I let my daughter and son-in-law have my flat, you know. And now I end up sleeping on a camp bed in the kitchen.
So, there I am, lying on this creaky old fold-out in the middle of the kitchen, listening as laughter drifts through the wall. The tellys always on too loud, you can hear the clink of glassesbet theyve cracked open another bottle of wine. Meanwhile, Im stuck here among the pots and pans, with the lingering smell of yesterday’s stew.
Honestly, I dont even dare turn over half the time, worried Ill make a noise and theyll come in to say Im in the way. As it is, I go out first thing and keep out all day, only coming back at night so Im hardly under their feet. Every evening theyre parked in the living room and of course, to get to the kitchenmy “room” nowI have to walk right through. Its always awkward, tripping over their things, feeling like Im intruding.
Im sixty-four, can you believe it? Spent my whole life working as a teacher. Raised my girl by myself after her father left when she was a tot. Got this flat ages ago, back when council houses were a thing, and later bought it for myself. It was a proper two-bed in a nice part of town, close enough to the tube. My home. My whole life played out inside those walls.
So when my daughter got married, they were strugglingtiny, pricey rentals, rowdy neighbours, not the kind of place you want to bring up a child. She was always upset about it. So I made what felt like the right choice.
I gave them my flat. Proper gift, not in the will, not a just for now arrangementan actual deed, papers, my signature and everything. Because were family, right? I thought: well all live here together, Ill help out, be close when grandchildren come along.
At first, it was lovely. Wed eat meals together, chat, laughfelt like a family again for a while.
But then, slowly, something shifted. Cant put my finger on quite when.
One day, they told me they needed my room. Said it would become a study since theyre both working from home these days. I could sleep in the kitchenjust for a little while, they promised.
Well, that little while has dragged out for four months now.
Ive tried talking to them. I explained that my back hurts, how chilly it gets in there, that Im not as spry as I used to be, and its just so hard to manage. All I ever hear back is, Just hang on a bit longer.
But a bit keeps going on. My old rooms filled with fancy furniture and gadgets now, some cushy recliner. And there I am at night, counting how many times my bed will groan if I so much as roll over.
Really started to feel like an outsidernot in my home, but in someone elses. A place that used to be mine.
One evening, I overheard them talking. They didnt know I was nearby. Chatting about me, about how I was in the way, how it wasnt the plan for me to stay forever. One of them even mentioned putting me up elsewhere, maybe a care home.
And thats when it hit me.
I brought up my child alone. Gave her everything I could. And suddenly, Im the extra piece, the spare part no one knows what to do with.
I left the house and just wandered for ages in the cold, no aim, no sense of direction. Eventually I went back, curled up on my tiny camp bed, and said nothing.
Next day, I asked for a proper talk, a real onenot just a quick chat. I told them I dont need much. Just one room. Just one proper bed. I just want to live with a bit of dignity, not as if Im some uninvited guest. I reminded them I gave my homenot to strangers, but to my own child. It was never so I could end up squeezed between the oven and the fridge.
And for the first time, I think they really heard me.
It didnt all get mended overnight, mind you. There were a few weeks of tension and frosty silences. But I got my room back. The camp bed is gone. I finally sleep in a real bed again. My back even stopped aching.
Thats when I learned something I wish Id known sooner.
Helping your children is love. But giving up everythingthats just giving yourself away. You cant hand over your whole life, not even for those you love most. Because if you do, if youre left with nothing, its frightening how quickly you can become the spare one.
So tell medo you reckon parents should give up everything for their children, or is there a line, a point where you have to keep your own self-respect?
