З життя
Я стала полонянкою власних онуків
Я стала полонянкою власних онуків
Все своє життя я віддала дітям. Коли чоловік пішов від мене ще в молодості, на мої плечі лягла вся турбота про двох доньок. Вони були моїм світлом, моїм повітрям, змістом кожного ранку. Щоб нагодувати їх, взути й одягнути, я працювала на двох роботах, майже не спала, жила в постійному забігу між домом, школою, крамницями та лікарнями. Мені допомагала мама — моя єдина опора. Вона бавила дівчаток, коли я була на змінах, стежила за їхніми уроками, вчила життя. А я… Я майже нічого не пам’ятаю з тих років, окрім втоми, нескінченної суєти і тишини у власній душі.
Потім захворіли батьки — один за одним. Я літала між домом, лікарнями та роботою, втрачала сили, але не здавалась. І ось тепер, коли мені вже більше шістдесяти, я нарешті на пенсії. І здавалося б, повинна радіти: виростила, поставила на ноги, дала освіту, відпустила їх у власне життя. Обидві доньки заміжні, у кожної по одній дитині, а у молодшої — навіть двоє.
Коли з’явилися онуки, я з радістю запропонувала свою допомогу. Здавалося, я, пройшовши шлях матері-одиначки, як ніхто розумію, як важко з малюками. Я дійсно люблю проводити з ними час — вони такі теплі, такі справжні. Їхній сміх ніби забирає роки, робить мене молодшою. Я щаслива бути з ними. Але в якийсь момент я зрозуміла: я більше не бабуся — я няня на повний робочий день. Тільки без оплати і вихідних.
Мої доньки будують кар’єри, ходять у салони, зустрічаються з подругами, подорожують зі своїми чоловіками. А я — вічно вдома, з однією або трьома дітьми одночасно. Не тільки у будні, а й у свята. Жодного Нового року за останні п’ять років я не провела у тиші або хоча б з книжкою. Я весь час на сторожі — годую, переодягаю, заколисую, витираю носики і збираю іграшки. Онуки чудові, але сил у мене вже не ті. Я втомилася.
Не хочу звучати як невдячна мати або бабуся. Я, як і раніше, готова допомагати. Але це має бути за обопільною згодою, а не як належне. Чому ніхто не запитує: «Мамо, а як ти себе почуваєш? Хочеш онуків на вихідних, чи, можливо, тобі краще відпочити, зустрітися з подругами, сходити в театр?»
Так, я мрію про театр. Про тиху прогулянку парком, де я не біжу за малюком, у якого знову розв’язався шнурок, а просто йду і дихаю. Я давно мрію поїхати у гори. Звучить наївно, але я завжди хотіла побачити Карпати навесні — коли гори цвітуть, коли повітря ще чисте і прозоре. Я дивлюсь на фотографії в інтернеті і думаю: «Невже я так і помру, так і не вирвавшись із цих чотирьох стін, заповнених дитячим плачем і кашами?»
Боюся піднімати цю тему з доньками. Боюся образити, зруйнувати тендітний баланс. Адже вони можуть сказати: «Ти ж сама пропонувала». Так, пропонувала. Але не стати цілодобовою нянькою.
Я не хочу, щоб мої онуки росли з думкою, що бабуся — це людина, яка завжди поруч, але яку не помічають. Мені важливо, щоб вони знали — у бабусі теж є життя, мрії, інтереси.
Я не прошу багато. Хай мої доньки зрозуміють, що я не вічний двигун. Що любов до онуків не означає повної відмови від себе. Що я маю право на особистий час.
Можливо, хтось прочитає мої слова і впізнає в них свою маму. Можливо, перед тим як залишити дитину у бабусі «на кілька годин», ви запитаєте: «А ти, мамо, чого хочеш?»
I Don’t Understand Why I Became His Wife We Recently Got Married—I’d Thought My Husband Was Madly in Love With Me, but Something Strange Happened That Made Me Question Everything. It Wasn’t Infidelity, but Something Much More Serious and Bizarre. I Think It Happened Because I Cared Too Much—I Worshipped Him, Loved Him Unconditionally, and Forgave Everything. He Got Used to That, Grew More Confident, and His Ego Ballooned. He Probably Started to Think Any Woman Would Crawl Before Him at the Snap of His Fingers, Even Though He’s Not Highly Regarded by Others… Anyone Else Wouldn’t Have Tolerated His Mistakes or Trusted Him Blindly. Just Before the Wedding, He Wanted to Be Alone, Take a Holiday, and “Prepare” for Married Life. There Was Nothing I Could Do, So I Accepted and Let Him Go. He Later Told Me He’d Gone Alone to the Mountains to Escape Civilization—No Internet, No Phone—Just to Admire Nature. Meanwhile, I Stayed Home, Missing Him So Much My Heart Ached. I Counted Every Moment Until He Came Back. A Week Later He Returned—The Happiest Day of My Life. I Welcomed Him With All the Warmth and Love I Had, Cooking His Favourite Dishes. Then, the Very Next Day, Something Odd Began. He Kept Dashing Out to the Hallway or Another Room. Soon, He’d Leave the House Several Times a Day for All Sorts of Reasons. One Day, While Heading to the Shops, I Found a Letter in the Mailbox. It Looked Ordinary. Addressed to Me, from Him, Sent While He Was Away. But Its Words Shook Me Deeply. He’d Written: “Hello. I don’t want to mislead you any longer. You’re not the right person for me. I don’t want to spend my life with you. There won’t be a wedding. I’m sorry—don’t look for me and don’t call me. I’m not coming back to you.” So Brief, So Blunt, So Cruel… Only Now Did I Realize He’d Been Rushing to Check the Mailbox All This Time. Silently, I destroyed the letter, saying nothing to him and letting him believe nothing had happened. But how can I stay with someone who doesn’t want to be with me? Why did he marry me and pretend everything was fine?
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“I Had to Get a Separate Fridge So Mum Would Stop Taking My Shopping” — says Anna. “It’s a ridiculous situation, but there’s no other way. I’m not against selling the flat and sharing the money, but she refuses”. Anna recently turned 24. She’s earned her university degree and found work, but hasn’t settled down yet. Living in her own home isn’t easy. Anna owns half of the flat. It used to belong to her father. She and her mother inherited equal shares when Anna was 14. Ten years ago, things were tough for the family—they lost their breadwinner. Anna’s mum quit her job when Anna was small, deciding against maternity leave because her husband earned well and they were comfortable. She focused on being a homemaker. After Anna’s father died, her mother sobbed, “Who’s going to hire a forty-year-old like me now? What, as a cleaner?” Anna continues: “I was getting a family pension, but Mum couldn’t resist trips to the salon and shopping, even though we were barely scraping by. Her brother helped at first, but then he’d had enough. My uncle told Ali (my mum) she’d have to find work. He has his own kids — he can’t support everyone. After about a year, Ali brought a new man home. His name was Derek. She announced he’d be living with us. Mum tried to solve the money problem by getting married again. Derek did earn good money, but he didn’t get along with me at all. Derek would say: ‘All you do is eat. You’d be better off with a load of laundry or cleaning. Why do you have to do homework? University? Forget it—you should work instead. Or do you think I’ll just keep feeding you?’ I couldn’t say anything. Yes, I was getting a pension, but Mum had control of the money. She never defended me from my stepdad. She was afraid of losing her breadwinner. ‘How will we cope without him?’ she asked me. ‘Don’t argue so much, just do what he says. He provides for the family.’ I made it to university and found a job. Even so, Derek thought of me as another mouth to feed and was always counting what he spent on me. “Six months after I started work, I could afford my own fridge,” Anna says. “I put it in my bedroom because Derek locked the kitchen fridge.” ‘You’ve got a job now? Feed yourself,’ Derek said. Ali fell silent again. Even when Derek showed me the utility bills and demanded I pay for everything he’d ever spent on me. Eventually, Derek lost his job. He and Mum began raiding my fridge. The bills all landed on me. At first, I paid. But Derek sat around unemployed for nearly a year. I’d had enough, so I put a padlock on my fridge. Of course, Mum objected, claiming Derek had kept us fed all this time. I said, ‘Help me out, if you want. I’m not the first one sharing everything in this house. Go get a job.’ Derek recently moved out. Mum’s had enough of a man who brings in no money. But I’m still not taking the padlock off my fridge. I believe Mum should work too. What do you think—is she right?
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You’re the Big Brother, So You Must Help Your Little Sister—You’ve Got Two Flats, Give One to Your Sister! Not long ago, we celebrated my sister-in-law’s birthday. Alina has never had any friendly feelings towards me, and I’ve always felt the same about her. The celebration brought together all our relatives: grandparents, nephews, and of course the birthday girl. Each relative felt obliged to congratulate my husband on his sister’s birthday, while also admiring his generosity. My husband and I graciously accepted the congratulations, but couldn’t grasp what was happening. In my hand was an envelope containing £100 as a present. I thought it was a decent gift for the occasion, though hardly a display of extraordinary generosity. Everything became clear when my mother-in-law began her birthday speech for Alina. “Mark,” she said, “it’s your sister’s birthday today. She’s still single and without a partner, so as her older brother you should look after her and guarantee her security. Now that you own two flats, you’ll give one to Alina.” The room burst into applause while I nearly fell off my chair at the cheekiness of it all. But it didn’t end there. “Brother, make sure you give me the one in the new build! So, when can I move in?” Alina pressed, and I decided it was time for some clarification. My husband and I actually have two flats. One I inherited from my grandmother; we did a bit of redecorating and now rent it out. The money from that pays the mortgage for our flat in the new building—where we actually live. My husband has no rights to the flat I inherited; I’ve always planned to pass it on to our child—my sister-in-law isn’t even in the picture. “Forget it, the rented flat is mine and the one you’re dreaming about is our home.” “Child, you’re quite mistaken. You’re my son’s wife, so all your assets are jointly owned and should be managed by your husband,” my mother-in-law chimed in. “I have no issue with you helping, but not with my assets!” I said. “Mark, do you have anything to add?” “Darling, you and I will earn more money and buy another flat. Let’s just give this one to Alina; it’s her birthday today.” “Are you serious?” I asked, astonished. “If it ever comes to that, you can give her half of our flat after we file for divorce!” “Aren’t you ashamed to speak to your husband like that? If you want a divorce, you’ll get one! Son, pack your things and come home. And you—you’re vile and greedy!” my mother-in-law snapped. After that, I left that crazy house. I wasn’t going to stick around with people who think they have the right to dispose of my property.
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