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Last weekend, I hit a wall. The combination of the pandemic stress, my mom’s increasing needs, and my own struggle to keep connected with my children and husband in the midst of our busy and strained schedules, collided into me like a train, and I was knocked completely over. My fatigue, which is always looming, enveloped me. I was down and wanted to stay there…and sleep. The anxiety, which comes and goes with the daily uncertainties of life, parenting, and caregiving, welled up inside me until I could no longer contain it. More than just that overwhelmed feeling that I sometimes get that abates with some yoga or a good night’s sleep, this was a pervasive, full-body reaction to what I have been trying to just “get through” for the last several months. I burned out.

Days later, with a couple of good night’s sleep and some perspective, I am still burned out. I recognize that I have been allowing my circumstances, which I cannot always control, have begun to control me. I have been here before. Tossed by the changing winds of my circumstances, the mood pendulum going to extremes as I grasp for a sense of control, or really, if I am honest, stillness. I just want the crazy to stop. I want certainty. I want a plan. I want an easy button. And, I want someone to take care of me.

When you are called to care for others, parents, children, friends, students, clients, it is easy to forget that you are a person too. And, when we are so invested in the care of others, it is easy to be burned out on caring for ourselves. At the end of the day, there is nothing left. Honestly, sometimes there’s nothing left by 3pm.

But here’s the thing. When we put caring for ourselves first, we have more to give…others and the world in which we live. So, this week, I decided to place myself at the top of my list. Sure, I cannot stop caring for my kids or my mom, but there are many other things I can move off my plate. So I did. I took some time off work so that I could go see my doctors, spend more time in prayer and in journaling, and I scheduled an appointment with a counselor. Why? Because, self-care needs to happen even when I am working, even when I have a lot on my plate, I can’t control my outward circumstances. Self-care needs to happen BECAUSE of all of these things.

Another thing I am going to do is ask for the care I need from my family. I tend to shut down and pretend I can do it all, “I’m fine,” I say. But I am not fine and those around me won’t know it unless I am honest. Learning to speak up for myself is probably the hardest thing I will do this week, but I will still do it. Taking care of myself and asking for others to help me is the key to moving toward healing, wholeness, and a healthy mindset to sustain me.

In what areas of caring for yourself do you need to ask for help? Who can you ask to support and encourage you? I am here to cheer you on in your quest to take care of yourself so that you can live a full and caring life with others. You are not alone!

Young girl, sitting on swing, early 1980's

I grew up as one of my mom’s caregivers. As her only child, I feel a special connection to her. For a few years between when she and my father got divorced and married my step-father before she got sick, it was just the two of us. Though my general impression of that time is positive, and I have a few specific fond memories, most of my childhood memories are of life post-diagnosis.

When she came home from the hospital, our existence went from the two of us to four: my mom, my new step-dad, me, and her illness. We were learning how to deal with each other and life in what was to become our new normal.

At the time, I did my best to be a good daughter. I eagerly tended to my mom, helping with her medications, prepared meals, and helped around the house (as much as one does at age 8). It was fun for a time. I was “playing house.” But eventually, the newness wore off, and things got more complicated. The stress of living with mom’s illness and her changing abilities affected us all, and it showed.

This stress manifested itself in several ways. It slowly sunk into my understanding that mom was sick, but not the kind of sick where she would “get better” in the way I had only known before her diagnosis. Though not a conscious decision on my part, I began to try to control what I could. In my child’s interpretation of my mom’s disease, I knew that any stress could worsen her. So, I rationalized that making good grades, not getting in trouble at school, and NEVER breaking the rules would help her stay out of the hospital.

Sounds great, right? Except that what started as a good intention, turned into a perfectionist and people-pleasing mindset. I became unable to speak up for myself. I developed a fear of confrontation and continued to struggle with expressing my feelings. (I was known as a bit of a crybaby. Even in high school, some people called me “spilled milk.”)

This way of coping became the “new normal” for me and something that, as I continued to experience more and more complex circumstances in life, I retreated to for comfort. Perfection and people-pleasing were the way I learned to “control” things around me. (Spoiler alert: it didn’t work:)

As an adult, my caregiving continues. Thankfully, mom is still here, fighting every moment. But as I have matured, faced crises, developed new relationships, including getting married and having children, I have had to learn a different “new normal.” One that wasn’t about what others thought or how my mom would react. I needed to learn how to cope with my mom’s illness, with life’s curveballs and stressful circumstances, in a way that WOULD work.


Healthy coping skills were not the norm for me, and learning a new normal of self-care has taken decades. And honestly, I’m still a work in progress, but that’s been part of the healing for me. You see, I wanted to be perfect at coping just like I wanted to be perfect at caregiving and marriage, parenting, working, and friendship.

The new normal for me is that though I can work to be compassionate and caring in all of these roles, I will never be perfect. Learning this truth has made it possible for me to cope with the things I cannot control better. And while my life is definitely NOT normal, it’s normal enough for me.

Mom and me.

I have been a caregiver for my mom longer than I have been a mom. In 1984 my mother was diagnosed with an illness. She was hospitalized, surgery performed and then sent home months later with a ton of medications and a whole new way of maneuvering through life. One of my earliest memories is counting out her pills for her to make sure she took the right amount of the right kind of pill at the right time. I am not sure now whether this was something she needed me to do or if she was just giving me a job to keep my mind occupied. Either way, I took the role of pill-counter very seriously and performed it well. During the early days, I don’t remember much else that I had to do that was directly related to her illness, but I do remember the laundry, the dishes, and the house cleaning. I know that most kids have chores and that helping around the house is a normal thing, but I am not talking about “put your plate in the dishwasher” or “hang up your clothes.” It was more like there were things that needed to be done and the more mom tried to do them, the weaker she got. If I could do more, she would get stronger. So, the laundry didn’t get done every week and the sink was usually full before the dishes got washed. As I grew older, we all had our own things to be working on. I had school, my step-dad had work and mom? Her main job was just getting better, stronger. Sometimes she was able to work, but even then, we were always just doing things as they came up. We were surviving. This is not to say there were never good times, vacations, or other family members to help out, but the overall feeling was one of survival. My mom’s survival, my family’s survival, my own.

I was 8 when my mom was put in the hospital the first time. When she came home, she was still my mom, but things had changed. Over the last 37 years, I’ve learned to be both a child and a caregiver, a wife and caregiver, and a parent and caregiver. I’ve lived away from my mother and lived close, I’ve gone to college, traveled, vacationed. I’ve had my own illnesses, surgeries, and traumatic experiences. So far, I’ve survived. When I started this site, I was going to share all the wisdom, the tips, and practices that I have developed over the decades to survive, yes, but also to thrive! And while I do plan on continuing to share my experiences and the lessons I have learned, please know, I am still learning, I am still a work in progress. I have no secret formula for caregiving or marriage or parenting. And, in my life at least, there is no “balance” per se. But I’ve been on this journey a long time and if you are on a similar journey, I want you to know you aren’t alone. You will survive.