Caregiving takes all of you: your heart, your arms, your back. And as with all relationships, you’re bound to make a few mistakes along the way. I made plenty of mistakes caring for my mother. She had Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s, and her care progressed over the course of 12 or so years. She passed away in our home, and those last few months were some of the hardest—and one of the most important—times of my life.
So I understand why caregivers push themselves to the edge. When you love someone, you try, you make mistakes, you deal with others’ mistakes … and you have no idea how it will all work out. But here are a few caregiving mistakes you can avoid.
Caregiving too soon
Those first few calls from the emergency room will scare you to death, and it’s easy to buy into the drama, to freak out, worry and jump in. The challenge is to pace yourself. Caregiving can be a long journey, and it’s wise not to react emotionally to every blip, to ask for help, to look at the big picture and make short- and long-range plans.
Caregiving too late
I was so busy being a mother to my children that I believed my mother when she insisted she could live on her own. I had little moments of concern, but I denied and ignored them. I wanted—and needed—her to be okay. But I wasn’t paying attention: She wasn’t eating right, she was falling all the time (lots of bruises, lots of excuses) and, although I was driving her or arranging for her transportation needs, she was desperately holding on to a life that was slipping away.
Leaving yourself out of the equation
Worry, lack of sleep…you start to forget. You throw on your clothes without thinking, forget to comb your hair, don’t bother with your own health checkups and don’t fill your prescriptions. You don’t mean to, it just happens—and, months or years down the road, you forget a piece of you. You forget how to have fun, how to let go and how to relax.
Taking every piece of advice… or none
Either extreme is exhausting, and scary. When I first realized my mother had Alzheimer’s, I read everything I could get my hands on, and it freaked me out. I could see our future: she becoming completely mad, and me attempting to reach her. In truth, it wasn’t like that—at least, not for a long time. We still had each other. We laughed, and we ate together. We held hands. Yes, it got bad at the end, but I’m still glad I went down this path. There’s good information out there that you’ll find useful, but too much can drive you crazy. It has to stay in balance, and you have to decide what you will listen to.
Giving in to guilt and depression
Both are bricks on your soul. They’ll drown you. I won’t say it’s not going to happen, that you’re not going to have bouts of guilt—you will. I can’t even tell you that depression won’t sneak up on you. But be careful, because depression is tricky. It’s like an alligator—it’ll take you under and won’t let you back up.
Not trusting the journey
You’ll get off centre. You’ll lose your way. You’ll go to the bitter edge—but believe that you will find your way back. Humans are amazingly resilient. We can nearly freeze to death or drown, fall down a mountain, recover from life-threatening illnesses—and survive. Don’t think for a minute that you can’t recoup from caregiving. You can. You gave of yourself, and the good that you gave will return to you.
Not letting go
There comes a time when you have to let go. Whether it’s creating a healthy emotional distance or grieving an impending death, we have to learn to let go. I remember one very difficult night when my mother was having a bad episode. She was frantic, not knowing where she was, and I had to pry her hand loose from the rail just to get her back in the bed. I couldn’t do it by force, and I didn’t want to hurt her. I had to undo each finger, gently and calmly, and I knew right then that I was meant to help her figure out how to let go of this world. Letting go isn’t about giving up. Letting go is really about trusting.
All we can do is self-correct. We get off. We yell. We beat ourselves up for saying or doing the wrong thing. We fall into a funk. We lose our way—and all we can do is recognize it and alter our course. Every day, every hour offers a new choice.
