The Erosion of Self in Caregiving

Caregiving can feel holy and brutal at the same time. You become the person who knows the medications, the forms, the moods, the little tricks that get everyone through the day. You become good at something no one asked you if you wanted. Your life narrows. Your world becomes appointments and alarms. People call you strong because you do not cry on the phone. You keep going because what is the other option.

The slow danger is erosion. Your preferences go first. Then your hobbies. Then your friendships dissolve because you do not have time for small plans and you do not want to be the person who always cancels. Your body starts to hint. You wake up tired. You eat standing up. You do not notice beauty like you used to. It is not selfish to want more. It is human.

You cannot pour from an empty cup, but also, you cannot pour from a cup you no longer recognize. Keep something that belongs only to you. Ten minutes with a book before bed. A walk where you call no one. Music while you fold towels. A weekly check in with someone who sees you, not only your role. Put these in your calendar in ink. This is not luxury. It is maintenance of a self.

Ask for help in simple language. I need Tuesday from three to five. Say exactly what would help. A grocery run. Sitting with him while I shower. People want to be useful and often do not know where to start. If someone offers and then disappears, ask again or ask someone else. You are not a burden. You are a person doing a job that was not meant for one person.

Hold on to beauty. Put flowers by the sink. Step outside for sunset even if it is two minutes and you cry through it. Your life is more than duty. Let the world remind you.