**10th May 2024**
I let my elderly mother move in with me. Now I regret it, and theres no way to send her back. Im ashamed in front of my friends.
Today, I need to put this down in writingsomething so personal and heavy, it weighs on me like a stone on my chest. I need advicewise and thoughtfulto find a way out of this mess Ive stumbled into.
Everyone has their own burdens, their own trials. We ought to learn not to judge others, but to lend a hand when someones drowning in despair with no way out. Truly, none of us are safe from such situationstoday you judge, tomorrow youre trapped in fates snare yourself.
I took Mum in. Shes 80 now and used to live in a village near York, in an old cottage with a sagging roof. She couldnt manage alone anymoreher health failing, her legs giving way, her hands trembling. I could see her fading there by herself, so I brought her to my flat in London. But I didnt realise the weight Id carry or how it would upend my life.
At first, it was smooth sailing. Mum settled into my three-bedroom flat and seemed to respect the rules. She kept to herself, stayed quietjust retreated to the room Id prepared for her. Id made it cosy: a soft bed, a warm throw, a telly on the dresser. She only left for the loo or the kitchenI did my best to make her comfortable. I cooked what the doctors advised: no grease, barely any salt, everything steamed. The medicinespricey but necessaryI bought myself with my wages. Her pension? Peanuts.
But after a few months, things soured. City life wore on herdull, grey, like the concrete walls outside. She started imposing her own rules, picking fights over nothing, making mountains out of molehills. One day it was dust I hadnt wiped, the next the soup was wrong, or Id forgotten her favourite tea. Nothing suited her; everything grated. Then came the guilt tripssighs like a bad actor, saying she was better off in the village than in my “prison.” Her words cut deep, but I bit my tongue, refusing to rise to it.
My patience ran thin. The endless nagging, the shouting, her constant displeasure wore me down. I started taking nerve pills, and after work, Id linger on the doorstep, dreading going inside. Behind that door wasnt a havenit was a battleground I lost every day. My life had become a nightmare with no way out.
Sending her back to the village? Not an option. She wouldnt lastthe cottage is half-rotten, no heating, no comforts. And how could I live with myself? What would people say? I can already see their scowls, hear the whispers: “A daughter tossing out her own mother shameful.” Im ashamed even thinking itashamed in front of others, ashamed of myself. But I cant take much more.
Its like a knot I cant untie. Im drained, empty, lost. How do I share a roof with her? How do I face that wall of complaints without breaking? How do I ease her without losing myself? Im stuck, sinking deeper each day.
Has anyone else been here? How did you live with elders whose temper grates like sandpaper on raw nerves? How do you keep your head when a loved one becomes your hardest trial? Share your wisdomI need a glimmer of light in this dark tunnel.
**Lesson learned: Duty digs its own gravesometimes deeper than love can fill.**
