So a few years ago I had the choice whether I would give up absolutely everything to come care for my mother full time so that my dad would be able to finish his job out (a profession he calls his calling in life) and retire on a decent pension. She’s 96% blind (and hallucinates regularly), suffered a stroke, is suffering from substantial memory loss, and can’t walk far or do much for herself. Dad refuses to put her in a home and she refuses to go, and after the year we’ve had, I’m almost relieved about that.

My mother was consistently abusive to all of us growing up, something she no longer has the strength for (it wasn’t a day ending in y if she hadn’t screamed at the top of her lungs for an hour first), but fragments of this temper still emerge (although she thankfully wears herself out now after twenty minutes), and the memory loss has advanced to even more intense gaslighting (if we remember something and she doesn’t, then it never happened) and that has extended to most of the abuse, so even faintly alluding to it brings a meltdown. In her mind, she was absolutely perfect.

Caring full-time for someone with needs—and without much respite as my dad’s job has him on call most hours a day, six days a week—is hard enough. Caring for your childhood abuser—

It’s been a bit rough. But I love my dad and I know if I had left her alone with him, she would have killed him, and that’s just something I never could have handled. Ever. Knowing I could do something to stop it? Yeah.

My best shot at future freedom was to help dad look after mum now, so that his retirement and pension could be in place. If he’d been forced to retire early to care for her, chances are I’d have had to take them both in anyway—with no end date in sight—as his reduced pension wouldn’t be enough for them to live on. Now, I have a fighting chance to move out in a year or so and not have to take them in. This was my best shot at being free from her, it’s still kind of a crapshoot if something still happens to dad etc.

It was a calculated decision and it’s definitely been hard to explain the scope of why it was important, and how painful it is living like this. Even just caring for someone non-abusive is difficult enough.

And some of the extra conditions make it harder to cope. The curtains are closed all the time because the light hurts her eyes. She constantly has to have sound on (tv or audiobooks) which is her choice, for her own calm; silence does activate her rage very quickly. It means I don’t often get the chance to listen to anything that I want to, which is tougher than it sounds on the surface. Not even a phone call is private (something I find awkward anyway.)

So sometimes as a coping mechanism, I’ll latch onto something. And one of the bright spots of this last few years was knowing if I chose to do this, I’d get to see Mia every day.

I think I’d be falling apart over losing Mia anyway. But losing her in this combination of circumstances—

I’m gonna be okay. But. Maybe not for a little while.