Real-life. “I've Dreamed of a Peaceful Retirement All My Life”: But My Family Treats Me Like a Maid

After my husband died, my children started saying that I shouldn't live alone.

I always imagined that my old age would be a peaceful time. I dreamed of quiet mornings with a cup of coffee on the porch, books that I would finally be able to read, and long conversations with my family at the same table. I imagined that after years of work and sacrifice, it would finally be time to rest. But the reality turned out to be completely different.

After my husband died, my children started saying I shouldn't live alone. “Mom, you'll be better off with us,” my daughter Magda said. “You won't be so lonely, and we'll help you with everything.” I believed them. I packed my things, sold our family home, and moved in with Magda. I thought it was the beginning of a new chapter full of warmth and mutual care.

At first, everything was fine. Magda and her husband Wojtek were polite, the grandchildren were happy that their grandmother was around. But over time, something began to change. Small requests that seemed innocent became everyday.

– Mom, could you pick up the kids from school? – it started innocently.

Then came more:

– Mom, make dinner, we'll be back late.

– Mom, you can clean up the living room? Wojtek has guests tonight.

– Mom, can you iron Wojtek's shirts?

I didn't protest. After all, it's their home, their rules. I wanted to be helpful. But with each day the responsibilities grew, and I heard a simple „thank you” less and less often. I became a part of the house, but not as a mother or grandmother – I was someone who was supposed to help.

Sometimes when I sat down for a moment to rest, I would hear comments from my grandchildren:

– Grandma does nothing, just sits and watches TV.

Magda just smiled as if it was funny, and it hurt me more and more. Was I really becoming invisible?

One conversation hurt me the most. It was late, I had just finished washing the dishes after dinner. Magda and Wojtek were talking in the kitchen, not noticing me standing in the doorway.

– It's good that mom is here. She's got everything under control – Wojtek said.

– Well, yes, but sometimes I get the impression that she's starting to make herself too comfortable – Magda replied. – She should remember that this is our home.

These words cut into my heart like a knife. Making Your Home? This was their home, yes, but I gave everything I had to be here. My home, my life, my dreams – all gone in the name of “common family.”

Now I sit in the small room at the end of the hall. This is the place they called “mine”, but which has never stopped being a temporary corner. I look at photos from years ago – me and my husband in the garden, our children as children. In those days, I felt needed, but also loved. Today I am needed only to meet the expectations of others.

Every day I ask myself: Was it worth sacrificing everything for a family that sees me as nothing more than a servant? I don't know. But I do know one thing – what was supposed to be a peaceful old age turned into a life full of loneliness and the feeling that my existence only matters when it is useful.

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