I used to seek out articles about managing caregiver stress, in the hope of finding some new tactic that might ease the ever-tightening feeling in my throat.
I’d usually unearth tips that were so old and tired, they could barely keep their own eyes open:
Take deep breaths
Smile
Join a support group
Eat a healthy diet and drink lots of water
Those gems are from actual articles I will not link to, written by people and professionals who should know better. Because for crying out loud, when you’re in a caregiving role, taking five minutes to massage your pounding head might help — for five minutes.
But then the next thing happens
And the next
And then the 41 things from yesterday
and before long you’re slipping down a muddy slope — or scrambling back up — trying to find solid ground —
Don’t Forget the Oxygen Mask
I mean, sure, take warm baths and meditate. Why not? The every-little-bit-helps argument is hard to argue with. (Personally, I do it all.) But I’ve found that truly taking care of your caregiving self also requires a sort of rewiring inside yourself.
A couple of months ago, Yung Pueblo said something in his substack that caught my attention. “How much you can give is dependent on how much you give yourself.”
What a beautiful and practical way to recast the old saying to “put your oxygen mask on first.”
How much you can give is dependent on how much you give yourself.
Even if you only read this far, take that morsel with you, wrap it in a napkin, and snack on it later.
Because:
It’s so easy when you’re running around to imagine you’re just Getting Things Done. Right? You’re buying groceries. You’re cleaning up puke, or poop, or both. You’re on the phone with the doctor, with Medicare, with your kid who’s applying to college or about to miss soccer practice. Check, check, check the boxes.
Meanwhile, that to-do list morphs into an endless obstacle course. You keep battling monsters like a Stranger Things season that never ends. And because now you’re living in the upside-down-inside-out, you can’t see that you’re depleted to the point of exactly what Yung Pueblo was talking about.
Your ability to give to someone else, with care and kindness, depends on how much you can offer that care and kindness to yourself. So in honor of National Family Caregiver’s Month — which I just found out about — I’d like to offer an insight I’ve been working with:
1 Thing You Can Do That Will Ease Caregiver Stress
I made a list here with only one item on it, because I find that a little funny. But also, I truly believe that shfting this one dynamic can change your caregiving life.
Break Open the Caregiver Secret
The Caregiver Secret is a stealth stress factor. It’s almost impossible to spot, unless you know the signs, because it’s rooted in silence. It’s the silence you keep around all the things you do for someone else, day in and day out, because it’s easier to just get things done than it is to waste time trying to explain it to other people.
“No one wants to hear about my fight with mom to get her to take her meds.”
“Who cares that my dad had 13 doctor appointments this month.”
“I don’t need to bother/bore people …”
In other words: Why complain about the obvious? It is what it is. Keep Calm and Carry Some Valium.
But after my dad passed, I had a chance to reflect on the years leading up to his death. And I realized that — even though I didn’t think I was keeping things to myself particularly — I was. And then I could see all the ways that the Caregiver Secret becomes another burden you end up carrying.
Caregiving Is a Weird, Weird Role
Look, it’s not easy to say out loud just how bone-deep exhausting it can be to take care of someone — even when you love them. Even when you kiss them and feel grateful to have your mom, dad, auntie, grandpa for another day. It’s still a lot to handle. And it’s hard to share. Caregiving is physical, logistical, medical, nutritional, energetic, emotional, spiritual, financial.
And it is even harder when the person you’re caring for is mentally ill or your relationship with them is fraught. Or toxic.
But I’ve reached the conclusion that speaking up has a greater chance of lessening that strain than keeping quiet. Because —
You Need to Care What Other People Think
Telling other people what you’re going through gives them a chance to step up. Does your partner/child/friend/neighbor know how tired you are? When you’re keeping the Caregiver Secret, other people might assume you’re coping just fine, when nothing could be farther from the truth.
Speak up. Ignore the faint look of shock or surprise. Yeah, most people aren’t used to talking about caregiving the way they’d discuss why the car broke down and whether their kids are taking gummies. But they’ll get into it when you get into it — so let it fly!
People are shocked to hear what Medicare actually covers (and not); how long it takes to find a spot in assisted living, that adult diapers don’t work too well — which is egregious because you know NASA has solved this problem if they’re sending people into space for months, so WTF?
Breaking the Caregiver Silence starts a conversation, and conversation creates space, and into that space you can bring new possibilities.1
Like: Saying No
I thought my duty as a caregiver meant doing everything I could, all the time. But as Dad grew more frail and needful, and the rest of life kept up its usual dance, I realized that I was fighting battle after battle of diminishing returns.
It didn’t matter if I did 200% of every last blessed thing, because so much of my effort was just that — my effort, for little benefit. Was Dad really better off, the more I did?
If I said no sometimes, or did 85% of what was required, it was as good as 100% in many ways — if only because saving that 15% of effort gave me more stamina for me, and for Dad (remember Yung Pueblo, above).
And Into the Holidays We Go…
That’s it from me for today. I hope to hear from you about your own experience with the Caregiver Secret. I’d love to publish a list of ways to alleviate caregiver stress from real people who have stumbled across their own helpful hacks.
In the meantime, let’s all take a few deep breaths and light some candles.
It sounds like I lifted this from Rilke or Leonard Cohen or a greeting card. But I didn’t. It’s just true. If you start the conversation, it will open up a space for what you need to show up. Maybe putting it that way sounds more convincing? Hard to say with these things.
Really excellent article. My sister did the lion's share of caregiving when my mother was ill. Being that my mother was on Long Island, 5 minutes from my sister's house, that my sister is a retired nurse with a supportive, retired husband and grown kids, that I was working and living in NYC, with younger kids, being that I don't drive - I have a license but I haven't driven in years - and there was no way to get to my mother's house without driving, and being that my brother, who lives on LI, works full time and had kids around my kids ages, she was the natural "target" of the tasks at hand. She very willingly took them on too, and is the one who arranged for my mother to go to the assisted living right near her house after my mother fell in her home and my brother discovered her 5 or 6 days later.
Honestly, other than things like my ordering stuff, including the adult diapers you spoke of (size was always an issue too) on Amazon, occasionally coming and taking my Mom out or bringing her to my sister's house so she didn't have to deal with that, doing the closing on my mother's house that had to be sold (but my sister negotiated the sale), helping clean out the house, helping move my mother's stuff, coming to stay the night with my mother after she had a hip surgery, and a few more random things, there wasn't too much for me to do.
So I did the one thing I thought might actually be really helpful. I was a sounding board - available 24/7 - so that my sister could say whatever she needed about my Mom's care, about their toxic relationship (yes, I'm borrowing from you, but it was very apt in their case), about the nurse who stole my mother's oxycontin and replaced it with a pill that did something, I can't recall what, and the cameras that caught her in the act, about anything that was bothering her really. It was the least I could do, and I was happy to do it. I can only hope it made a difference for my sister, and I think it did.
From my writing, you can probably tell that I am wracked with guilt for not having done enough, but I truly believe one thing: caregivers need emotional support and they need to vent! And this is my take-away from your well, written, often humorous, article. :)