Caregiving

Today, I want to share something that moved me recently, in case it offers you some comfort if you’re in a season of caregiving or grief.

Over the past few weeks, I felt ready to go through Mum’s things, boxes I’d packed away when she passed, and hadn’t been able to face until now.

I found myself drawn to the bottom of my wardrobe and opened one of the boxes tucked away there.

It felt strange, almost sacrilegious, to touch it.

I am glad I did.

Inside was a gratitude journal I kept with Mum, back when she was alive and more coherent.

Setting the Tone of the Day

Each morning, after supervising her insulin injections, we’d read a passage from Mum’s daily devotionals book,

And I’d ask, “What are you looking forward to today, Mum?”

We’d chat about the day ahead.

Each evening, I’d ask, “What was good about today?” and write her words down in the notebook.

Reading through the journal now, I can see how simple yet meaningful Mum’s answers were.

She would say she was:

“Grateful she could take her own medication,” before she needed professional support.

“Grateful that her cousin or sister had called.”

“Grateful she’d managed to hold the handrail and go outside with me to hang up the washing.”

Mum’s Moments of Gratitude

I felt quite tearful reading Mum’s moments of gratitude.

They were such small things.

I recall sometimes being impatient, rushing her, or finding it easier, when things had to be done, to just do it myself.

Yet going through Mum’s journal, I could see how important these moments of connection and independence were to her.

And from my perspective, as her primary carer, her ears and eyes,s as Alzheimer’s affected her mobility and cognitive function, these were the kind of things it’s easy to take for granted and walk past without noticing.

Especially when I woke up exhausted from a sleepless night and worn out from holding it all together by the end of the day.

The Habit of Carrying On

But that habit, carrying on, ignoring my body’s need for rest, doing what’s best for someone else — persisted, the way it does when you’re caregiving and struggle to prioritise self-care and rest.

Now that Mum has passed away, I am so grateful we made the time to write down her thoughts and keep those journals.

Revisiting them last week, sitting with those memories, became, strangely, an act of self-kindness.

I felt nourished by them, mindful of the impact caring had on Mum and on me too, and grateful that I nw have the space to rest, recover, and reflect on all those moments of care.  

I am grateful for this headspace, and I don’t take it lightly.

From chatting with other carers and in my weekly local online bereavement support calls with St Christopher’s Hospice, I know many others have no choice but to carry on working and caring for someone else, without proper rest, support, or care.

Sitting here now, writing this, I can clearly see how important these small, mindful acts of care and kindness are for both the carer and the person being cared for.

I know I wasn’t always kind to myself during those caregiving years.

I couldn’t always rest or nourish myself, and often didn’t keep my own gratitude journal.

But sitting here now, in this quiet, sacred pause of grief, I am glad Mum and I had those small pockets of time together, to notice, recognise and acknowledge the small good things that run in the background of our daily lives, which act as the glue, hold things together, yet which so easily get overlooked in the daily hustle and stress of caring for someone. 

But I can now.

And I think that’s what the journal was really teaching me:

it’s one thing to read about something and know its value intellectually, yet the real struggle is making these small acts of care a regular part of our day. And even harder, to be kind to ourselves when we realise our self-care has slipped, and our good intentions have quietly fallen away.

If you’re caregiving, or have cared for someone you love, or are somewhere in the long, uneven terrain of grief: those small, ordinary moments you’re living through right now may matter more than they feel like they do today.

Write them down, if you can.

You might be glad of them later, the way I am now.

Closing Words

If you’re not sure where to start, you could borrow the journal prompts Mum and I used, maybe before your first cup of coffee or tea:

“What are you looking forward to today?”

Or at the end of the day: “What was good about today?”

Jot down the answer.

Sometimes, giving ourselves these small moments of reflection reminds us of the care and kindness we can offer ourselves.

Thank you for reading my article.

If this piece stayed with you, I write weekly about grief, caregiving, and the slow work of finding rest again. Thank you for being here. You can explore more simple self-care tips for carers in my Free Calm Kit for Carers.