After two-and-half years of no contact, my mother reached out to me via email.

I had a feeling I might hear from her after I received a call from an ER nurse in the town where my she lives (300 miles from where I live). My mother doesn't know the nurse called me. At the time, I did nothing, as nothing was being asked of me.

In her email to me, she said she wanted to have a conversation about her future plans as she is getting older and asked me to call her, which I did. We had basically the same conversation we had five years ago: she thinks it would be a good idea to move closer to me and to put her husband (who has Alzheimers) into a nursing home.

"Don't worry, I don't want to live with you," she said.

Five years ago when she suggested this I put her in touch with real estate agents (per her request) and nothing happened.

This time she said that she wants to buy "one of those tiny houses" and asked if I would be willing to help her (logistically not financially). I said yes and suggested she investigate a local "life plan community" that has everything from independent living to a memory care unit so she and her husband would be in the same location.

"Oh no," she replied. "I don't want to live in a place like that...too many rules" (i.e., no smoking).

She made a vague reference to having some problem with her legs, but I didn't push for information.

Once again she asked me to send her the names of some real estate agents, which I did.

That was three weeks ago and I've heard nothing from her since.

Here's how I used my own tools:

I created safety throughout this interaction by noticing the sensations, thoughts, and feelings I had when I got her email, then again right before I called her, and then again afterwards. I didn't judge myself. I stayed connected to me.

I leaned into my intentional identity as a curious observer who values and embodies dignity, clarity, expression, and boldness, rather than letting fear and shame take over.

And I am holding firm to my boundaries* because the urge to reach out and see how she's doing and ask if there's anything else I can do arises nearly every day.

*I will consider requests for help, but will not try and guess and move the process along for her; she needs to ask me for specific help. I only answer the questions she asks. I do not explain (or over-explain) myself.

~~~

I was recently interviewed by AARP (I'll share the link when it's published) about caring for loved ones with narcissistic traits and I want to share with you one of the things I said to the reporter:

So many of us fear having to take care of our difficult elderly mothers, and for good reason. Being able to create safety, knowing who you are apart from her, and establishing clear healthy boundaries makes all the difference.

Much, much love,

Karen