When Your Elderly Mother Is Toxic and Unlovable

And you have to be her primary caregiver.

By

Casey Glass

 
Published August 01, 2024
illustration of toxic mother sitting in kitchen
Tara Anand

I know how much heartache adult children go through taking care of elderly parents who are ill or in cognitive decline. Generally, we want to help our aging mothers and fathers and give back to those who brought us into the world. I have read poignant narratives about these difficulties, as well as magnificent odes to beloved parents. My 90-year-old mother, however, is neither feeble nor is her memory failing.

She can remember the old days like they were yesterday and she is up on the latest news. So, what about looking after a healthy older parent who happens to be toxic? What about trying to please a nonagenarian who finds fault with everything?

It is tragic to have to witness a parent wasting away from disease, which I experienced with my father. It is an entirely different kind of debilitating to be browbeaten and infantilized by an aging egomaniac. This, when you yourself are on the threshold of senior citizenship.

I should be desperate to spend as much time with her as I can at this point in her life. Yet I don’t feel that pull at all, which saddens me. I love her because she is my mother, but I don’t like her. She is selfish, vain, combative, controlling and too proud to have ever uttered the words “I’m sorry.”

And there has been plenty of cause for apology. Like when I was in the second grade and woke up one day with a raging case of chicken pox and she angrily told me to go back to bed because she was “sleeping in” that morning. A bloody nose? She would say “Don’t get blood on the rug!” This was the mother who emptied her kids’ college savings accounts, not to put food on the table but to finance her lavish spending habits.

Our species has such a profound reverence for motherhood that those of us with lousy moms must suffer in silence or risk being considered blasphemous ingrates. I always feel the weight of that cultural idolatry when thinking about my mother.

She grew up poor with a single mom who worked three jobs. She was 18 when she married my dad, who truly worshipped her, which only served to confirm the very high opinion she had of herself.

When I was in my early 20s and my father passed away, she never once asked me how I was holding up. I wasn’t allowed to mourn. When I dared to disagree with her, she fixed me with a cold stare and declared: “I’m DONE with you!” or “We’re THROUGH!”

An adult might dismiss this as hyperbole, but to a child, it was earth-shattering. Her love was conditional. She cuddled on her terms, showed humor when she was in the mood and shared glimpses of warmth when it suited her. Zero consistency. Emotional whiplash.

I didn’t know this behavior was abnormal until I began observing other kids’ mothers prioritizing their children’s needs over their own. My oldest childhood pal in particular had a very kind mom who treated me like a second daughter and was everything my mom was not: affectionate, selfless, generous, patient and fun. When it was my turn to become a parent, I vowed I would make the effort to check all those same boxes.

I feel like I have come pretty close to that goal. You have to put in the work, to be there, to be caring, to listen, to love unconditionally — and my mom has never been willing to do that.

She once refused to let my toddler daughter borrow a little plastic toy piano from my own childhood, which she adored. This was a toy gathering dust in a closet, yet my mom screamed, “Because it’s MINE!” when I confronted her about it.

On the rare occasions when she was willing to babysit, she wouldn’t change her routine to engage in playtime. This meant my daughter sat through a lot of Judge Judy and Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. So, I ended up having to answer a lot of questions from my child about topics she was not mature enough to understand.

As my mother got older and meaner, she drove away all her friends. The net result has been a shrinking world for her and increasing pressure on me to fill the void left by each departure. At this point, the only “friends” she has left are housekeepers, plumbers, electricians and anyone else willing to be barked at and who has to be nice to her in order to get paid.

I have vented a lot, and I know that. Throughout all of this, I have endeavored to be a good daughter by always being there when she wants company or needs something. I check in constantly with visits and frequent calls. We share in traditions, such as summer walks at the beach, watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade together and wrapping presents for the family while listening to Christmas music. I am at her beck and call, in any capacity she desires.

I have done this out of a sense of duty, not because I thought she might appreciate me or even demonstrate real love. I do not expect this. She will not change. I accept that. And I know I am in good company.

But I am grateful for the one priceless gift she gave me, however inadvertently: Her narcissism forced me to become far more self-reliant and resilient than I might otherwise have been. Because of this cold and uncaring mom, I was on my own from a very early age. I became self-reliant and resilient, as I figured out for myself how to navigate this world.

My father was loving, encouraging and attentive, but he worked long hours and traveled a lot. So the bulk of the parenting fell to my mother, who was clearly not up to the task. Thus I entered parenthood determined to do the exact opposite of everything she did and did not do.

And it worked. Our daughter is full of light, and she is empathetic and sweet. My husband and I have derived more joy from the experience of raising her than from any other aspect of our lives. It thrills me to know that I am our child’s best friend and that she not only loves me — she genuinely likes me.

As for my mother, there is really nothing I can do but carry on being as compassionate a daughter to her as I can be. That’s the key: compassion, not empathy. I feel sorry for her, living in her lonely little world of delusion and anger. I will continue to hold her hand, bite my tongue, listen to her endless complaints and smile when she evokes memories from her life.

Above all else, I will not abandon her because I am nothing like her — I am her daughter.

 

Have any of you experienced anything similar to what this daughter is going through? Let us know in the comments below.

Casey Glass is still very much enjoying her decades-long career as a book editor. She works with incredible authors, many of them bestselling, who teach her something new every day. She lives and works in New York City with her family.