I Took in My Elderly Mother, but Now I Regret It.

I took in my elderly mother. Now I regret it, but I can’t send her back. And the shame I feel in front of others is suffocating.

I need to pour this intimate story onto paper. It’s so heavy that it presses on my chest like a slab. I’m searching for wise, calm advice to help me escape the emotional swamp I’ve fallen into.

Everyone carries their own burdens. We must learn not to judge, but to reach out when someone is drowning in despair. No one is immune—today you point fingers, tomorrow you could be caught in the same trap of fate.

I brought my mother to live with me. She had just turned 80 and was living alone in a small village in Soria, in a house with a collapsing roof. Her strength was fading—trembling legs, weak hands. Seeing her wilt away in solitude, I decided to move her into my apartment in Valladolid. I never imagined the weight this decision would carry or how it would turn my life upside down.

At first, everything seemed fine. Mom settled into my three-bedroom apartment, seemingly calm. She kept to herself in her room—carefully arranged with love: a soft bed, wool blanket, small TV. She only came out to use the bathroom or the kitchen. I watched over her diet: no fats, very little salt, steamed vegetables. Her medications were expensive, and I paid for them out of my own salary. Her pension was pitiful—what else could I do?

But after a few months, everything started to fall apart. The city—dull and gray like concrete—wore her down. She began laying down rules, picking fights over small things: dust not wiped away, bland soup, forgotten tea. Nothing pleased her. Then came the manipulation—dramatic sighs, complaints that she lived better in the village than in this “prison.” Her words cut me deeply, but I held back the resentment.

Eventually, my patience shattered. Worn down by constant criticism and yelling, I began numbing my nerves with pills. After work, I would sit outside my building, unable to go up. Behind that door wasn’t a home, but a battlefield where I lost every day. My life had become a nightmare with no escape.

Send her back to the village? Impossible. The house is in ruins, with no heating, no proper conditions. How could I abandon her? And the people around us… I can already imagine their judging looks, their whispers: “The daughter who abandoned her mother… How shameful!” The guilt burns me alive, but I can’t take it anymore.

This knot inside me is too much. I’m exhausted, drained. How can I keep living under the same roof? How do I handle her stubbornness, her constant stream of complaints? How do I soothe her without losing myself? I feel trapped, sinking deeper into hopelessness.

Has anyone lived through something similar? How do you deal with elderly parents who are harsh and wear down your patience? How do you stay sane when someone you love becomes your burden? Please, share your stories—I need a light in this dark tunnel.