Member-only story
Caregiving is a Lovely Bitch
Or how I Came to Love and Hate Myself
Caregiving is a bitch.
Talk about a love/hate relationship.
Not with my brother — victim of several strokes — whom I care for 24/7, but with the act of caregiving itself.
Let’s start with the hate, because that’s the most distasteful.
Hate comes when facing bad things about yourself. Things you’ve known about for a long time, then worse, things you don’t even know are there.
I’ve always recognized my ease to anger, my addiction to routine, my impatience toward others, and my tendency for self-righteousness. All displayed by my frequent self-absorption.
These get dramatically worse when acting as a caregiver.
The bad things get really bad.
They aggravate intensive stress, which cannot be ignored, or pushed away.
Bringing me one more source of self-hate even stronger than I knew before. Something hidden. Something vehemently denied. Something only now fully realized.
My own endurance is not a servant to my will.
God, what a terrible revelation.
Takes the solid ground from right beneath my feet.
