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The hard mirror of caregiving
There is a lot I can get away with by just living out the fast pace of life. I can easily lose self-reflection between dinner and clean-up. Self- care? (the hard kind, not the escape into a chocolate bar and Netflix kind) I left self-care in the laundry bin. I rush around from task to task just thinking about what the next thing to do is and when I can go to bed. In other words, I am too caught up in surviving to question how I am living. All this came to a screeching halt last week when my daughter who suffers from severe ME/CFS told me I don’t look at her anymore. At first I wanted to deny it. I felt angry because my life seems consumed by her — worry over her, taking care of her, advocating for her — but somewhere in there, I forgot to pay attention to her.
I could sing praise about the wisdom and kindness of this girl forever. In the nicest way possible, she told me I was fucking up and it was important because our relationship is important. She didn’t want me to regret the way I cared for her the way I regret my mother who died of Cancer many years ago. Ouch. I cried a lot. Out of frustration. Out of grief. Out of loss. Out of stubborn selfish want for my old life. She told me that I needed to come to terms with the fact that I am caring for a severely disabled person and that it was unlikely to change. In fact, it would likely get worse. She needed me to face it. To mourn it. How could…