I’m 45, and my mother is 70. What’s it like living with an ageing mother?
A follower of mine shared her story, filled with pain and confusion, and sought advice. I decided to tell it to you so you could weigh in with your thoughts. Perhaps some of you have also lived under the same roof with ageing parents and can understand her despair.
“I’m 45 years old. I’m far from retirement, compelled to work to support myself, all while caring for my 70-year-old mother. She’s not helpless, mind you. She can take care of herself — bathe, go for a walk, cook meals. But every day spent with her drains the last drops of energy from me. It’s not living; it’s a slow fading away.
When I spend an evening with my mother, afterwards, I’m left yearning for just one thing — to retreat to my room, switch on the TV, and disconnect from everything. But my mother won’t leave me in peace. She loves to linger in the past, picking apart my life. ‘If only you had listened to me and married Alex instead of that wastrel, you’d have children, a career, a future! And now what? You’re needed by no one but me. Be glad you have a close one like me. Take care of your mother!’ Yes, I have no children. My husband left — or so it seems to me. For as soon as we started living with my mother under one roof, he packed up his things and left within a month. Divorce was inevitable.
My mother thinks renting is silly when we have three rooms in our old house on the outskirts of London. So here I am, 45 years old, living with her in this three-room fortress. We share the living room and the kitchen, but each of us has our own room — my tiny island where I try to hide. But even there, her voice reaches me like a shadow. She’s endlessly scolding me, as if I’m still a child, not an adult woman:
— You came home too late!
— You bought unnecessary groceries, money down the drain again!
— You didn’t do my laundry or change my bed!
— You didn’t feed the cat, so irresponsible!
Over all these years, I’ve never heard a kind word from her, never received support or praise. Only reproach, only constant dissatisfaction, as though I’m her biggest mistake in life. Oh, Mum, why do you do this to me? Why turn my life into an endless trial? And I can’t even leave. My salary is pitifully low, barely enough for food, let alone rent and bills. Plus, my conscience weighs heavily — what if something happens to her? What if I leave, and she can’t cope on her own?
But honestly, I’m at my wit’s end. Mum is driving me crazy. I know it’s wrong to speak this way about one’s own mother, it’s a sin, it’s wrong. But I’m suffocating in this house, within these walls, under her gaze that sees me only as a failure. I can feel my life slipping away, dissolving in her criticisms and demands. Every day is a struggle for a breath of air, which is becoming scarcer. I want to scream, to run, but where to? How do I break free from this trap when duty and fear grip me by the throat? I don’t know what to do. Sometimes I look at her and wonder: does she not see how much I’m hurting? Does it not matter to her?”
This is her story — a cry of the soul, full of sorrow and exhaustion. She teeters between loving her mother and wanting to save herself. Living with an elderly parent is a struggle that not all endure, but she’s already broken. How can she find a way out? How can she learn to breathe freely without betraying her mother or losing herself? I’m asking you to share your thoughts. Maybe your experience or an outside perspective can help her out of this darkness. What would you do in her place?
