Being a Carer... A Balancing Act of Epic Proportions
This isn't one of my usual academic blog posts. But still a lot of thought and soul searching has gone into this.
I want to share something of my experience of being a carer. It's not a unique story I'm sure, but I think its a story that needs to be told.
It's a story that started 8 years ago when my Great Aunt had a stroke. Aunt Betty was so special to me. It was like having a third Grandma. Betty had herself spent so much of her life caring for people (she looked after her own mother when she had cancer and her brother who had alzheimers and downs syndrome). So when she had a stroke, mum and I didn't think twice about stepping up to the plate and helping her. Thats what families do.
So I would go to work and Mum would look after Betty until I got home. We worked in shifts like that for years. But all the while we had to spend six weeks living with Betty, then Betty spent six weeks living with us. It wasn't a sensible living situation, living out of a suitcase. So eventually we gave up our house and moved in with Betty.
Our house fell into disrepair quickly and after a time my brother and his wife moved in to our house to look after it while we couldn't. So on top of all the other problems, the financial pressures started to mount.
As Betty got older and her condition started deteriorating it got difficult. I remember going through the kitchen numerous times on the pretense of making a cup of tea, but in reality I just needed to cry. I was so exhausted working all day, then coming home and working all night too. But somehow you find the energy because you're doing it for the people you love.
In December of 2018 Mum was diagnosed with aortic stenosis. Which meant that she needed open heart surgery and soon. Then in February of 2019 Betty died. I had always imagined that when Betty passed life might get easier. I loved her so much, but the life of a carer is exhausting. In reality what happened was that I ended up going from the role of caring for my Betty to caring for my Mum and the cycle started all over again, but this time there was no-one to help.
Work was dodging along nicely though. Work became my escape. Yes there were frustrations with regard to my professional development but finding the Open University and deciding to complete my MA gave me focus, direction and really encouraged me to grow as a person and as a professional. I learned so much. But I was aware also that my studies were also a way of escaping my personal problems. I was a bit like the ostrich - when life gets tough, hide my head in a book or, in this case, a MOOC.
When Covid-19 arrived in 2020 the pressure ramped up again. I could no longer seperate my personal and my professional life. My escape route was gone. The option of physically getting out of the house for a few hours just wasn't an option. So, on top of being a carer, I also had to manage the needs of my anxious students and I felt like I was failing on all fronts. The restrictions of lockdown kept family and friends at a distance. I never felt so helpless and lonely. I'm sure we can all look back on 2020 and think of things we wished we had said or done differently. Stress and anxiety make us do things that are out of character. We're all just trying our best to muddle through. But hopefully in time I'll be able to look back on this period and be kind to myself.
In September 2020 mum passed away too. I identified myself as a carer and a teacher for so long. It feels as if both these aspects of my identity have fallen apart and I'm struggling to find/redefine my purpose and direction. As a carer you kind of get used to the expectation that people look to you as the one who copes and makes everything okay. As a teacher, the same expectation exists. But what happens when you're not ok and you're not coping? I remember thinking my life was like spinning lots of plates all at the same time and for a period of years. But when you're not coping, or there are simply too many plates to spin there's a real risk that you won't just drop one plate but all of them. Thats kind of what I feel has happenned to me.
For the past few months my family and friends have been amazing. I also recognise that my work and my studies give me structure in my day. So I keep going. I know its early days since having suffered such a loss. But I wanted to highlight the importance of talking to people and getting professional help.
I was that person who was worried about the potential damage that the word "stress" would leave on my work record. I worried that my friends would see me differently, as this fragile thing that they had to treat with kid gloves. Would I be seen as flaky or incompetent? The truth is I began to realise that part of how I define myself is through the eyes of others. It matters what other people think of me. Therefore, especially now, it matters how we treat each other.
The truth is it took time to admit that I needed help. I began by speaking to a mental health ambassador at work. They pointed me to my GP and to a counselling service. I'm at the start of that journey now. I don't know where I'll end up. But I know nothing will get brighter if I choose to stay in a dark place.
So, since this is likely my last blog post of 2020, stepping into 2021 I can only hope that the path gets brighter. I need to heal. Indeed, I think we all need to heal. 2020 has been traumatic. We need to acknowledge that and if that means getting help, then do it.
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