By Maria Westlund, Family Caregiver
Maria Westlund
Family Caregiver
I was a caregiver for my husband for eight years, and that nearly did me in. The statistics were not encouraging—caregivers often die before their charges. This applies to those caring for close family, like a spouse, parent, grandparent, sibling, or child. The situation is different when caregiving is a profession. My experiences are mostly limited to caring for my husband, and earlier in my life with part-time care for my sick mother.
Then COVID came, a stressful period not only for Ernie and me. In August 2021, our fridge broke down. Keeping food fresh until the new one arrived “broke” my back. I spent almost four weeks in the hospital, in terrible pain with spasms (often 10 on the pain scale) and on morphine and painkillers.
That first year was the worst. I was 83, in miserable shape: super-stressed, drugged, living in a brain fog, constantly exhausted, sleep-deprived, and in pain. I felt like I was fighting on too many fronts: my health, Ernie’s health, frequent conflicts, running the household, planning caregiving help, transports (no driving on morphine), navigating the healthcare system, etc.
Self-care (that lovely word people mentioned) felt totally unattainable. Where to fit that in and how!? My GP told me to try to have some fun. Great, but how!? I was busy surviving!
My therapy sessions were a saving grace. I’d struggled with complex PTSD and needed support. Another round of Prozac helped a bit.
Don’t be surprised if, at times, you feel unseen, alone, and frustrated. YOU need all the support you can get. Having a network of “supporters” is crucial, no matter how much you fancy yourself capable of handling things. I found a support group for a couple of years helpful. I also started journaling–an important outlet.
I’ll be drastic here: a caregiver with no support risks becoming a dead caregiver. Support must encompass all aspects of the person—spiritual, psychological, emotional, physical, practical. A safety net is invaluable, especially if caregiving stretches over many years. Your rope might be long, but it’s not indefinite!
Even if self-care seems unattainable, do what you can. Before my back injury, I jogged daily for half an hour, all year round. I also meditated for half an hour every morning to carve out time for me. Those habits fell apart after my injury. Walking required a walker, but I started a new routine as soon as I could.
Self-care also involves developing skills in self-talk. Remind yourself that whatever you’re feeling is okay. That you are human. That your role is “impossible,” but there are ways to move through it, and it’s mandatory to have reasonable demands on yourself.
Mindfulness helps too, especially with common pitfalls—self-pity and martyrdom. I fell into those traps many times, so I know. Acceptance—accepting what is instead of fighting it—is a valuable life skill.
Now, almost two years since Ernie died, my life has completely changed. I’m single for the first time in my adult life, after 60-plus years of marriage, and I am happy and at peace. I bounced back from burnout, tapered off Prozac with relief, and my creativity blossomed, primarily in writing. Two books resulted.
My back still restricts me, and there are other small physical issues, but I’m too happy and fulfilled to mind. I wouldn’t be who I am now without having lived through those eight years of struggle and pain. They brought up most of the issues that needed to be processed and healed.
Those years were part of the path that led here and opened the doors to growth and fulfillment. I feel immense gratitude for that. I am free now—no anger, regret, or resentment remains. There was light at the end of the tunnel!