Raising an Abuser: What Exactly Is the Endgame?

An elderly woman trudges toward the commuter train from her dacha. Alongside her usual overstuffed rolling cart (named a "kravchuchka" after the Ukrainian president) and other luggage, she drags a bulky plastic bag overflowing with children's toys.

Her grandson gathered them. He marches empty-handed right next to his overburdened "packhorse."

"Let him carry his own load," I say.

"No! He is still little," the grandmother sighs.

The boy, somewhere between seven and ten, smiled blissfully, feigning complete ignorance, while his grandmother melted with tender affection. She was genuinely proud to still serve as a beast of burden. Her entire standing in the family rested on this very principle: she hauled one heavy load or another for as long as she physically could.

Perhaps we should teach children that deliberately making life harder for their loved ones is unnecessary. It is better to help—or at least stay out of the way. And if you want to take something home from the dacha, carry it yourself.

Ten or fifteen years have passed. That grandmother is now a mere shadow; you can no longer "plow" with her. She timidly asks her grandson to come out and greet me, as I have come to visit for the first time in years. Back then, a long time ago, we spent the summer together, listening to old Beatles vinyls and having fun. I was about fourteen, and my own grandmother had just died, so this one—her sister—took me in for the holidays.

My childhood companion never emerged from his room; the only response was a muffled curse, telling Nina Andreevna to go to hell with her guests. Ashamed, she made excuses for the young man, claiming he was simply busy. While we drank tea, there were a few more failed attempts to call him, eventually cut short by his mother’s sharp command to leave their domestic little tsar in peace.

The old woman, once the head of this household, was now an utterly useless creature to her family. She could no longer work or carry bags for her grandson, even if she desperately wanted to. And since a horse is no longer a horse, she irritates those who are accustomed to seeing her as a utilitarian function rather than a living soul deserving of love.

Now she was ignored and brushed aside like an unnecessary burden.

Self-sacrifice, even in trivial matters, without compensation or at least verbalizing what is happening, unfortunately does not lead to gratitude from those it was meant for. Children or grandchildren raised in this environment by such "draft horses" inevitably discover one day that their caretakers' strength is fading. And when relationships are built primarily on one-sided care, the squeezed-out tube is simply thrown away. Because it is now empty or lacks the resources it once had.

And Grandma Nina could only bitterly lament all her heroic efforts laid upon the altar of serving her descendants. She never realized that she shouldn't have served them, but rather raised them into honorable people worthy of respect.

Nelli Verkhovska PhD in Psychology For more on alternative relationships, check out my YouTube channel