom apartment in Lyon and seemed to respect the routine. She stayed out of my business, kept to the bedroom I had lovingly prepared for her. I equipped it with a soft bed, a warm blanket, and a small TV on the nightstand. She only left the room to use the bathroom, toilet or kitchenI strived to surround her with comfort. I watched her diet, preparing only what doctors advised: no fats, minimal salt, everything steamed. The medicationsexpensive but essentialwere bought with my salary. Her pension? A pitiful sum, mere pocket change.
After a few months, things began to deteriorate. Urban life grew tiresome for hermonotonous, gray, like the concrete walls around us. She started imposing her own rules, picking fights over the slightest matters, turning trivialities into crises. Sometimes it was dust I hadnt cleared in time, other times a soup that wasnt perfect, or forgetting to buy her favorite tea. Nothing pleased her; everything irritated her. Then came the manipulationshe appealed to pity, sighed theatrically, repeated that she lived better in the village than in my prison. Her words cut me like a knife, yet I clenched my teeth and tried not to react.
My patience had run out. The constant reproaches, the shouting, her perpetual dissatisfaction wore me down. I began taking tranquilizers for my nerves, and after work I would stand at the doorway, unable to enter. Behind that door there was no cozy haven, but a battlefield where I lost day after day. My life had turned into a hopeless nightmare.
Sending Mom back to the village isnt a solution. She wouldnt survive therethe house is halfruined, without heat or comfort. And how could I send her away, leaving her to fate? What would people think? I already hear the disapproving glances, the whispers behind my back: A daughter abandoning her mother What shame! Im ashamed even to entertain the thought, ashamed before others and before myself. But I cant go on.
The situation feels like a tightly knotted rope I cant untie. Im exhausted, drained, lost. How can I continue living under the same roof? How do I handle her obstinacy, the wall of complaints and grievances? How can I soothe her without losing myself? Im at a dead end, sinking deeper into despair each day.
Have any of you faced similar stories? How did you coexist with elders whose temperament is as harsh as stone, testing 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.