Many posters on this site seem to think they have an obligation to provide care up close and personal to those who abuse them - why is this? Where do they think this obligation comes from? I recall a deacon at my church who got up during the sermon and addressed this topic - he insisted his mother move into an AL because she did not respect his wife and therefore he did not want to care for her in his home (which she wanted). We do have a basic obligation of care to our parents - but this does NOT mean we have to put up with abuse.
While it's good to be introspective and see if our responses are making our elders' issues worse, when there is actual abuse, or when there is a situation like the deacon's, the appropriate thing is generally to take steps to get into separate living arrangements, and to set boundaries. Many people could use counseling by someone like your deacon who can help them through these tough decisions.
Take care,
Carol
I do not think it is "natural" to combine any two adult households - whether that be bringing an elder family member home or having adult children move (and sometimes their children) back to your home. There is just too much need for both independence and privacy...you lose both when you move into another's home...it is unavoidable. Then resentment sets in...elders feel that they are imposing, caregivers feel trapped.
It takes so many things falling into place for this arrangement to work. I think some caregivers are reluctant to find an alternative placement because they are driven by guilt or misplaced obligation.
What we "owe" are parents are the same things they gave us: a safe, comfortable home, good meals and nutrition, and medical care.
Accepting physical or mental abuse from anyone is unacceptable.
I also agree that DT's answer often applies.
I suggest, though, that mental illness changes the picture -- especially illness that has its onset in old age, such as dementia. (The relationship between caregiver and people who have been narcisstic or bi-polar for decades has been developing for a long time.)
I'm not putting this forth as advice or what "should" be, but simply in answer to the question -- why do caregivers put up with abuse? Physical abuse is especially dangerous in combination with dementia. The demented person may not know his own strength and may have lost impulse control. Most caregiver learn they can't simply wince and take it, or are convinced of that by others who love both parties. But a sad fact is that many facilities are unable to deal with violent residents. What is the poor caregiver to do? Trying to get the violent behavior controlled for either continued at-home care or for placement may involve the use of drugs, including anti-psychotics that are normally not adviced for the elderly or those with dementia. I think the use of these kinds of drugs is a little more understandable in the context of violent behavior..
As for non-physical abuse, many dementia caregivers put up with it out of love and compassion, knowing that it is not the loved one who is acting this way -- it is the disease causing this. We put up with it in the belief that if the situation were reversed our loved one would do his best to care for us in spite of what the disease is doing. We do it hoping that our presence and patience eases the terrible burden of the disease in some small or large measures. We do it knowing that our loved one can't learn new behaviors and can't help the present lack of impulse control. And we do it as a way of exploring the outer limits of love, which are remarkable indeed.
I don't mean to be suggesting this as "right" -- just explaining what may seem masochistic or psychotic from the outside. Caregivers of dementia patients may be approaching this whole topic from a somewhat different perspective.
Great guidance here. I think emotional abuse is another point for discussion. I had a professional try to lay a guilt trip on me last night (at 10:20 pm but it was no emergency). Her intent was to guilt me into moving Mom in with my husband and I. Fortunately, I didn't take the guilt trip and was able to end the conversation without loosing my temper.
My husband asked "what was that all about" when I finally got to bed. In the kindest voice he has he said, "Well, if you need to live with your mother, please go to her house. I'll be here for you, But we can't let her come here to destroy our lives."
I treasure his honesty and I'm not broken by his words. He spoke the truth with love. We'll figure this out somehow.
I can't speak for anyone else's parents, but I do know what it's like to be tormented by them.
In Latino/Hispanic society, mothers are goddesses to be worshiped no matter what. As a little boy growing up in the 60s, child abuse as we know it today was called discipline.The method didn't matter as long as you learned your lesson: a hot iron to the arm, kneeling naked on raw rice strewn on a concrete floor for something you supposedly did. Add to that lashes with an extension cord and, at the age of 5, having your face rubbed on your own feces; then sit on a big rock facing the street where everybody could see the sacrifices your beloved mother had to go through to teach you that crapping on the bed because you couldn't find the mosquito and roach-infested latrine in the darkness is something you just don't do.
Everyone, especially older people, told me I must have done something to deserve it and that it probably hurt her more than me. Others would say someday I'd have children of my own and understand why she did what she did.
So I took the abuse in silence, and conditioned myself to believe she did the best she could with what she had. That if children came with instructions at birth everybody would be a perfect parent. ... Bull. Her idea of good parenting was terrorizing children to ensure their subservience well into adulthood. An investment for her twilight years. ... To this day, we're expected to pay tribute to a woman who brought us into a life of poverty and then charges us for it.
To her I'm an ingrate. The child whose birth, she said, was a regrettable accident. I saw her a couple of months ago at my older sister's apartment. She bragged that if it hadn't been for her brand of "discipline" I'd never be the successful man I am today. I called her aside and, with a goodbye hug and a kiss, told her "If every time I see you all you're going to do is use me, hurt me, humiliate me, and abuse me some more ... then there's no place for you in my life."
My motto? ... Respect yourself.
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