For 27 years, I had minimal contact with my abusive mother. Then she moved in with me.

For 27 years, I had minimal contact with my abusive mother. Then she moved in with me. 
HuffPost; by Carole Brodsky; 1/20/25 
... Living with my mom was the last thing I ever thought I’d be doing as an adult. Perhaps I accepted her back into my life because there were no other options available. Perhaps it was because I was the daughter of someone who in today’s vernacular would be called a “tiger mom,” and I’d been taught caring for an aging parent was what “good daughters” did.  ... As a child, my mother was abusive.  ... [Now, as] Mom’s verbal skills declined, we had to use our eyes, guts and hearts to discern the needs of a person whose tether to this world was fraying before our eyes. ... My partner has a saying: I always forgive, but I never forget. I have unequivocally forgiven my mother for everything. I have tried, with varying degrees of success, to let the vestiges of her abuse die with her and not invade the lives of my children, grandchildren and now, great-grandchildren. The work on forgiving myself will continue for the rest of my life.